Ah, but I have the key, and I know how to use it. Quite simple it is, yet in its simplicity lies its secret. Oh, how Orbane will reward me, for I alone will set him free.
On she hurtled in a straight line, down and leftward from the wall. And but for her beating heart and the sapping of her spell, she had no way of measuring how long the flight.
. . . And on she went. . . .
. . . and on.
But then in the distance ahead—A faint glow! Oh, Iniquí, the gods of Enfer have smiled upon me, and I have found the way.
On she flew, the glow nearing, and now she could see the stone bridge. Out it jutted from the dark castle for no more than fifty strides, where it abruptly ended, as if shorn off from another half standing elsewhere far away. Along its low stone walls stood ever-burning torches, barely casting a glow, the light itself seemingly sucked away by the ebon surround.
Weary, Hradian alit upon the stone of the bridge, and above her loomed the massive bulk of the castle, great dark blocks milled from rock and assembled into walls and turrets and buttresses and roofing. Massive and strong it seemed, unbreachable.
Hradian looked up at the dark stone faintly glinting in the torchlight. What’s this? There was but a single tower when Iniquí led us here, yet now it is of a size to host a multitude. Did my master somehow change it to what it has become? Ah, faugh, it is of no import. Instead, I must set my master free.
Clutching the amulet, Hradian strode forward, toward a gaping archway, its opening filled with shadowlight, much like that of the twilight walls. And as she reached it, she paused. Iniquí, if you are wrong about this key, and if my vision of its use was in error, then I, too, shall be imprisoned forever. If that happens, then when I am dead, I will hunt down your ghost and rend it to shreds.
And with that bitter vow, into the shadowlight of the entry-way she trod.
Into a great throne chamber she entered: hundreds of strides it was to the fore and hundreds to left and right, and the ceiling was far above. Wide stairways to either side led up to balconies, with archways into corridors leading off to quarters beyond. Likewise, archways on this level also led into corridors, down which, presumably, other rooms lay. Ever-lit lanterns illuminated all.
But Hradian did not see these stairways and balconies and arches and corridors, for in the center of the chamber stood a dais, and upon that block of stone sat a throne, and in the throne lounged a person, and his eyes widened in astonishment at the sight of Hradian striding toward him. He stood, his crimson cloak swirling about his somber garb. Tall and dark he was and slender, his hair black as midnight, his eyes of the same color as well. His face was long and saturnine, his nose narrow and hooked, hawklike. His fingers were lengthy and tapered, as if made for grasping. His mouth seemed to be one that would naturally curve into a sardonic sneer. Cruelly handsome he was, yet for the nonce his face registered shock at the appearance of a woman nearing.
Hradian came and abased herself at the foot of the dais. “My lord.”
“Hradian, is it you?”
Yet on her hands and knees, Hradian looked up and simpered. “Oui, my lord.”
“They have imprisoned you as well?”
“Non, my lord. Instead, I have come to set you free.”
“Ah, you fool, you have come to your doom; this place is inescapable.”
“Non, my lord, if my studies are true, it is not, for you see I—”
Rage flashed over Orbane’s features. “Silence!” he shouted.
Hradian flinched and jerked her face toward the floor and curled in upon herself and trembled at his wrath.
Orbane seethed. “Do you not know that I, with all my power, have tried and yet failed innumerable times?”
“Yes, my lord. That I know, and yet . . .”
“And yet?” he demanded.
Hradian cast a sideways glance upward. “My lord, may I rise?”
With a gesture, Orbane allowed her to her feet.
“And now, my lord, may I show you something?”
Orbane sighed. “Very well.”
“Please, my lord, take my hand.”
Orbane stepped down from the dais and held out a hand, the look on his face one of exasperation. Hradian took his fingers in hers and led him toward the archway to the bridge. And as they neared—“This won’t work, Hradian, we’ll simply—”
Of a sudden they were standing beyond the archway and out on the torchlit span.
