Orbane drew down his trousers. “Acolyte, deal with my leg.”
Hradian unslung her rucksack and rummaged about within.
She withdrew packets of herbs and simples and bandages. Even as she treated his wound, there where the arrow had pierced, she could not help but to glance in anticipation at his now-erect member.
And when the treatment was done, in between bites of beef and bread and gulps of ale, Orbane swived every femme in the place, some several times.
And Hradian laughed to see his joyous diversion, and shrieked in pleasure at her own.
Then Orbane left the inn and began swaggering from house to house.
. .
At dawn the next morning, the innkeeper delivered a bundle of willow twigs to Hradian. She shed the charred withes from her besom, and bound new unto the shaft. The moment it was ready, she and Orbane took flight, leaving behind a stricken village in which every woman wept.
Through many twilight bounds they flew and over the lands below as the sun crept up and across the sky and down, and, as the eve drew upon them, Hradian guided her broom o’er the stench of her vast swamp.
They lit upon the flet of her cottage, and Crapaud plaintively croaked upon his mistress’s return, but seemingly took no note of Orbane.
“Oui, oui, all right, you may feed at will,” snapped Hradian.
Crapaud waddled to the edge and fell into the mire.
Orbane surveyed the immensity of the bog and drew in a deep breath and took in the odor. “Mayhap it will do.” And he gestured down at the undulant surface and up rose a thin tendril of a thick, yellow-green gaseous vapor, motes swirling within. Orbane reached out and touched the miasma with a single finger and lifted it to his nostrils and inhaled. He turned to Hradian and smiled. “You have chosen well, Acolyte. It is virulent, this Sickness lying at the bottom of your swamp. It will be more than enough to accomplish the deed, and then shall I rule. But to begin with, I must reawaken the hatred in my allies of old, and reassemble my armies.”
Hradian nodded but said, “Yet first, my lord, we must visit revenge upon Valeray and his-”
“Silence!” roared Orbane.
Hradian fell to her knees and pressed her hands to her mouth and peered down at his feet.
Orbane gritted his teeth in rage. “You presume to tell me what I must do?”
“Non, Master. It’s just that Valeray and his get are allied with the Three Sisters, and-”
“What? Skuld, Verdandi, and Urd?”
“Oui, my lord. The Sisters aid them at every turn.”
“Why did you not tell me this before?” demanded Orbane.
Hradian pressed her forehead against the flet and mumbled,
“Because I am a fool.”
“Where are they now, this Valeray and his children?”
“My lord, let me look in my dark mirror, and then will I say.”
“Very well. Arise and do my bidding.”
“Oui, Master.”
Hradian backed away on hands and knees and then stood.
She stepped into the cote and took up her bowl and filled it with water and in moments peered into ebon depths.
. .
The next morning again she gazed into the arcane mirror, and then she and Orbane took to flight, on their way to avenge the deaths of the three acolytes and to remove the principal allies of the Fates, but most of all to take revenge for the imprisonment of Orbane.
Mizon
Three and a half days after setting out from the Castle of the Seasons, Avelaine and her escort rode into Port Mizon. They had ridden in haste, remounts in tow, the journey taking but half the usual time. Rather than going to her estate, Avelaine headed for the docks. Stopping on a hill above, she saw Vicomte Chevell at the central pier poring over plans and speaking with a number of men. And beyond and anchored in the bay were perhaps a dozen large ships and numerous smaller ones.
“Merci, Malon, I’ll walk from here; my legs need the stretch after so much time in the saddle,” said Avelaine as she dismounted. “Take the men on to the manor and find food and drink and quarters for a good rest. You and they deserve a day or two with nought to do ere heading back to my father’s manse.”
The grizzled retainer frowned. “But, Lady Avelaine, how will you-?”
“Fear not, the vicomte will see me home.” Malon touched a hand to his brow, then wheeled his horse, as did his men, and, trailing remounts, they trotted away.
Down the slope headed Avelaine, yet ere she reached the bottom, one of the men with the vicomte said something to him and pointed. Chevell turned and shaded his eyes, and then broke into a lope toward her, and she ran down the hill toward him.
