“You, my lady, are most certainly too good to be true,” whispered Roel.
“Ah, my love,” said Celeste, “we shall see about that anon.” And then she broke out in laughter again.
For another sevenday or so, Roel and Celeste for the most part idled the time away, waiting for Gilles to remove the stitches from Roel’s wound, for then he would be fit for strenuous duty, and hence could resume his quest. However, when he set out again, Celeste and the Springwood warband would accompany him. . “But only to the port city of Mizon,” or so Roel insisted, for he would not put anyone other than himself in peril, especially not Celeste. The princess, though, had made up her mind that she would stay with him to the end, saying, “Whither thou goest, go I.” And during this time Anton and the warband made ready for the journey-selecting horses, food stock, waterskins, cooking gear, weapons, armor, and the like.
They chose the brigands’ horses as pack animals, and allocated riding horses from the Springwood stables for themselves, Roche, the hostler, aiding them in their choices.
To Celeste’s delight, in echecs Roel improved significantly. And in dames, he was the better player of the two.
And they often made love-at times gently, at other times wildly-and Henriette gave up entirely at being chaperone, stirred as she was by the sounds coming from their quarters, usually at night, though not always.
And one morning ere dawn they slipped out early to elude Anton and the warband, and the princess and her knight rode to a high, sheer-sided rock pinnacle jutting up from the forest like a great cylinder, its rugged sides looming upward in the glimmer of the oncoming dawn.
“We call this the Sentinel,” said Celeste. “From the top you can see for leagues.”
“You’ve been to the top? The sides are sheer.”
“Oui. My father taught me to climb, both with aids and without. The Sentinel I free-climb.”
“Then let us scale it and take in the view,” said Roel, dismounting.
“What of your leg, my love?”
Roel made a gesture of negation, but Celeste said, “I would not have you open the wound.”
Roel grinned and said, “Gilles stitched me tighter than a drum, ma cherie; besides, I will be careful.” Leaving their horses cropping grass below, they free-climbed the rough stone, to come to the flat top covered in mosslike phlox, with tiny white blossoms with a faint blush of pink just then opening to greet the new day.
“Sit, Princess, for I have something to ask of you.”
Celeste cocked her head and gazed at him. “Something to ask?”
“Oui,” said Roel, and he handed her down, and then he sat knee to knee before her.
He took both of her hands in his and said, “My lady, you are a princess whereas I am but a common knight.
Even so, I am deeply in love with you, and never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would feel as I do.
Celeste, I cannot imagine life without you beside me.
I know I am completely out of bounds here, but I love you, ma cherie, and I will love you forever. There will never be anyone else for me.” Roel braced himself as if for a blow. “What I ask is, will you have me for a husband?”
Celeste squeezed Roel’s hands, and through her tears of joy she replied with a simple “Oui.” A burst of air escaped Roel’s lips and he said in amazement, “You will marry me?”
“Oui, my love, oh, oui,” said Celeste, and she leaned forward even as she pulled him to her and sealed her answer with a kiss.
And there in the silver light of dawn washing across the spring morning sky, amid tiny white flowers with a faint blush of pink, Roel shouted for joy.
They announced their betrothal upon their return, and that eve a grand party was held, with a banquet and music and singing and dancing and festive toasts proffered and accepted. Never, it seemed, had the manor been so full of bliss, and that evening more than one happy couple found pleasure in one another’s arms.
On the ninth day after Roel first awakened from his bout with poison, Gilles removed the stitches from the cut. “Well, Sieur Roel, I declare you fit for questing. Yet heed, my lad, try not to get struck again by an envenomed blade.” Roel laughed and said, “I shall do my best, Gilles.”
Standing at hand, Celeste said, “On the morrow, then, Gilles?”
“Your meaning, my lady?”
“To start for Port Mizon,” said Celeste.
Gilles sighed, for he, too, did not wish to see Celeste going on a quest where Changelings were involved. But then he nodded and said, “Oui, Princess, Roel is well, and the sooner started, the sooner done.”
“Bon!” she said.
That night, Celeste and Roel made tender love, the princess saying, “We will be on the trail, my darling, with no privacy. There are few towns between here and the border, and few between there and Mizon. It would not be fair for us to make love while the men of the warband leave their own wives and lovers behind.”
“Oui, I understand, ma cherie. But if we stop at an inn, where privacy is once again ours to have, then be certain I shall ravish you.”
Celeste laughed and said, “I question as to who will be the ravisher and who the ravishee.” The next morning, just after dawn, the warband saddled horses and laded pack animals and donned armor and arms, all readying for the trek ahead.
Many in the band were excited, for not oft did a venture come their way, while the veterans of skirmishes and other such went grimly about their tasks.
Roel, too, slipped into his brass-plated leather jacket and strapped on his long-knife and buckled on Coeur d’Acier. He checked his crossbow and bolts, making certain the newly oiled mechanism was fit and the quarrels well sharp. Gerard hovered nearby, tears brimming, for he was not a member of the warband, nor had he any training with weapons, yet he swore to Roel that a valet de chambre would be needed on the quest. Nevertheless, Roel denied him permission to come along.
