. .
Again and again the throng hammered into the allies and pressed them back and back. But then from the slope on the foe’s right flank, a white steed with a pearlescent horn charged into the enemy. And a small brown man with a tiny bow stood on a jumble of boulders and flew wee crookedy missile after crookedy missile into the ranks of the throng. They were Thale the Unicorn and Adragh the Pwca, and high on the slopes above, Lisane winged shafts into the mass. Tisp the Sprite flew overhead, and she called all the Sprites to her, for just as were Lisane and Thale and Adragh, Tisp herself was a First. She gave a command to the Sprites, and they flew into the surround and gathered thorns and burrs and dropped them down on the enemy. Even as they did this, down the slope strode a huge man bearing an enormous bronze battleaxe-’twas Big Jack bearing Lady Bronze; another First had come-and he waded in, swinging Lady Bronze, leaving a bloody swath in his wake.
And darting among the Skrikers and Dunters and Long-Armed Wights veered wildcats with foot-tall, leather-clad, tattooed men astride; Lord Kelmont and the Lynx Riders had come with their fatal arrows dealing death, even as more of the Firsts arrived and joined the fight. Yet the throng pushed them back and back, and soon the battle reached the linn, where the knights had gathered to make a stand.
But in that moment there came riding on a lark a tiny Twig Man. “One side, one side,” squeaked the inch-tall being, “I will stomp them to death.”
“Thank Mithras, ’tis Jotun,” cried Auberon, “come at last.”
“But how can he be of any significant help?” shouted Laurent.
“Just watch,” Auberon replied.
The Twig Man leapt free of the lark, and then he whispered a word. There came a great whoosh ing outpush of air, icy cold, as if all the heat, all the power, had been sucked from it. Laurent gasped, for looming up toward the lightning-filled black roiling sky itself stood a giant of a man. Fully two hundred feet or more he towered upward, and he was dressed all in green and had brown hair. The Giant looked down upon the shrieking foe and lifted a foot and stomped. The world seemed to shudder, there at the headwaters of the River of Time, and a hundred or more Goblins were squashed. And he lifted his foot again, and Lynx Riders darted out from the fray as Goblins and Bogles and Trolls fled screaming.
And in the midst of the Sickness, Orbane hissed in rage, for he knew the corruption would not affect Jotun, for it would but swirl ankle-high on the Giant. Yet there was a way to stop the colossal being, in fact a way to stop them all-all the Firsts, all the humans, all the Fey-though it meant his great plan would be slowed to a crawl. And he raised his voice and shouted an arcane word, and Jotun and Big Jack and Thale and Adragh and the rest of the Firsts were frozen in place, as were Auberon and Luc and Roel and the remaining allies. All humans, all Fey, all Firsts, all Wolves, as well as all members of the throng, all were frozen in place by Orbane’s dread power. And down from the skies drifted Sprites, their wings outstretched in uncontrolled glides, like maple seeds whirling down.
And at the linn the knights and others stood and watched and waited, for they could not move, not even a finger.
And there upon the entire battlefield it was as if all were nought but game pieces upon a board played by the gods, and the whole stood still, waiting for the moves to come. And though the churning black skies above roared with the claps of riven air, still in the brief silences between the cracks of lightning and the booms of thunder, there came to the ear what seemed to be the faint sound of looms weaving.
Long moments passed, and dimly at first but then more clearly, two figures could be seen moving forward through the miasma.
Yet, from above there came a skreigh! while at the same time down the slopes of the vale seven white Fairy horses ran. To the linn they galloped, there among the unmoving men and Fey.
And Valeray and Saissa, Celeste and Liaze, Camille and Duran and Scruff, and Borel and Alain, all leapt from their mounts, even as Raseri and Rondalo came to land nearby.
“Roel, cheri,” cried Celeste, as did Liaze call out to Luc, and Borel rushed to Michelle, his love yet surrounded by Wolves, all of them unmoving.
“What is this?” muttered Valeray, as he stepped among the men.
And emerging from the miasma came Orbane, Hradian closely following. “How did they escape?” asked the witch, her hand touching the amulet at her throat, the silver token set with a blue gem, to see if it was still there.