Orbane gasped in surprise. Then he turned to Hradian and swept her up with a joyous whoop and whirled her about. But then with a moan he laid her to the pave of the bridge and pushed her skirt up and away from her legs, and shoved down his pants and dropped atop her, forcing himself within. And amid grunts and groans and shrieks of joy, he swived her there on the stone.
Panting, his member yet erect, he looked about. “Where are your sisters? I would reward them as well.”
“Dead. Slain by the get of Valeray. Oh, Master, I would have my revenge. You must kill them for me.”
“Rhensibé, Nefasí, and Iniquí all dead?”
“Oui, my lord. Murdered by the children of he who stole two of your very own clay amulets, the seals that were used by the Firsts to cast you herein, hence Valeray is the one the most responsible for your imprisonment.”
Orbane clenched a fist, and rage flashed across his features. “Then I shall—” Of a sudden he paused, and a look of cunning replaced that of wrath. “No, not kill him or his get. Instead, I have something even more fitting in mind. Take me to them, Hradian. Your revenge and mine will be sweet.”
“My lord, I am wearied by my journey here. Can we not retire to the quarters within and once again—”
“Non, for I would go and go now. I have seen enough of that place.”
“Very well, my lord.”
Hradian took up her besom and straddled it. Orbane straddled it right behind. He embraced her, his hands upon her breasts, his fingers kneading and tweaking. “Now, Hradian. Let us go.”
With moans of desire, Hradian mumbled arcane words, and up and away they flew: sinister, upward, at an angle from the castle, coursing along the only line leading toward Faery.
With the sun now risen, Raseri neared the Black Wall. “See you any sign of the witch?”
“Non,” replied Rondalo. “The skies are clear for as far as my sight reaches.”
“Then set an arrow to your bow, for I plan on entering the Great Darkness and flying the track to the Castle of Shadows. If she is within, I will burn her to a crisp, yet on the off chance I miss, you can feather her through and through.”
As Rondalo nocked a shaft to string, with Raseri’s great wings churning, through the Black Wall they went.
“Mithras, but I cannot see,” cried Rondalo. “My bow will be useless.”
“That is of little matter, for I see dimly,” replied Raseri. “Even so, should she escape back into Faery, well then your bow will serve, that is if I give you a chance, for I intend to rend her to shreds.”
And on into the darkness they flew, sinister and downward at an angle and on the line toward their goal.
Flying with two was even more draining upon Hradian’s power. And yet she persevered, as Orbane’s hands caressed her body, for he knew lust would increase her efficacy, raise her energy. And he ran his questing fingers here and there, teasing, touching, and now and then she gasped as if on the verge.
But then ahead in the darkness, black on black a darker form loomed, and Hradian jerked her besom to the left even as a great gout of flame shot past. She shrilled in terror, and Orbane shouted in alarm.
And then the massive shape was beyond her.
“Faster!” shrieked Orbane. “ ’Tis a Dragon in this endless void.”
Driven by fear, Hradian urged her besom to greater speed, yet she could hear the whoosh of immense wings overhauling. And from hindward came a cry, “Raseri, I saw them by your flame. I am ready.”
“ ’Tis Raseri and Rondalo, my lord,” shouted Hradian, “fr
iends of the whore Camille, Valeray’s daughter-in-law. I have spied upon them. Can you not throw a spell to ward off the Drake?”
“I need more power than the Great Darkness will yield,” cried Orbane. “Get me to Faery and then—”
But Hradian heard the Drake take in a great breath, and she jerked rightward, even as more flame shot past. And something whistled by in the black.
With her hair now singed and the twigs of her besom smoldering, Hradian goaded more speed from her broom. Yet the sound of wings grew louder, and Hradian dived just as great long claws went raking past and a huge tail lashed above.
Once more the Dragon hurtled by, and Hradian flew up and back on the track, and before her the massive form wheeled and again turned toward her. This time Hradian waited until the last moment, and she jerked the broom upward as flame shot below her, and again something whistled in the darkness, and there came a meaty thuck! and Orbane groaned.
