Gossamyr swung her staff, nicking the revenant's foot. Dust of bone and faery glimmer spumed from the connection point.
"She's going to be killed by a dead diing," Ulrich murmured. Clinging to Fancy, and to the saddlebag, he contemplated rushing to assist. A glance about ensured no witnesses. Another swing doubled the creature. Gossamyr stood tall. "On the other hand,
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Faery Not is little afraid of anything. I would hate to interfere. Once already been chastised for that."
With each swing of Gossamyr's staff, the revenant's bones were broken and crushed. Faery dust veiled the air surrounding the battle. But the thing did not attack—more like it tried to defend so that it could.. .leave.
"For Faery," Ulrich gasped in realization. "Just let it go! Don't risk your life, my lady!"
"My life is to defend my own!" she shouted and took another swing. A bend of her waist, and she swung the end of her staff up behind her and knocked the thing's legs off just below the knee. "Did you see the man?" she shouted.
"What man?"
"The one who stood at the cart as we arrived? I saw him earlier."
Gossamyr's yelp put Ulrich to his feet. The revenant's fangs gashed open her wool sleeve. The half-bodied creature flapped its wings and soared too high for Gossamyr's swing to connect. And with another flap it was gone in a twinkle and a froth of glimmer.
"Take this vision from my eyes," Ulrich hissed. So much he did not wish to see! And all because of his dance.
"Blight me!" She swung furiously up through the air, fighting but the shade of the creature. "It is on to Faery."
"But only half of it," Ulrich reassured as he tugged her toward Fancy. "Come, we must be away from here. The entire village will be upon us after that ruckus." He shoved her up onto Fancy's back. "Let's be off!"
Mounting behind her, Ulrich heeled the mule, and was delighted the beast picked into a gallop.
Gossamyr tugged off the wimple and tossed it to the ground. "Wait!" She pulled the reins and turned Fancy toward the cart. "What of the essence? That man with the pin took it. I saw it leave the body before the revenant broke out."
"Why did not the bony creature go after the thief?"
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"I don't know. Mayhap, the essence was injured by the pin."
Fancy plodded by the dead fee. It lay there, literally a bag of bones tossed onto the cart. Above and behind, Gossamyr sensed the flight of the fetch. With little fanfare the empty body suddenly fizzled to a fine dust. But a glimmer glinted at the bottom of the cart. Not the final twinclian, such was much more spectacular.
"Sorry, Father, I tried."
A swipe of her fingers through the dust in the cart drew.a line. The hum of Faery jittered upon her fingertips. Bringing them to her lips, Gossamyr blew the dust away. It sifted through the air, slow and receding, until but one final particle twinkled to naught.
"If I were your father, I'd be here by your side, helping."
"Shinn must lead the Glamoursiege troops against this threat." It was for her to prove herself, to return the champion. "They risk falling to the Red Lady's allure. As I've said, I do not."
"This mission of yours seems a trifle ill stacked, and not in your favor."
"What mean you?"
"Your father and his troops fight these beasties, while you are one lone woman."
"But I have not been charged to battle an army of revenants. My task is much more singular."
"Would that you could simply attempt such a singular task. But I sense we've not seen the last of those skeleton things."
Indeed, the Red Lady's thirst for Enchantment would not wane, but increase.
"She attacks only the males?"
"Fear not, Ulrich. I can do this."
"Yes, but can I?"
An hour later, they arrived at a stable that offered change of horses for travelers going to and from the city for a fair price. Faery
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coin purchased the one remaining palfrey from the dark stall at the back of the stable.
"I must admit my surprise."
Gossamyr flinched as Ulrich touched a wet tip of his shirt to the cut on her arm. The revenant had not escaped to Faery without claiming some damage to its aggressor. He dabbed carefully, like a doting Mince. "What surprise?"
"You do not bleed ichor. Nor do you heal at a remarkable pace."
"Why should I? As I have said—"
"Yes, yes, half faery, half mortal. But not even a sparkle? I've no lint cloth to cover the wound, but it no longer bleeds. It is shallow and should heal aright."