He caught her up and whirled her ’round, and rained her face with kisses. “Oh, Avelaine, I missed you so.” And after another kiss, this one long and breathtaking, she replied, “I missed you too, my love.”
He set her to her feet and said, “My eyes are hungry to look at you,” and he held her at arm’s length. ‘’Avelaine, you are so beautiful. Are you weary from the journey?” Avelaine laughed. “Do I look that haggard?”
“Non, my sweet. Did I not say you are beautiful?”
“You did, and I am somewhat tired, for the ride here was long.”
“Is the faire already- But wait, I thought this was the day it would close, yet you are here instead.”
Avelaine looked into the clear blue eyes of the somewhat stocky sea captain. “Indeed, the faire will be over as of this eve, but Valeray sent me away three days past, Love, and I’m glad he did.”
“Three days? But that means you must have raced all the way.”
“Oui. But for one night in my father’s manse, all we did was ride and camp and ride and camp until we got here. I am looking forward to a night in my own bed.” Chevell frowned. “Why did the king send you away?”
“Oh, Love, it was not in anger. But with Hradian having gotten the key to the Castle of Shadows, they thought it best.”
“Ah, I see. The Sprites brought word of the witch’s deed, yet they also brought word that Raseri and Rondalo are on the way to intercept her.”
“Oh, my, I had not heard that,” said Avelaine. “What wonderful news.”
“Wonderful if they stop her,” said Chevell, brushing a stray lock of his red hair from his brow.
Avelaine smiled at the gesture- So like him-then sobered and said, “If Raseri and Rondalo do not manage to intervene, 202 / DENNIS L. MCKIERNAN
then Valeray and his get are in special peril, for Hradian will seek vengeance for the deaths of her sisters, and Orbane, if he gets free, will want revenge for his imprisonment, a thing for which Valeray is most responsible, for ’twas he who stole the seals that locked the wizard away. And so, that’s one reason they sent me away.”
“One reason? There is another?”
Avelaine smiled and said, “They did not want our unborn to share this jeopardy.”
“Our unborn-? Avelaine, is it true?”
“Oui, my love. I am with child.”
Chevell shouted in joy and took her up to swing her about, but then gasped and set her down gently. “Oh, cherie, you rode at a gallop all the way here, and now I am manhandling you.
Will it hurt the-?”
Avelaine laughed. “Non, non, my captain. As I once heard someone else say, at this point I am just a little pregnant.” Chevell roared in laughter. “Who?”
“I believe it was Camille when we got back from the realm of the Changelings. Oh, cheri, you should see the child she and Alain have. Such a sweet little boy. I hope we are as fortunate.”
Chevell shook his head. “Boy or girl, it matters not, for we will love the child. And how could it not be sweet, coming from someone such as you.”
Laughing, hand in hand they walked down toward the central pier.
“There is one more reason I am here early,” said Avelaine.
“Oh, and what is that?”
“I came to realize that this endeavor you are about to und
ertake is not the lark you make it out to be. My love, you are sailing into perilous waters, and I would have every spare moment of your time ere you embark.”
Chevell did not reply, other than to squeeze her hand. Had he looked at her he would have seen eyes brimming with unshed tears.
She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Speaking of your mission, how goes the fleet?”
Chevell made a wide, sweeping gesture toward the bay. “We have twelve ships of the line, with another five or six due to arrive any day now. Some we are fitting with new ballistas and the latest in fireballs. Some only need refurbishing. Some need new rigging, others new canvas, still others nought but fresh paint and a cleansing of barnacles. When we are finished we will have the finest armada in all of Faery. And all the captains are eager, for all would see the corsairs eliminated forever.
And up in the hills, King Avelar’s own warmaster is training a battalion of marines in ship-to-ship tactics and in grappling and boarding and fighting in close quarters and in conquering a fort.”
Chevell frowned and then added, “Yet, if Orbane gets free, he might take a hand in this battle, for in the last war, he tried to recruit the corsairs unto his side. This time he might succeed.”