“My leg. There’s an arrow through my leg.” With a cry of rage to offset the pain, he snapped the shaft in twain, throwing away one piece and wrenching out the other to cast it away as well.
Once more the thunder of wings drew nigh, but in that very moment Hradian and Orbane burst through the Black Wall and into the light of Faery.
And right behind came Raseri and Rondalo, and even as the Dragon took in a breath to burn wizard and witch to cinders, and Rondalo drew to the full for a shot that could not miss, Orbane twisted about and gestured at the Drake and shouted arcane words, and a roaring, whirling, ebon wind enveloped Elf and Dragon alike and bore them off through the Black Wall of the World and into the Great Darkness beyond.
31
Omens
isane bolted upright in her bed. What wakened me?
She peered out through the window of her chamber. Beyond willow branches dangling down and gently swaying in the breeze, she could see Thale cropping grass, his lustrous horn gleaming in the early morning light.
Lisane slipped out from under the covers and padded to her small kitchen, where she set a kettle on to boil above the tiny hearth fire.
Something dreadful is afoot, I can feel it. I must see what I can see. First I’ll lay out the square—four and four—for it is the most stable of all, and speaks of the here and now.
She opened a small cedarwood box, and removed a taroc deck wrapped in blue silk cloth. She spread the silk upon the oaken plank that served as her table, then took up the taroc deck and began to shuffle, all the while concentrating upon the question as to what the day might bring. She dealt out cards, sixteen in all, four across and four down, their faces hidden. Then one by one she began turning them up: first the upper left corner, the Hierophant droit; then the upper right, the Naïf, also droit; then the lower right, the Lovers, this card, too, facing her; and finally, still moving deasil, the lower left, the Sun, droit.
Oh, my, four of the major arcana, and all upright, all facing me, all droit. The Hierophant: at times she represents me. The Naïf: perhaps someone I know, or perhaps not. Lovers: two paths; a time for choice, the outcome of which is vital. Too, it could mean—Ah, but wait, the Sun: happiness, joy. This is an odd configuration. Let me see the other cards.
Swiftly Lisane turned the remaining cards over.
Oh, Mithras, so many swords. Conflict. And yet—
In that moment the kettle began to whistle, and Lisane stepped to the fire and took the vessel from the hook and poured steaming water over the waiting leaves in the teapot.
When she returned to the table and looked at the layout, of a sudden she said, “I see. I am to get visitors today, on an urgent mission and peril follows. Oh, my, what’s this? One of them will steal the heart of the Hierophant. Is it my heart the arrangement speaks of?”
Lisane shook her head to try to clear it of these fey thoughts.
Perhaps I’d better try the wheel.
She took up the cards and once again began to shuffle, this time concentrating upon seeking events to come near and afar. Cutting the deck thrice, she began laying out a pattern upon the blue silk. When she was done, a great circular array of cards lay, rings within rings, concentric, the cards facing opposé, away from the center; or inward, droit, toward.
Once again there are so many swords, so very many swords, here about the center. It could mean great conflict, and even combat, fighting, bloodshed. It can also mean confrontation, a great physical effort, a testing of wit, any number of things: conflicts of the heart and mind and body and spirit and soul; conflicts from within and without.
Long did Lisane study the pattern. Finally she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, then circled her left hand widdershins above the wheel of cards, followed by her right hand, circling deasil. She then opened her eyes and said, “This is what I see.” And, to increase her focus, she began speaking aloud the meanings of the cards and their relation to one another, and as she spoke, she touched each card: her right hand for those upright, droit—facing inward—and her left hand for those reversed, opposé, inverse—facing out.