"I've no worry for scars."
"Indeed, a remarkable woman." A snap of his bejeweled fingers called Fancy to his side. He tugged the saddlebag, checking that all was secure, then followed with a smoothing pat to the leather. "We should be off. You were able to procure a mount from the stables?"
"Yes."
A match to Ulrich's mule, what might have once been a fine riding horse, now looked to be ready for pasture. With little choice, Gossamyr had paid the stable owner for the palfrey, glamourizing the coin by suggesting he spend it quickly. Better luck that way, for Faery coin lasted only so long as it desired. A mortal who hoarded the precious coin might return one day to find nothing but a whisper of dust.
Leading the tired gelding toward where Ulrich waited on his mule, she saw him laugh and shook her head. "I saved him from becoming horse stew!"
"A most noble effort, my lady."
Mounting the horse bareback, she tucked the cumbersome wool gown up around her waist. Her leather-bound braies and bare feet received a lifted brow from Ulrich.
"Paris will offer the comfort of dress you seek." He handed up her staff.
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The horse groaned as she heeled its flanks, but in its defense, it took off in a feisty gallop, leaving Ulrich and the mule in a cloud of dust.
Hours later the distance between windmills shortened and spirals of smoke from the grand city could just be seen coiling on the horizon. Eerie tendrils of the unknown shivered through Gos-samyr's system. She felt traces of residual glamour coil away with every ponderous clod of the palfrey's hooves. 'Twas a heavy fall of something unnatural coated her flesh, invisible, but knowingly mortal. The air had become less light, but she could not determine if it was a foreboding to danger or a physical change.
A rub of the cut on her arm made her wince. You don't bleed ichor.
Once she had asked her mother to twinclian for her, and when Veridienne had lifted a refusing chin, Gossamyr learned that day how different they truly were from the common fee.
Do you not wonder?—she recalled Veridienne's mad query but days before her disappearance—What we mortals are like?
We mortals? Of course, her mother often forgot her daughter bore half-fee blood in her veins, so focused had she been on herself. Mortals must imagine loving a Faery lord as a grand vision. Yet, Gossamyr had never once dreamed to love a mortal man. Only, she did spend much time perusing the bestiary.
Had she savored the thought of meeting a mortal man? Mortal touched as she had become, she favored the sensation of Ulrich's flesh to hers. It did not spread a chill through her. Would a kiss be as favorable?
A shake of her head sorted her thoughts. What is this? Thinking to kiss the man? Truly, these delusions were not her own. Gossamyr would not allow the mortal passion to trounce this mission. Nor must she succumb to wistful dreams of stolen kisses.
Now she could not press her mount to more than a walk. Nudging her toes into the palfrey's side served little more than to make the beast whicker at her. A fat, pollen-loaded humble bee
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buzzing from one clover patch to the next marked a swifter pace than she did.
With thoughts to abandon the beast to a peaceful death in the meadow, she suddenly jerked up her head. Pricking her ears, Gossamyr homed in onto the minute thunder of hooves. Nowhere in sight, but the pace of their approach verily pounde
d in her veins.
"Ulrich" she whispered. Staff spinning, she tucked it under her arm, at the ready.
The man pulled rein beside her. "What?"
"Listen."
He shrugged. "A stream babbles nearby. We parallel the Seine by less than half a league—"
"No. Two of them. At a good pace. Heading this way."
"Travelers?" He shrugged again, but Gossamyr saw his move to slide a hand across his ever-coveted saddlebag. "Where? Behind or ahead?"
"Ahead. There!"
Two black chargers gained the horizon, their hooves beating the road to a fury in their wake. Could merely be an equipage with an urgent message. But Gossamyr suspected otherwise. They yet roamed Netherdred territory. And the oncomers charged lick-for-leather.
"Armagnacs!" Ulrich yelled.
The same they had avoided by traveling around Aparjon. "What beast be they?"
"Frenchmen! But fear them, my lady, for they only have mind to annihilate."
