Once Upon a Dreadful Time

by Dennis L McKiernan

  As Michelle’s heart fell again, Laurent said, “I do not seem to recall any of my dreams, yet that doesn’t mean someone else might not have dreamt of Prince Borel or any of the others. We could ask everyone here.”

  Vadun again smiled, his features gentle in spite of the sharpness of his teeth. “Sieur Laurent, though it would help, one need not recall a dream for me to . . . See.”

  “What mean you?”

  “Just that I merely need to be in contact, one at a time, with each member of the household.”

  “What do you need?” asked Michelle.

  “A quiet and peaceful room, preferably smaller than this, darkened and lit by a single candle. It should be furnished with a couch or such in which the member of staff can be at ease, and a comfortable chair for me at the head of the dreamer’s divan. I would also like some mint tea or other such to be brewing and fill the chamber with a pleasant scent.”

  Michelle looked at Arnot. “The green room?”

  He nodded. “A good choice, my lady.”

  Michelle then turned to Vadun. “Forgive my manners, Voyant Vadun, but have you eaten? And surely you need rest from your travels.”

  “I would appreciate a meal, my lady, but I need no rest, for the sooner started the sooner we might know.”

  Arnot said, “Your pardon, Dreamseer, but what would you have to eat?”

  “Some tea would be nice as well as . . . might you have a vole?”

  Arnot frowned. “Vole? Mean you a mouse?”

  “Oui. A mouse will do. Preferably alive.”

  Inwardly, Michelle shuddered. How can such a rather plantlike being as is Vadun eat a live mouse? She looked at him and smiled, one that he returned, his catlike teeth showing.

  Passing among a gaggle of waiting, nervous women, some tittering, Michelle paused a moment to caution them to quietness, and then stepped down the hall to the green room, for she would be the first person Vadun would examine. Into the candlelit chamber she stepped and softly closed the door behind. The odor of chamomile subtly filled the room.

  The voyant de rêves welcomed her with a smile, and he gestured to the couch. When she was fully reclined, he took his seat, the chair with piled cushions to raise him up on a level with the head of the divan.

  “Now, my lady,” he murmured, “I ask you to clear your mind of as many thoughts as you can and to concentrate only on Prince Borel.”

  “That will be rather easy,” whispered Michelle. She took a deep breath and thought of her truelove, with his silver-sheened hair, his ice-blue eyes, his handsome face, his ready wit and infectious smile, his caressing hands, his lean body, his—

  Michelle felt a gentle touch upon her brow, yet she managed to maintain her thoughts of Borel and his ways.

  “Oh, my, what strength of feelings,” Vadun softly said. “And what troubled dreams of recent, yet pleasant ones as well: of Wolves and speaking to them, of ordinary things, but also of unknown and unseen dangers, of the prince and loving and of making love—”

  Suddenly, Vadun broke contact.

  Embarrassed over this last, Michelle said, “I did not mean to—”

  “Oh, Princess, all beings have somewhat . . . lustful dreams.”

  “But then why did you break contact. Did you see Borel? Did you find him?”

  “Non, Princess, you have not dreamt a dream that can aid us in the search for the prince. Yet, do I understand it correctly? You can speak with his Wolves?”

  “Oui, though I am still learning.”

  “Ah, good. Wolves are closer to nature, and extremely loyal to the pack, and, to their way of thinking, Prince Borel is one of them. Too, they dream. I would like to see if any have dreamt of your prince, their master.”

  “You can do that? Be a voyant to their dreams?”

  “Oui.”

  “What of the members of my staff?”

  “My lady, if the Wolves yield nought, then we shall return to the staff.”

  “Where would you have me bring the pack?”

  Vadun shook his head. “Non, my lady, I will go to them, for they need to be in a place they find comfortable in order for me to see into their dreams.”

  “Then follow me, Vadun.”

  In the Summerwood, this time Blaise, instead of Lanval, went to see the Lady of the Mere, but she did not appear at his beck. And, upon his return, he found that no falcons had come bearing messages of what other seers might have learned.

  In the Autumnwood, Luc, fresh from the training grounds, had just sat down to his lunch as rawboned Rémy, armsmaster at Autumnwood Manor, escorted a man into the chamber. “My lord,” said Rémy as they came forward, “I present Seer Malgan.”

