Once Upon a Winter's Night fs-1

by Dennis L McKiernan

  As Celeste released Camille and stepped aside, Lanval called, “My Lady Camille, the Lady Liaze, Princess of the Autumnwood.”

  Smiling, auburn-haired Liaze, dressed in russet garb, stepped onto the floor of the hall. Taller and appearing more robust than Celeste, Liaze strode to the root of the oak, her amber eyes sparkling. Again Camille curtseyed deeply, Liaze likewise, and then they did embrace, the air about Liaze faintly adrift with the fragrance of apples, and Liaze whispered, “My Lady Camille, I am so glad to meet you at last.” Camille remained silent, for she had not been told nor did she know what to say.

  As Liaze stepped aflank of Camille, Lanval called, “My Lady Camille, Lord Borel, Prince of the Winterwood.”

  Dressed in grey, Borel stepped in, Wolves padding at his side. He stopped at the root of the oak and bowed low, his silver-white hair cascading. Camille curtseyed in turn. And about him was the aroma of.. what? — snow? frost? He stepped forward, and took her hand and kissed it, his ice-blue eyes again appraised her face and form, just as he had done in the Winterwood, and Camille felt her cheeks flush as his gaze lingered on her decolletage. “My lady, you are even more stunning than I thought when first we met. And once more I say, ’tis no wonder Alain was smitten.”

  To cover her embarrassment, “My lord,” she said, unable to think of ought else.

  “My Lady Camille,” announced Lanval, “the Wizard Caldor, the Seer Malgan, the Witch Hradian.”

  Camille’s eyes widened in alarm at these titles, and she looked up to see a tall, bald man in rune-marked blue robes step forward, a supercilious sneer on his face. He was flanked on one side by a reed-thin, sallow-faced man with lank, straw-colored hair, his hands tucked across and within the sleeves of his red-satin, buttoned gown, a man who whispered to unseen companions as he approached. Flanking the other side came a sly-eyed, leering crone accoutered in black, with black-lace frills and trim and danglers.

  As they approached, Celeste murmured, “Fear not, Camille. They are here to help.”

  When the introductions were complete, feeling quite awkward and unlearned, Camille said, “You must be weary after your journey.” She turned to find Lanval at hand. “Lanval, would you see the guests to their quarters?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  But ere they departed, Liaze said, “What say in a candlemark or so, we all get together for a game of croquet?”

  Camille frowned in puzzlement. “Croquet? Shepherd’s crook? Or do you mean the small cake?”

  Liaze laughed. “No, no. ’Tis a game of long-handled mallets and wooden balls and wickets and the like.”

  Turning away to cover her embarrassment, “Do we have such, Lanval?”

  “Indeed, my lady. I will have the wickets and stakes set on the lawn.”

  Camille turned back to Liaze. “I have never played such, yet I am willing to try.”

  “Oh, it was great fun, Alain,” said Camille. “Would that you had been there to-”

  “You should have seen her croquet Borel,” interjected Liaze, grinning.

  Celeste’s green eyes twinkled. “Borel ended up chasing his ball down the center of the stream, your black swans highly upset at the intrusion.”

  Camille’s hand flew to her mouth, but behind her fingers she grinned. “I didn’t mean to drive it there, truly, Borel.”

  “Hmpfh,” snorted Borel, yet he smiled. “Next time I’ll send one of the Wolves, rather than jumping in myself. If truth be known, I didn’t realize it was that deep.”

  The table rang with laughter, and finally Alain, masked this evening in white, shook his head. “Would that I had been there.”

  Celeste’s gentle smile faded, and she softly said, “Perhaps soon, dear Brother, on the morrow or the next or the one after, for I have brought Caldor-”

  “And I Malgan,” interposed Liaze, “and Borel finally found Hradian.”

  Camille looked from face to face along the length of the board, yet a somber silence fell, and none said aught until Alain finally spoke: “After this meal is done, let us to the lavender room, where I shall play, and Camille and I will sing, that is if my love agrees.” He then looked at Camille at the foot of the table, and all eyes turned toward her. Somewhat flustered, she canted her head in mute assent.