Leaping from the horse and giving it a slap to flee toward the meadow, Gossamyr slid her staff along her arm and assumed a defensive pose in the center of the road. Drawing up straight, she nodded. "Have at me!"
"Gossamyr, I don't think you should—"
"Follow the nag," she hissed at Ulrich.
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"I don't think so!"
If he had intention to start that again. "There are but two of them. I can manage!"
"Come, my lady, toss the poor man a bone. At least let me appear I can defend myself."
"You cannot fight clutching that saddlebag as if a favorite child."
Gossamyr heard the oncoming shout, "He's got it!"
She lifted a brow. Who? The soul shepherd? Got what?
She hadn't time to consider what the Armagnacs wanted from Ulrich. Aligning the staff along her forearm, she flung her arm around, landing one of the riders across the chest and successfully unseating him.
Spinning to the left, she planted the point of her staff in the ground and swung up her legs toward the rider tormenting Ulrich with a wickedly curved falchion. She succeeded in kicking the horse's flank, bringing the angry beast around. Landing her feet, she swung up the staff and clocked the rider between the eyes. The horse, angered at her assault, tried to stomp her. Seeing the obsidian-glossed hooves rise over her head, Gossamyr dropped to a roll and spun under the horse's belly. A shimmer of glamour snuck beneath the horse, spiraling it on its hind legs to land away from Gossamyr.
Steel cut the tension. Equine snorts misted the air. Gossamyr stood, spat out a mouthful of road dust, and faced both men clad in black leathers and shining mail, their falchions swinging in tandem as they approached. Gold fleur-de-lis decorated their gray tabards. The symbol of Paris; Gossamyr recalled it from the bestiary. Indeed, Frenchmen. So why should they attack?
Thrusting up her staff before her, she blocked both weapons. The applewood had been forged of an ancient tree and of dragon fire. Hard as steel, it would not be thwarted. Nor would she.
"Achoo!" Wavering off balance, Gossamyr sensed the sweep of sharp steel and followed her equilibrium to the ground. She landed
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palms first. A curved blade cut into the dirt but a breath from her littlest finger. As quickly, it was cleaved from the earth in a spatter of fine dirt that again tickled her nose.
The shrill of another blade alerted Gossamyr. She rolled, twisting her staff to catch the bravo between the legs. His slicing attack abruptly veered from her and he collapsed in a groaning tumble.
"What do you want?" she said, jumping up and spinning to strike the other across the knees, and bringing him down with a yelp.
"We want what he gots!"
"The prize," the other grunted. "Ouff!" Gossamyr connected to his throat. Bloody spittle sprayed the air.
"What does he gots—er, have?" she asked.
The two exchanged vacant looks. "Don't know. But it has power!"
"Have at me!" Ulrich shouted. Bravado splashed the air with an abbreviated punch of his fist. Yet he had moved safely to his mule's side.
Ulrich? A prize?
Gossamyr felt steel slice her shoulder. She brushed a hand over the wool undergarment, touching blood. A shiver drew up a mist of faery dust. Not completely Disenchanted then. The flitter of the fetch's wings hovered high above.
Her eyes watered. A sneeze threatened. But through the blur of tears she assessed the situation. Both men felled and groaning, yet on their knees and recovering.
A thwap of her staff to the men's skulls—swing, connect, spin and connect—knocked them out.
The midnight chargers huffed out foamy breaths behind her. One falchion had landed the ground, point first. Glinting steel quivered.
Elation from the fight made her jittery and loose. A swing of her staff and a decisive stub of it into the ground placed a mark of triumph before the Armagnacs. Who be willing to stand with
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a fix to challenge her? Standing over her carnage, Gossamyr swiped a hand across her brow. A nod and a satisfied smile. "Most splendid."
Hand-to-hand combat delivered double the thrill of a well-met tournament. This danger was everything she had hoped it to be. "Blight, I'm good."
Over her shoulder she sensed the fetch's twindian.
Do not worry, Shinn, she thought. I fare well away from your side.
She cocked a look over her shoulder. Ulrich bristled with pride. "I took out one before he could jump—"
"Very well. So you did."