And then she reached for the other token at her throat- a clay seal on a leather thong-to send these fools back into prison. But in that moment Orbane said, “Acolyte, lend me your power.”
“Yes, my lord,” she replied, her hand falling away.
Back at the linn, Celeste’s eyes widened, and she snatched at her bow, and nocked an arrow, for she had seen the pair. Yet ere she could draw and loose, Orbane, using borrowed power, spoke again the arcane word, and Valeray and the others, including Duran and wee Scruff, were frozen in place, as were Raseri and Rondalo and the colts of Asphodel.
And Orbane, sneering in triumph, strode forward to come unto them, Hradian following after.
Reckoning
Orbane strutted among those trapped at the linn, and he stopped before Auberon and smirked. “Well, Pere, tried to stop me again, did you? You fool. Neither you nor your allies nor anyone else can prevent me from taking the throne you so haughtily denied to me, your very own son, your rightful heir.
But I will not simply be the new Fey Lord to merely rule Under the Hill, for when I am done I will command not only all of Faery but the whole of the mortal world as well.” Standing motionless beside Auberon, Roel raged and tried with all of his will and heart and spirit and grit to raise his sword and cut down this arrogant being, but the prince could not twitch even the slightest of muscles. Although he could not move, still he could hear, and there came to his ears the faint sound of looms weaving, and of a sudden he realized that this very instant had been foretold, for had not Urd said-?
“ ’Pon the precipice will ye be held, As surely as can be,
Yet can ye but touch the deadly arcane, The least shall set ye free.”
Roel’s mind raced. Surely this is the precipice of that conundrum as well as the moment of time. Yet did she not also say, “If you do not solve this rede, Roel, then all as we now know it to be will come to a horrible end”? And here we are held on the linn where Time begins. But what did she mean, “touch the deadly arcane”?
Orbane widely gestured toward the cascade and the silvery flow beyond, and then back to his pustulant cloud. “See, Papa, what I bring? The corruption, the contagion, the Sickness, and with it I will pollute the River of Time. Then will it overflow its banks to run this way and that without reason, and orderly Time, heretofore so tightly confined in Faery, will be free to flow helter-skelter without bound and foster nought but Chaos itself. And as you know, Pere, I am not only the Master of the Winds, but the Master of Chaos as well.”
Roel now paid no heed to Orbane’s crowing, but frantically sought a solution to Urd’s rede. Clearly this is the place and the time, but what is it I am to do? Oh, Mithras, help me understand.
Orbane stepped to the precipice of the linn, and he cried out,
“Now is my time come, for henceforth the whole of the two worlds will be mine to rule.”
Roel tried to calm his mind, and even as he did so, the solution came unto him, yet he could not move any part of himself, much less his hand, and so he despaired.
Orbane turned toward the Sickness, and he gestured for it to come, yet it moved not. Again Orbane gestured, and his face grimaced and sweat beaded on his forehead with the effort, for he not only had to move the cloud, but he also had to control the black roiling skies, while at the same time holding motionless the allies and Raseri and Rondalo and the other Firsts and Valeray’s kith and the colts of Asphodel, as well as his very own throng. And it was at this moment he realized that had he not included his horde in the spell, he would have more than enough power to move the con
tagion. Yet he could not release the throng without releasing the others. And Luc and Roel and Blaise and Laurent and all the other knights at the linn had weapons in hand. And even though Orbane commanded the pustulation to come, the bilious cloud neither moved forward nor backward nor sideways.
“Acolyte, I need more of your power.”
“My lord, without Crapaud, I have no more to give.” Hissing in ire, Orbane slightly relaxed his hold as well as his link to Hradian to focus a bit more of his own power into fetching the Sickness, and oh so slowly the corruption began to drift toward the linn.
Roel, yet straining to control his hand found he could now move a single digit, though barely. Will it be enough?
Forward flowed the cloud even as downward inched the index finger on Roel’s right hand.
Orbane’s face twisted with the effort of trying to hasten the pollution unto the linn.
Down crept Roel’s finger, over the cross guard of his sword. .