  Luc saw before him a reed-thin, sallow-faced homme with lank, straw-colored hair, his hands tucked across and within the sleeves of his red satin buttoned gown, a man who twitched away from unseen companions and yet whispered to them as he approached. As he came to stand nigh Luc, he bowed, and then glared left and right as if bidding others to show the prince courtesy as well.

  When the seer straightened up, Luc asked, “Can you aid us to find Liaze and the others?”

  “My lord,” replied Malgan, his voice high-pitched. He paused a moment and cocked his head as if listening to an unheard voice. “I will need something . . . intimate of Princess Liaze’s—an oft-worn adornment, a lock of her hair, something in close contact with her personage.” Of a sudden he looked to his right. “What? What? Of course, of course.” He turned back to Luc and added, “A precious gem of sorts: amulet, ring, or the like. In fact, a gemstone would be best if you’ve not a lock of her hair.”

  As Malgan muttered to someone aside, Luc cocked an eye at Rémy and slowly shook his head in disbelief that this scare-crow of a madman could help them. “A gemstone, you say.” His words were not a question.

  Malgan looked back at Luc. “Indeed, and the more precious the better.”

  Luc stood and pulled a bell cord. Then he turned to Rémy and Malgan and said, “Won’t you join me at lunch?”

  Malgan dithered over his choices, standing at the sideboard and taking up first one chunk of bread and then returning it for another, repeating this several times, not only over the choice of bread, but also of plates and cups and pats of butter and amount of tea and cuts of meat and selection of vegetables and pieces of fruit, all the while whispering to invisible beings.

  As the Seer took a seat, then changed it for another, a page appeared.

  Luc looked up at the lad. “Breton, fetch Zoé and tell her that we need an item from among Liaze’s jewelry, something set with a precious stone—ring, pendant, earring, necklace, or the like—something that is dear to Liaze, something oft in intimate contact with her.” Even as he instructed the boy, an ephemeral thought skittered ’round the edges of Luc’s mind, but ere he could capture it—

  Malgan peered down at the floor and hissed, “Yes, yes, I know.” Then he looked at the youth. “Tell her, tell this Zoé person, to take it to the forge.”

  “The forge, my lord?” asked the page.

  “The forge, the forge, boy,” said Malgan, looking to his left where sat an empty chair at the table, one he had pulled out as if to sit in but then had chosen another.

  The page looked at Luc, and he shrugged and nodded.

  As the lad rushed away, Malgan glanced at Rémy. “There is an anvil within, I take it.”

  “Oui,” said Rémy, frowning.

  “And tools?—Hammers and such?”

  “Oui.”

  “Good,” said Malgan. Then he peered across the table and said apparently to no one, “I told you so.”

  Zoé had brought several pieces to the smithy. She held a pearl pendant up to her ear. “This one, my lord, is one of her favorites.”

  “Here, here, put them all on the anvil,” said Malgan.

  Zoé placed on the large bronze anvil the pearl earring and a ruby-set ring and a diamond on a silvery chain, as well as a fire opal set in a golden torque.

  Malgan the
n muttered and whispered and pushed the jewelry about and finally said, “Yes, yes, I know: the diamond.”

  He took up a bronze hammer and, with a single blow, smashed the gem into powder.

  Zoé shrieked and snatched away the remaining jewelry and protectively clutched it to her breast and turned her back to the seer, using her body to shield it from him. But Malgan did not seem to notice. Instead he peered at the resulting glitter casting its myriad glints unto the eye, and then turned to Luc and said, “My lord, all I see, all we see, is a vast darkness.”

  Vadun and Michelle found the Wolves in a nearby snow-laden pine-tree glade, and Michelle introduced the voyant to them.

  What she believed she said was: This person is here to help find Borel.

  What they read in her postures and growls was: Two-legs here help find master.

  After they had surrounded Vadun and had snuffled and had taken in his scent and found it to be friendly and unafraid, though a bit plantlike and smelling somewhat of an eaten mouse, Slate pronounced him acceptable.

  Vadun said, “Are they comfortable herein?”

  “Oui.”