Retrieving the falchions—careful to grip only the leather-wrapped hilt—Gossamyr handed them to Ulrich. He took them, awkwardly and unsure what to do with the vicious blades that were the size of his thigh.
"Now." She strode past Ulrich to Fancy and slapped a hand onto the saddlebag. "To what they were after."
"No!" Blades clattered as Ulrich dropped them. One of the falchion tips landed his shoe. He fell to his haunches, clutching his foot. "That is my private cache!"
Gossamyr ignored his protest. She did see no blood, so the blade must have missed toes. Instead, she upended the saddlebag upon the thick summer-sweet grass and out spilled a twist of black linen, which splayed open to reveal its long and glittering treasure.
"Bloody elves." She fell to her knees, not daring to touch the item. "What have you done?"
NINE
Gossamyr gripped Ulrich by the hair and forced him, scrambling on his knees, over to the spilled contents of the saddlebag.
"What evil have you done?"
"My lady, have mercy, I am not evil!"
"Why then, do you carry an alicorn in your saddlebag? What madness possesses you?"
"Release me, foul faery!" Pushing from her grasp, the man made to cover the contraband horn with the thin black cloth.
Shoving him aside, she plunged to the grass on her knees before the sacred article. The alicorn sparkled with Enchantment. Carved with interlinking symbols of purity, innocence and wisdom, the twisted bone verily hummed a canorous song that Gossamyr felt in her bones. She recognized the curved, intertwined symbols from her school studies. 'Twas an unpardonable crime to remove such from a unicorn—far more wicked than murder; more devastating than to dabble in magic. All of Faery wept when such occurred, for the severing of any source of Enchantment crippled Faery profoundly.
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"It is mine." Ulrich smoothed the cloth over the sacred object and clutched it to his chest. "I purchased it from a hawker a week ago."
"A hawker?" Gossamyr huffed. Unbelievable!
"An old man with a cart hobbled roadside betwixt Sees and Tourouvre."
So much she wanted to say, to tirade, to condemn and accuse— and yet what could she say? Did the man know the significance of what he possessed?
"I do not believe you," she said firmly. "Some roadside hawker sold you this? Unknowning?"
"Indeed! Displayed amidst his wares of various distinction; wood sabots, candles, obsidian blades, wicker
baskets; it sat amongst a basket of shells and stones. Pretties, he called them."
"He knew naught what he was selling. He could not!"
"Oh, he knew. The man did look to have survived a journey through Hades. He wanted to be rid of it something desperate. And I now know why."
"Why?"
"This pointy thing is evil!"
"It is a sacred object, how dare you—"
"Sacred? This bedeviled horn—" he shook the wrapped horn before her, causing Gossamyr to veer back "—attracts evil like flies to the plague, my lady. You mark my words. Everywhere I step, evil senses this thing and evil wants it." He gestured to the men sprawled on the ground behind them. "Do you not find it at all unusual that we've been so oft attacked?"
"I did. But we stand adjacent to the Netherdred; it is to be expected with the rift—"
"We stand on French soil, my lady. Paris looms to the north and the soil beneath our hands is not sprinkled with faery dust. France! Nothing but!"
"If you have Danced then you should not be so quick to discount those who travel here from Faery."
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"Oh, I do not discount them, I merely wish they were not so determined and so well armed."
Gossamyr paid him no mind, for something she had said bothered her. The rift? It made trips to and from Faery much easier. The rift let out things that did not belong—such as bogies? And let in the revenants and dancing mortals with an ease that should not be.
We know naught what caused the rift, only a great source of Enchantment was decimated.
That source be a unicorn.
An unbidden moan preceded Gossamyr's sorry shake of head. She lifted her head and eyed the wrapped horn Ulrich clutched so covetously. Surely the Enchantment had bespelled him. But, could it truly be, the very cause for the rift, held in a mere mortal's hands?
"What are your plans for the alicorn?"
Tilting the horn this way then that before his eyes, Ulrich said, "Not your concern."
"Not my— Be this the reason for your quest?"
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