“Ha!” said Orbane, relaxing, for now the pustulation drifted under its own power.
. . and that was the moment Roel managed to touch the deadly arcane-the silver-flashed rune-marked blade of Coeur d’Acier, a steel sword in the heart of Faery in the hand of a spellbound man. And Roel felt the blade grow warm, yet he despaired, for he still could not move, and it seemed all were yet frozen in place. But then he heard wee Scruff peep. The sparrow speaks! Perhaps he has been set free, yet how can he possibly be of any-
Scruff struggled out from Camille’s shoulder pocket, and he flew into Hradian’s face, chirping angrily and clawing and pecking, and she fell back in startlement-
— and the rune-weakened link between wizard and witch was completely broken-
— Raseri roared-
— darkness swept over Alain-
— Liaze and Valeray and Borel drew long-knives-
— Celeste pulled her nocked arrow to the full-
— Saissa scooped up Duran-
— and Camille shoved Orbane in the back, the wizard to plummet screaming down the cascade and plunge into the River of Time.
And Roel staggered, as if a grip of powers warring through him had suddenly been released, and Coeur d’Aciere instantly cooled to his touch.
Hradian frantically reached for the clay amulet at her throat, the last of the Seals of Orbane, but Scruff stabbed at her eyes, and the Bear stepped forth from the darkness and, with a terrible roar and a swipe of a paw, eviscerated the witch. A look of astonishment crossed her face, and then she fell dead. Yet tiny Scruff kept pecking away and did not stop until he had pierced her eyes.
And down in the current of the River of Time, Orbane screamed and began to rapidly age, his hair falling out, his eyes becoming dim, as the ravages of Time came upon him.
The throng was freed, yet so were the allies, and Jotun began to stomp. Raseri took to the air, his fire devastating, and Big Jack with Lady Bronze dealt death. Borel and Michelle and the Wolves entered the fray with fangs and sword and arrows.
And Roel and Luc and Blaise and Laurent and the other knights mounted horses and charged in with lance and sword, while lightning split the black skies above, and the heavens roared with rage.
And in Time’s flow Orbane shrieked, “Mother, help me!” And the air on one bank shimmered as of a silver mirror, and stepping through the glisten came Gloriana.
Orbane reached out his arms toward her. “Aid me, Mother.” Yet Gloriana wrung her hands and cried out in torment, for she could do nothing, her own unbreakable geas preventing her from doing ought. And she stood on the shore and wept, as upon the linn did Auberon weep.
And seemingly from nowhere and striding across the vale toward the river and Orbane came the huge man they called the Reaper, and he held in his hands his scythe. “My lord, I will come when the time is right,” he had told Luc, and now the Reaper was here. On he strode, toward the bank opposite from Gloriana, and he paused not at the edge of the flow but walked out upon it instead.
In that moment, Orbane began chanting, and slowly the aging of his face and form began to reverse.
But the Reaper cast his hood over his own head, and with every pace he took, he changed: his coarse-spun cloak turning dark and darker and finally to black. The flesh on his hands became withered, and then his fingers and the forearms showing from his sleeves turned skeletal, and his face, what could be seen of it, became skull-like.
Along the shore, Gloriana raged at the Reaper, yet just as Death held no power over her, she was equally ineffective in dealing with mortality.
But Orbane now saw the Reaper coming, and he began canting a faster chant, yet with one sweep of his scythe, the Reaper took off Orbane’s head. . and something dark and wispy was caught on the blade, and it struggled as if to get free yet could not, and the grim being and his scythe and mayhap a black soul then vanished altogether. And in the stream Orbane’s head and body rapidly decayed and fell into dust and were swept away in the currents of Time.
Seal
Yet the Sickness continued to drift toward the linn, and it drove away allies and Firsts alike, all but Jotun and Raseri, the Dragon with Rondalo astride, for Raseri flew well above the miasma, and the contagion only swirled about Jotun’s feet.
They continued to go after the throng now hiding in the putrescence, with Jotun stomping and Raseri breathing fire and Rondalo loosing arrows against the dim shapes within.