  “Then please tell them that I will be touching them one by one.”

  Michelle said: This person will touch each of you.

  Wolves interpreted: Two-legs touch one all.

  Vadun then said, “Princess, as I touch each one, ask them to envision Borel.”

  Michelle nodded, and when Vadun placed a gentle hand on Slate’s head, Michelle said: See Borel.

  Slate stepped away from Vadun and turned his head this way and that and lifted his nose in the air. Finally, he said to Michelle: Master not here.

  Michelle sighed in exasperation. “I am having trouble asking them to envison Borel. Let me see if I can think of another way to put it.”

  Finally, she said to Slate: Borel not here.

  Slate: Chuff.

  Michelle: Do not move, but see Borel.

  Slate whined in puzzlement.

  Michelle turned to Dark: Dark. Do not move, but see Borel.

  Dark whined in puzzlement, but then said: No move, hunt master?

  “Yes!” exclaimed Michelle. Then she turned to Slate: Do not move, but seek Borel. Do not move, but smell.

  Slate: Chuff.

  And the great Wolf stood still and slowly inhaled scents and tried to find the master, and Vadun laid a light hand upon Slate’s head.

  “Non, my lady, he has not dreamt of Borel,” said the voyant.

  “Dark. Here,” said Michelle, and the bitch Wolf came to stand beside the princess.

  Michelle: Do not move, but seek Borel. Do not move, but smell.

  Vadun placed a hand upon this Wolf’s head, and then he shook his own.

  Down through the pack they went in hierarchical order: after Slate and Dark came Render, then Shank, Trot, and Loll.

  And as Michelle’s heart sank with each failure, at last they came to Blue-eye. Again Michelle repeated her command, and as Blue-eye stood still and took in the scent on the wind, Vadun said, “Ah, yes.”

  Michelle gasped. “What? What is it, Vadun?”

  Vadun’s voice took on a low growl, and as if in a trance he began to move and posture, and Michelle interpreted.

  Then Vadun shook himself as if becoming aware of his surroundings. “What did I say?”

  “I know what you said in Wolfspeak, but I do not understand.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Well, literally you said: No moon. No stars. No smell. No see. Hear Borel in all big dark.”

  Vadun frowned. “I do not understand either.”

  In the middle of the night, in Winterwood Manor, Michelle started up from a restless sleep, as did Luc in the Autumnwood.

  Each knew with certainty just where their loved one was—be it in the “big dark” as told by Blue-eye through Vadun, or in “a vast darkness” as glitters of shattered-gem light and invisible companions had told Malgan.

  40

  Imprisoned

  o matter how many times you try it, my lord, you’ll not “Nget out,” said Rondalo.

  The tall and slender Elf lounged on the throne, one leg over the padded arm of the chair, and watched as again Valeray stepped through the shadowlight-filled archway and vanished. Moments later, the king trudged out from a corridor above and paced down the stairs to return to the vast chamber.

  Raseri raised up his head, and Duran, astride the Dragon, squealed in delight and held fast to the barbels as he was lifted into the air. Standing below, Alain caught his breath and remained ready to catch the youngster should Duran lose his grip.

  Some three days and a night past, as near as they could reckon, Valeray and Saissa and their get, as well as Camille and Duran, had awakened in this place, borne here by Orbane’s black wind. When Camille had come to, she had looked straight into the sapphire gaze of the tilted eyes of Rondalo as he chafed her wrists in concern. His narrow face was framed in a halo of fair hair, and, upon her rousing, his features flooded with gentle affection. Blood rushed to her face, for the Elf had for a while travelled across Faery with her in her long search for Alain, and she at one time, overcome with loneliness, had kissed him with passion, and then had fled away in confusion, wondering if she could love two men at the same time. But that was nigh four summers ago and not now. Yet flustered, she had heard a soft sigh nearby, and had turned to see Alain lying unconscious, with Duran seeming asleep at his side. And she had scrambled up and tended them, while Rondalo took care of others. And even as Camille alternated between Alain and Duran, she heard a soft peep as Scruff came awake in her shoulder pocket. Soon all were roused, and for the next three days, they had sought a means of escape, all to no avail.