Avelaine stopped in her tracks, and swung Chevell toward her. “Oh, cheri, if that happens, what will it mean?”
“There’s nought to say it will happen, but if it does, then things will be dire. ’Tis all the more reason we should set sail, and soon, and destroy the corsairs ere he can seduce them.” Avelaine hugged him fiercely, and he gently returned her embrace.
Blow
Alain laughed and turned Prince Duran upside down, the lad squealing in delight, and Scruff flew about, chirping in joy. Yet Alain’s conversation was anything but playful. “Not since yesternight and this morning, eh?”
“Non,” replied Camille, adjusting the small tiara and inspecting herself in the mirror. “Just those two times.” Alain lifted the boy up and set him upon a shoulder. “Why is it, I wonder, we males do not sense it, this sinister spying? And if not Hradian, then who?”
“That I know not, my love,” said Camille, smoothing the front of her wide-sweeping gown. “But there is this to consider: if it is Hradian, then Raseri and Rondalo have yet to deal with her.” She turned to Alain. “Ready?”
Alain looked up at Duran. “Are we ready, Little Prince?”
“Asphodel,” said the lad.
“Oh, my, that’s right. It would not be complete without your Fairy horse.”
Alain set Duran down, and the boy scrambled across the chamber and took up the toy. “Now we are ready, Papa.” Scruff flew to Camille’s shoulder and lit, and out into the hallway all went and down the stairs, Duran holding onto Alain’s hand and jumping two-footed from step to step with a minor boost from his sire. As they reached the great welcoming hall, Borel stood and said, “At last we can close this faire, and the sooner done with that, then the quicker we can get out of this finery and get on with the business of making ready for war.” Both he and Alain were dressed in silks and satins, Borel in his customary white and pale blue, signifying the Winterwood, and Alain in his green and gold, signifying the Summerwood.
Likewise was Duran in green and gold, as was Camille, and under her gown she wore gold pantaloons for riding ahorse in the rade.
Borel looked about impatiently. “Now where are our dear sisters and mother and father?”
Alain pushed out a hand. “Forbear, brother, forbear. They’ll be here anon.”
Even as he said it, sweeping down the grand staircase came Liaze in russet and yellow and Celeste in pale pink and white.
Almost immediately they were followed by Saissa and Valeray, both in dark crimson and black.
. .
In the late afternoon sunlight, across the Springwood hurtled Hradian and Orbane astride the witch’s besom, and as they came to the starwise border, Hradian looked down to see the corpses of slain birds amid a litter of black feathers. “My crows, my beautiful crows. What has happened here?”
“Your crows?”
“My lord, I set them to watch the borders to stop the flight of Sprites to slow the spreading of the alarm. And now they are all dead, my beautiful, beautiful crows.” Seething, Orbane sucked air through clenched teeth. “Since you failed in that small matter, Acolyte, we can assume that the word is spreading even now. All the more reason to hurry and assemble my armies before these fools can assemble theirs.
Faster, Acolyte, faster.”
Hradian urged her broom to greater speed, and through the twilight bound they plunged.
. .
Out through the gate and over the bridge rode the royal party, Wolves to the fore and aflank and aft. Through the grounds of the faire they went, the crowd cheering, though rather thinly, and many faces were filled with concern. The news had spread like wildfire of Hradian’s obtaining a means to possibly free Orbane, and the appearance of men arriving at the castle to be trained for war had all citizenry on edge. Many had left the faire-grounds and even then were on their way to their homes: some in Valeray’s demesne, others in one or another of the four Forests of the Seasons, and still others from farther away.
The baggage trains of the princes and princesses had departed yester, and Princess Michelle and the Vicomtesse Avelaine had gone two days ere then, each party trailing remounts no less, for they were in a hurry.
And yet King Valeray and Queen Saissa and their get, as well as Princess Camille and wee Prince Duran, had remained, and this had had a calming effect on many a taut nerve.