  “This is the way, dear,” said Liaze. She placed Camille’s hand slightly higher up on the bow. “Yes. Now these three fingers go here, one above the nock of the arrow, two below. Good. Now then…”

  They stood on the lawn in the afternoon light, a shock of hay some twenty paces away, a broad target of concentric rings fixed thereon.

  “Well and good, Camille. Now draw the arrow… all the way.. yes, now inhale full and exhale half, then aim… and loose.”

  Thnn!

  The arrow missed target, haycock, and all, and flew past some twenty or thirty paces to skid through the sward. As Jules raced across the grass to fetch the shaft, Camille burst into giggles. “I think I’ll never master this, Liaze. I seem to be all-”

  Whoom!

  “What was that?” Camille turned about, seeking the source of the noise. Beyond the mansion, a violet cloud rose into the air.

  Liaze frowned. “One of the mages-Caldor I believe.”

  In that moment the Bear came dashing ’round the corner of the manor house and running toward the hedge maze. “Oh, my,” cried Camille, casting aside the bow and lifting her skirts and starting out after. “They’ve frightened my Bear.”

  Later that day and after soothing the Bear, Camille saw gentle Celeste at a distance with Caldor, and they seemed to be arguing. Caldor made a violent gesture of negation, and, haughtily, he strode off. A time after, she saw Caldor and two attendants riding up the slopes and away from Summerwood Manor. What Celeste and the mage might have quarreled about, Camille could not say, for they had been too remote for her to catch their words, and Celeste did not enlighten her, though at dinner that eve…

  “He failed, Alain. That’s all.” Celeste sighed. “Mayhap he is not as powerful as we’ve been led to believe.”

  “I think it was he who scared my Bear,” added Camille. “And if so, then I, for one, am glad to see him go.”

  “I was hoping he would succeed,” said Alain, softly.

  Liaze growled. “So was I, dear Brother. So were we all.”

  Again a pall fell across dinner. But finally Borel said, “I hear you play echecs, Camille. If so, then I challenge you to a game.”

  “ ’Ware, my Sister,” said Celeste. “Borel is the best of us.”

  “Then I shall just have to be on my guard,” said Camille, grinning. Oh, my, she called me her ‘sister.’

  “You were right, Alain,” said Borel, as he turned his king on its side. “She is quite good at this.” Then he looked at Camille. “I thought to win by dash and bold, but you out-bolded me.”

  Camille turned up a hand. “Playing with Alain has sharpened my skills, for he has taught me much.”

  “I shouldn’t wonder,” quipped Liaze, casting a jaunty eye at Alain.

  At Camille’s blush, Liaze broke into quite infectious laughter, and all joined in but Camille, though she did grin.

  That evening in bed, Alain said, “Pay them no heed, my love, for they do mean no harm.”

  “I know, Alain. Yet I seem to be the one who puts my foot in my mouth.”

  “Just one of the things I adore about you, for innocence becomes you, my dear.”

  “Innocent? Me? Come here, love, and we’ll just see who is the innocent.”

  The next eve, it was Seer Malgan who rode away, his shoulders slumped in defeat, his retainers in his wake.

  As Camille watched him go, she whispered to herself, “Well, whatever it is he tried, dear Bear, wherever you are, at least he didn’t frighten you.”

  “Wands, cups, pentacles, swords, and trumps,” said Celeste. “We shuffle and deal a card to each person about the table, and continue to deal the cards until they are all dealt out. Then we each look only at our own cards and estimate how
many tricks we can capture-”

  “Tricks?” asked Camille.

  “How many other cards we can capture,” interjected Liaze.

  “How does one go about capturing cards?” asked Camille.

  “Each person ’round the table in turn plays a card, until all have played one, and the highest card wins that trick, wins all those cards just played, that is.”

  “I see,” said Camille.

  “Now here is the best part,” said Celeste. “The highest bidder has a secret partner, one she may not know about, but a partner nonetheless.”