At the cascade, with Scruff flying about and chirping frantically, the Bear reared up and roared and looked about for more enemies to slay. But Camille cried, “Alain! Alain! We must flee the precipice; Orbane’s Sickness yet comes.” The Bear swung ’round toward Camille. “Alain!” she called again, and a dark shimmering came over the Bear, and from the shadow the prince emerged.
“What?” he asked, even as Camille pulled at him to get him out of the path of the contagion.
“The Sickness comes. We must away.” Camille pointed to those now fleeing up the slopes of the vale, some running, others riding.
“Duran?” asked Alain, looking frantically about.
“Gone with Saissa and Valeray,” said Camille, “and you and I must ride.” She gestured at two of the colts of Asphodel, both of whom waited nigh at hand.
The contagion continued its drift.
Camille called Scruff to her, and then she and Alain started to mount, but of a sudden, Alain called, “Wait!” He stepped back to Hradian’s corpse, and there he sought to retrieve Luc’s amulet, yet its protection stung him, for only the rightful heirs or those to whom it was freely given could safely touch the gem-set silver talisman. But then Alain espied the clay amulet on its leather thong about Hradian’s neck, and he realized it was one of the Seals of Orbane.
Quickly he snapped the thong and snatched up the clay token and called out, “Camille, ride. I will come, yet I think I have the means to deal with the corruption.”
“What is it?”
“A Seal of Orbane.”
“But it can only lay curses and do harm to others,” cried Camille.
And now the fringes of the putrescence came upon the pair, and a wave of queasiness swept through them.
But still Alain persevered. How to curse the cloud? Wind?
Non, for then it would simply blow elsewhere and harm others. Rain? Non, for then it would but run off into the River of Time and pollute it still. What of Mithra’s light? Perhaps there’s a chance.
Coughing, nauseated, for neither he nor Camille had been protected by the Fey Lord’s spell, Alain gagged, and yet he managed to lift the seal toward the darkness above, and as he called out, “I curse the Sickness to suffer the light of the sun,” he broke the clay amulet in two.
A rift in the raging sky opened, and a beam shone down upon him, and then the heavens parted, the black skies were riven open, and the lightning vanished, taking with it the roar of thunder as all the darkness fled. And the full of the vale was bathed in the bright light of the midday sun.
There came a thin wail from the Sickness as the
corruption boiled away in the clean rays of light. And the wail became a scream, and the scream a roar, as of a raging forest fire, yet no heat was emitted as the radiance utterly destroyed the contagion. And then the roar suddenly dropped to a whisper and then to nought as the miasma vanished. The throng was again exposed, and once more the Firsts and the allies rushed into battle, and Buzzer, now awake in the sunlight, joined the fray, her bumblebee stings assisting Flic in stabbing whatever enemy Regar fought. The Bear and Big Jack fought side by side, and they, along with Jotun and Raseri and the four deadly horsemen, were particularly devastating, and soon the Goblins and Bogles and Trolls were no more, but for a smattering that managed somehow to escape the field.
Under bright skies, Luc came riding back to the linn, and he dismounted and took up the amulet that was rightfully his from Hradian’s eviscerated corpse.
And Liaze came unto Luc, and they stood on the precipice hand in hand and looked out over the River of Time, and in the distance along the shore they saw Auberon embracing Gloriana, the Fairy King and Queen holding one another and weeping, as the River of Time flowed on.
Restoration
The Fey Lord sounded his silver horn, and Asphodel trotted down from the linn to the banks of the River of Time. Auberon mounted, and he took Gloriana up on the Fairy horse before him, and they rode over the crest to an adjoining vale and fared starwise, and then turned back toward the valley in which the arcane river flowed, and they came in among the allies. And when Liaze asked Luc why the Fairy king and his queen hadn’t ridden directly up from where they had been standing, Luc replied, “Auberon told us that one cannot go against the flow of time, hence he had to leave its presence to return to the fount.” Gloriana then passed among the wounded, and lo! with nought but a simple touch she healed each and everyone entirely of cuts and broken bones and bruises and such and of the effects of the Sickness, for her powers in this regard were remarkable. Yet she could do nought for the slain-they had passed beyond her ability to restore.
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