  Valeray shook his head. “This time I started by stepping through the twilight archway in the topmost tower, and it brought me to the one down the lower hallway yon. Then I crossed this chamber and went out through that one, and back to the topmost tower I came. Ah, fie! I keep thinking that there should be some combination of exits and entries that might set us free, for oft there are complex sequences a thief must master ere a treasure can be won . . . in this case, our freedom.”

  Sitting on the dais next to Rondalo, Borel said, “Once when Flic and I were in the Endless Sands, I explained to him how such a place might be so named, and this prison in which we find ourselves seems to be but a variation on that theme.”

  Rondalo swung his leg from the arm of the chair and turned toward Borel. “How so?”

  Borel looked at the Elf. “I told him to think of that vast desert as simply a room with two doorways, and when one exits out through one, he simply comes in the other, and, of course, the reverse as well. In the Endless Sands the twilight bounds could be thought of as the ‘doorways.’ I also mentioned that the Castle of Shadows might be constructed the same way.”

  “And that’s why you believe we are now entrapped in the Castle of Shadows and not somewhere else?” asked Raseri.

  “Oui,” replied Borel.

  As Raseri lowered his head and Alain fetched Duran down, Valeray sighed and said, “I believe you are right, Borel, for what better vengeance could Orbane inflict than to hurl us all into the place where he himself was cast and held captive these many seasons.”

  Alain nodded in agreement. “Oui, Papa, Orbane would do such, for you and Lord Rulon—Chelle’s sire—were the chief architects in bringing him to ruin. Yet I imagine that Hradian would rather have seen us slain in repayment for the deaths of her sisters than simply to be trapped herein.”

  “I agree,” called down Saissa, as she and Liaze and Céleste and Camille traversed a balcony above to descend the long set of stairs. Scruff, riding on Camille’s shoulder, took to wing and flew about the chamber, the tiny sparrow chirping all the while.

  Rondalo and Borel stood as the women reached the floor of the vast hall and passed around Raseri, the Drake inclining his head in acknowledgement.

  “My lady Saissa, your seat of state,” said Rondalo, sweeping a hand towa
rd the chair on the dais.

  “Pishposh, Rondalo, I will sit on a step.”

  As the women took seat along the treads of the dais, and Scruff glided down to alight upon the back of the throne, Valeray looked ’round and said, “Inmates all and—” Valeray’s words chopped to a halt. But then he put a hand to his forehead. “Oh, my, I just realized this is why the Fates spoke to Sieur Émile’s sons and not us.”

  Céleste frowned. “Your meaning, Papa?”

  “We are trapped herein and can do nought, while Laurent, Blaise, and Roél are free, as well as Luc. The Three Sisters knew it all along.”

  “And yet they did not warn you?” said Rondalo.

  Valeray slowly shook his head. “Perhaps there was nought anyone could do to prevent it.”

  Rondalo blew out a sharp puff of air and glanced at Camille. “Even so . . .”

  “What’s done is done,” said Valeray, sighing.

  “Then,” said Céleste, “if we are truly trapped in the Castle of Shadows, we can only hope Roél and Laurent and Blaise and Luc recover the key and set us loose.”

  Raseri growled and glared toward the entrance and asked, “And just who will bring the key to yon portal?”

  Céleste turned to the Drake. “I do not understand, Raseri.”

  “I am one of the few to know the way through the Great Darkness to come to the Castle of Shadows.”

  “There is no one else?”

  “I did not say that, Princess. But if someone is to come, they must be able to fly.”

  “Fly?” said Liaze.

  “Oui, for the Castle of Shadows floats free in the Great Darkness. There is no road to the gates—only dark emptiness—a place where any rescuer, flyer or not, can become lost forever.”

  “Raseri,” said Camille, “if you have seen the Castle of Shadows by flying through the dark, does it have this shape? If so, then we will truly know where we are.”

  Raseri shook his head. “Even though I have seen the Castle of Shadows, still I cannot say this is it.”

  “Why so?”

  “When last I saw the Castle, it was but a single square-based tower, fit to hold one person—Orbane.” Raseri looked at Borel and said, “In the manner of your explanation of the Endless Sands, two doorways it had, one on each side, and a shorn-off bridge leading away from each.”