  “How so?”

  “The highest bidder names a king-the king of cups, or the king of swords, or of wands, or pentacles-and whoever has that king is the secret partner, none else knowing who might be the secret partner, not even the high bidder, until that particular king is played.”

  “But what if the high bidder has all four kings?”

  “Then he or she simply names one of the kings and plays alone.”

  They sat in the game room, the five of them, at the taroc table, as Celeste explained the game to Camille. The others chimed in with advice at odd moments, all but Alain, who, behind his scarlet mask, seemed morosely quiet this eve. Still, Camille managed to concentrate on what Celeste was saying, for she hoped that the game would break Alain’s glum demeanor.

  Finally, the dealing and bidding and play began, and slowly Alain did become somewhat more cheerful.

  After many hands were played-Camille being the secret partner but once, and that with Liaze-Borel reached the winning tally and took the first game.

  Again they played, and again Borel won, and then the third game as well, though Celeste was close on his heels.

  “Argh!” said Alain, and he took up a particular trump and held it to face Borel. “I think you must have Dame Chance on your side, brother mine, for never have I seen the cards run so one-sided.”

  Borel feigned nonchalance. “ ’Tis simply my due, dear fellow.”

  Liaze grinned and said, “Mayhap, dear Brother, you keep a card or two up those floppy lace cuffs of yours.”

  As the others laughed, Borel feigned outrage, and thumped his elbows onto the table, his wrists upright, and the pearl-grey lace flopped down all ’round to reveal nothing hidden therein.

  Alain tossed Dame Chance onto the table. “Shall we have another go?”

  As they gathered the cards for the next game, Camille took one up-the one called the Naif-and considered it, then held it out for the others to see. “These trumps-the choices of names and their depictions-are quite strange, one might even say arcane.”

  Celeste smiled faintly. “Arcane indeed, Camille, for ’tis said that one can see the future through the use of these cards, though not clearly.”

  Camille raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

  Celeste pursed her lips and shook her head. “I am not certain, yet I believe one lays out the cards in a special arrangement and interprets each fall of a card, for by its suit and rank, its orientation, where it stands in the array, and other such signs it is said the future can be divined.”

  “Sounds like a mage art,” said Liaze.

  “Or the trick of a mountebank,” said Borel, then gestured at the card Camille held, “or the belief of a naif.”

  Camille dropped the trump onto the pile and frowned. “If a simple spread of cards can portend what is to come, would that not mean all is predetermined, that all that has ever been and will ever be is already set in stone?”

  Celeste held up a finger. “Mayhap the fall of the cards simply shows a possible future, one that is potential.”

  Alain said, “I am not at all certain that I would like to know the future, predetermined, potential, or no.”

  “Why not?” asked Liaze, puzzlement in her amber gaze.

  Alain pushed forth a hand, palm out. “For then I would perhaps try to change the outcome and make things even worse.”

  “How so, Brother?” asked Borel.

  “Well, if one knew what the future held, say, defeat or even victory, would he try less hard, or instead more so, depending on what he knew? And if he changed his conduct because of knowing, and thereby changed the outcome, would he not thwart Destiny, and thus perhaps upset the balance of all?” Alain fell silent and looked ’round the table at pondering faces. Then he reached out and laid his hand atop Camille’s and grinned, saying, “Besides, instead of knowing the future, I’d much rather be surprised.”

  Camille felt her face flush, though she knew not why. As she reddened, Borel laughed, and Liaze tapped him on the wrist with her closed, yellow fan, though she, too, smiled. “Pay these crude men no heed, Sister mine. And you, Borel, shut up and deal.”

  After dinner that night, to teach Camille a new dance they had Lanval gather up enough men and women of the household to make it more complete. The dance was called the Rade; it had much hand-to-hand, two-by-two graceful skipping and prancing about the floor in paired columns, as if travelling ahorse side by side, the women in one line, the men in another, hands between palm to palm. But they halted now and again, as if stopping to rest or water or feed the horses, or to take a meal of their own, or perhaps merely to stretch their legs, or simply to stop for pleasure, and here they stepped about in small circles in groups of four, two men and two women in each group, with much circling and bowing and curtseying involved. And the hall was filled with music and gaiety, for not often did such entertainment come.