“Here nigh the beginning sits the Tower, reversed. I can but think the card bespeaks of the inevitable breakdown of present circumstance. But flanking are the upright three of swords on one side and the upright four of swords on the other. Taken together they mean separation, isolation, and disaster. Immediately at hand is the three of cups, opposé, signalling a reversal of circumstance, and what was good now causes pain. It is directly followed by the nine of swords, and droit it means despair, anxiety, misery. This is either what has been or signifies what is happening now.
“Here is the two of cups upright, flanked by the Hierophant and the Naïf; it indicates harmony between two souls.” Liaze frowned and thought of the previous four-by-four spread. “Does this represent me and someone I’ve yet to meet? Its position in the layout might signify that.”
Finally, Lisane shrugged. “I cannot say, yet these cards flanking, this one droit, the six of cups, signifies friends, while in this ring the three of cups reversed speaks of a test or tests, the double-edged nature of intuition, and since it is opposé, my intuition, or mayhap my first thought, may be wrong.”
And on Lisane spoke aloud, touching cards, explaining unto herself, as she moved ’round the layout, coming ever closer to the center. “Here are the four Chevaliers—of cups, wands, pentacles, and of swords—and they all are arrayed against the Magician, and he is at the center of things. Oh my, we have Justice inverse, as is the Wheel of Fortune: together they seem to spell doom.” Lisane paused, her brow furrowing. “This trouble seems centered on the Magician, and the nearby Priestess, who, in this pattern, appears to be but an acolyte of the Mage.
“But in opposition are the four knights.—Oh, and here we see the Hermit, who is flanked by the threes of wands and pentacles. Three Hermits also aiding? Whatever might that mean? It is a strange configuration. Yet there is something familiar about this spread, and it spells great disaster. Where and when did I last see—?”
Of a sudden, Lisane gasped. “Ah, I remember: it was when Orbane and his armies marched across Faery. Although this arrangement is not the same, there is a great likeness. Can it be that Orbane is somehow involved with whatever jolted me awake?”
Lisane frowned. “But he is imprisoned and cannot get free, and so I think this must be a spurious reading. Perhaps I’d better try again.”
She reached toward the layout to take up the cards, but hesitated. “What if it’s not spurious? Perhaps I’d better continue.”
Again she began touching each card. “If Orbane somehow again threatens Faery, there seems to be hope, given the Chariot as well as the Star. Yet by their positions, it is such a slim hope.”
On she spoke, reading the wheels—the rings within rings within rings—but at last she reached the center of the circles. Even so, she was not finished, for four cards were yet to come.
Lisane looked at the remainder of the deck, the cards not yet dealt, and said, “Now for the four primes, first the two which speak of things t
o be nigh the end.
“Cardinal premier,” said Lisane, and she turned up a card and laid it directly before her, just below the wheel; the card pointed toward the center. Even so, she sucked in air between clenched teeth, saying, “Devil, upright: a terrible omen, for it means ravage, violence, vehemence. It could be a dweller without, someone not permitted within.” Lisane glanced at the Magician in the center of the array. “Can it be Orbane?”
Lisane took a deep breath and dealt the second card. “Cardinal deux,” and this time she laid it directly opposite and just above the wheel. “Death, reversed. This can mean death just escaped, partial change, or transformation. Even so, it can also suggest great destruction as well, and coupled with the Devil upright, I deem it signals a disaster none can avoid.”
Lisane turned up another card and placed it just outside the left of the wheel. “Cardinal trois, Judgment, droit. Follow guidance to forge ahead. Yet, with the array laid out as it is, the guidance is most obscure. And here it is adjacent to the Naïf, which would indicate one must think wisely and make the right choice. Ah, me, I wonder whether the destruction can be avoided if the choice is wrong and the guidance remains unresolved.”
Lisane took a deep breath and drew the last card and set it down outside the wheel to the right. “Cardinal quatre, the World upright. Triumph, but whose? The Devil or those who oppose? The Magician or the Knights? Yet with this King of Swords in the pattern, that could mean victory or defeat for the Knights, depending with whom the King is allied.”
Once Upon a Dreadful Time Page 17