Still, at the stables stood other horses, ready to bear Borel and Liaze and Celeste in haste to their own manors. Only Prince Alain and Princess Camille would ride at a more leisurely pace, and that was because of wee Prince Duran, who would slow the stride of that particular cavalcade. Even so, they would press forward as fast as they could, for if the Wizard Orbane were indeed to be set free, then the presence of prince and princess in their demesnes would strengthen trembling hearts.
And so, as the sun sank through the sky, through the dilute crowd of well-wishers rode the procession and toward the arena where the faire would come to an end.
A fanfare of trumpets sounded the entry of the royal party into the amphitheater, and ’round the perimeter rode the procession, people cheering to see them pass by, especially Prince Duran, seated before his father on a high-stepping black.
To the royal box rode all, and there they dismounted, and pages led the horses away as into the seats King Valeray and his family ascended. At a gesture from Borel, the Wolves plopped down upon the ground off to one side.
And as Valeray stood to give the ceremonial closing speech, Borel smiled as Duran “clip-clopped” his toy along the forward rail.
Of a sudden, Borel’s eyes widened. “Mithras!” he exclaimed, turning to Alain. “But I now know what at least a part of Skuld’s rede means, though I don’t understand the full of it.” In that same moment, Scruff leapt into the shoulder pocket of Camille’s gown and frantically tugged on her hair, and Wolves sprang to their feet, and a Sprite came hurtling through the air and across the arena, shrilling, “It’s not a crow, not a crow!” Camille glanced up to see a black bird lazily circling o’erhead-
— and then it wasn’t a bird, but a witch and someone else astride a broom.
“Orbane!” cried Valeray.
“Hradian!” shouted Alain, even as Camille reached for Duran.
Arcane words rent the air, and amid gleeful laughter from above, a great, roaring, whirling black wind descended upon the royal box and bore them all away.
Pack
The black wind roared; posts and rails and the boards of the arena stands hurtled through the shrieking air and smashed into whatever stood in the way-ripping, rending, bashing, killing-people and horses and ought else. Dust and dirt and wood shavings and rocks and straw hurled ’round and blinded all, and men and women and animals screamed and fled, some running straight to their doom. And all t
he while unheard laughter rang down from above.
And then the wind lifted up and away, and wreckage and dirt and stones fell, and straw and wood shavings fluttered down. .
and the air cleared, revealing the devastation wrought: men and women and children lay wounded or slain; horses lay dead or dying; nought remained of the arena but shattered wood and rent cloth and other such flinders.
But in the center of all stood Slate and the pack, for the great Wolf had led the others to the safety of the eye of the spin, where they stood their ground and snarled at the witch and wizard above.
“The Wolves, my lord,” shrieked Hradian, “kill the Wolves.” Even as she called for their deaths, Hradian reached for the thong about her throat, where hung the last of the clay amulets known as the Seals of Orbane-terrible talismans filled with arcane power. With it she could easily slaughter the animals.
But Orbane snarled, “Pah! They are of no import whatsoever, for the Fates and Wolves truck not with one another.”
“But they are the ones who tore Rhensibe asunder.”
“Silence! Would you have me discipline you?” Hradian cowered, a mewl of fear escaping her lips.
“Away, Acolyte,” commanded Orbane. “I have removed those with whom the Fates ally themselves. Now little stands in my path. Away, I say, to rally my own armies.” With one last venomous glance at the pack below, Hradian’s hand fell away from her throat, and she spun the besom about, and toward the dawnwise bound she and Orbane sped.
. .
Slate and the pack watched the bitch two-legs and the other one vanish. Not-birds they were, yet still they flew. Once before the Wolves had seen the same bird-not-bird bitch two-legs, there at the little stone den near the long bad place in the territory of snow. That, too, was a time when a terrible black wind bore their master away.
Slate turned to the others and chuffed, and then he and the pack trotted past the broken-legged and maimed horses and those that were not-alive, past the two-legs that were hurt, some of those not-alive, too, while other two-legs wandered among the sharp odor of mark-water, and the strong smell of mark-pile, and the intense reek of life-water. Through the wrack they passed and among the two-legs now rushing toward the not-alive and hurt ones, many two-legs running out from the big stone den.
Once upon a dreadful time ou-4 Page 18