  That night in bed, Alain simply held Camille closely. “There is one more attempt on the morrow,” he whispered. “That of Hradian the witch.”

  He said no more, and Camille did not ask.

  The next afternoon, Hradian rode away, her shoulders sagging down.

  The following day, in early morn, so did Celeste and Liaze and Borel go, setting out for their respective demesnes: they embraced Camille and whispered their farewells and then rode forth, defeat in their postures also. Whatever they had come for, whatever they had hoped for, it had not occurred, for all had said good-bye to Alain the eve before, unshed tears glittering in their eyes.

  With the Bear at her side, Camille stood on the portico and watched as they made their way up the slope and beyond. And when she could see them no longer, she sighed and briefly hugged the Bear, then turned and went within, and Lanval closed the door behind. The Bear stood a long while after, looking at the far hill where they had gone. Finally he, too, took in a deep breath and let it out, then turned and went away toward the maze.

  14

  Journey

  Over the next several months as mortals would count the days, more masters of the arcane came-some wearing rune-scribed robes, others dressed in splendid finery, still others in nought but rags. Some were haughty, some were meek, some were placid or wistful, and yet others muttered unto themselves and peered about in suspicion, and some were atwitch and flinched away from things only they could see. And when they came, Camille would watch Alain’s expectations rise, only to plummet again, and she knew that whatever was afoot, it had to do with the dilemma he faced-perhaps related to the masks he wore, perhaps to the disappearance of his sire and dam, perhaps something else altogether-but of which he would reveal nought. Whatever it was, it seemed to be a secret everyone knew but her.

  And yet, though each of these wizards and seers and sorcerers and witches and warlocks and other such magi came bearing promise-be they haughty or meek or given to fits or other strange oddities-each went away slumped in defeat.

  Alain would fall into a state of dejection as well, and Camille would fret about him, yet by no manner did she allow her concern to show, hoping instead her cheerful normalcy would break his glum mood.

  And as for the Bear, he would disappear whenever these enchanters came- Ever since that terrible person Caldor scared him, I think he doesn’t trust folk of this ilk. No wonder he’s not about. The next day, though, he would show up again, as if he knew when they were gone.

  It was a great enigma as to what the magi might
be attempting, and ordinarily, given a riddle, a puzzle, or a mystery, Camille would be delving for an answer. Yet because of what Alain had said in the past, and because she trusted him without reservation, she deliberately did not seek resolution, but instead set it apart, such that most of the time she did not think of it at all.

  And so the months passed and visitors came and went, and the affairs of the estate carried on:

  Camille and the Bear continued to take lunch together at her favorite gazebo, she speaking of this and that. Camille also spent time with various members of the household staff, planting or sewing or occasionally overseeing other tasks; in general, though, Lanval kept things in order, including the sending of the annual stipend of gold to Camille’s family, along with her spoken message of love, for none in her family could read or write, and so a letter was not sent. And Camille and Alain took pleasure together, or, now and again, attended to the solemn affairs of the Summerwood Principality, and in all that time Alain had to deal with but one quite serious case…

  “My lord, I have come before you to see justice done,” said the woman, down on her knees in the candlelit chamber, the prince sitting on his throne on the dais above, with Camille seated at his side. “They slaughtered my man.”

  At these words Camille gasped, though Alain glanced at Lanval, who nodded.

  “Murdered Fricor outright and for no reason at all, but that of the skin of a cat,” added the woman, bitterly.

  “Killers seldom slay without cause, Lady,” said Alain, his grey eyes gone flinty within the black mask he wore, “and you have named the skin of a cat. Who did this thing?”

  “They, them, those without,” spat the woman, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder. “Those outside this hall.”

  Now Alain turned to Lanval. “The accused are here?”