Henriette stood sniveling, not only because Celeste was leaving, but also because Marlon would be riding away. Marlon was a young man of the warband, whom Henriette had within the week taken as a lover- spurred on, as she was, by the heat of listening to the sounds coming from Celeste’s and Roel’s quarters.
Vidal was at hand, along with Amelie. Theon and the houseguard were there as well. Marielle, Theon’s wife, comforted sobbing Darci, for her husband, Captain Anton, was leaving. So, too, were others weeping, wives and lovers and loyal staff.
Altogether some two candlemarks passed before all was ready-horses and men and supplies and gear-
and Celeste gave the signal to mount. Now the weeping intensified, and Henriette swooned, caught by Roche, who happened to be at her side.
And even as Celeste raised a hand to start the trek,
“My lady,” cried Leroux, the hawk master, “a falcon comes winging.” Celeste commanded the warband to stand by, and Leroux ran for the mews.
Down spiraled the falcon, descending toward the cote, finally to land on the platform and stalk inside. Moments later, Leroux came running, the falcon now hooded.
“ ’Tis a bird from the Autumnwood,” he said, and he handed the small message canister up to his mistress.
Celeste opened the tube and fetched out the tissue within. She unrolled it and read the words thereon. A smile broke across her face and she announced, “It is from Steward Zacharie of Autumnwood Manor. Sprites have come flying bearing the news that Princess Liaze and her betrothed, Luc, along with an armed escort, have entered the Autumnwood. She is safe and should be home in a threeday.”
A cheer rose up from the Springwood Manor staff.
Celeste read on, a frown on her features. Then she said, “Zacharie also reports that the witch Iniqui has been slain by Liaze, and warns us to be wary, for two of Orbane’s unholy acolytes yet remain-Hradian and Nefasi.”
A hushed murmur rippled through the gathering, but Celeste smiled and said, “Iniqui has joined her sister Rhensibe in death, and Liaze and Luc are safe; I think that calls fo
r a celebration. Vidal, hold a feast this eve, for though we will be gone, this news deserves a fete.”
“As you wish, my lady,” said the steward.
Another cheer rose up from the staff.
Celeste called Theon to her, and leaned down and said in a low voice, “Keep the houseguard alert, Captain, for the remaining two witches, living foe that they are, might choose to attack Springwood Manor.”
“Fear not, my lady, for we will keep the mansion secure.”
Celeste motioned Vidal to her and said, “Four days from now, when Liaze is safely home, send falcons to my siblings and my parents with word as to what has happened here and the quest we now follow. Tell them of my betrothal, and say that when this quest is done, we will notify a king-my sire-and post the banns and plan the wedding. Give each of them my love as well.”
“As you will, my lady,” said the steward.
Theon and Vidal stepped back, and Celeste straightened in the saddle and gave the order to ride. New sobs erupted as forward the cavalcade moved; once again Henriette swooned, once again caught by Roche. Theon and the houseguard managed a respectable, thrice-shouted Hip-hip-hooray!
And with Celeste and Roel in the lead, warband and packhorses trailing, across the lawn they fared and into the forest beyond.
8
Riddles and Redes
They passed into the woodland through a grove of flowering dogwoods at the edge of the lawn, did Celeste and Roel and the warband. Scattered cheers from some members of the staff followed them within, but soon faded to silence in the quietness of the ever-awakening trees. And the only sounds were those of shod hooves on soft soil and the creak of leather and the quiet conversation among the riders.
But then Anton called, “Verill, ride point. Garron, Deverel, one to each flank. Merlion, assume rear.” As those riders swung away from the cavalcade to take up their assigned positions, Celeste said, “Are you expecting more brigands, Anton?”
“My lady, with the news of another of the witches being slain, this one by your sister, we need ward against revenge. Hradian or Nefasi most likely were responsible for those brigands who attacked you, and who knows what they might do next?”
Roel nodded. “My love, Anton is most likely correct, for did you not say the leader spoke of his mistress wanting to see you dead or alive? And did not the crow itself cry out for revenge? And if not these witches, who else comes to mind as someone who might wish you ill?”
Celeste shrugged. “No one else I know of.”
“How powerful are these witches?”
Again Celeste shrugged. “That I cannot say, though if indeed the crow was bewitched or- Oh, my, I wonder if the crow was actually one of the remaining sisters.”
“Changed her shape? Transformed herself into a bird?” asked Roel.
“Oui.”
“Is that even possible?”
“We are in Faery, my love,” said Celeste, as if that explained all.
Roel’s hand went to the hilt of his sword and he said,
“Strange are the ways herein, and I can only hope Coeur d’Acier will ward us against any ills that might beset us.” Anton shook his head and said, “I’m afraid, Sieur Roel, sharp edges are no guarantee against sorcery.”
“Anton is correct,” said Celeste. “Many are the tales of witches and mages and sorcerers and the like overwhelming knights and warriors and paladins and others who solely rely upon weaponry.”
“Oui,” said Anton, “but there are just as many tales of warriors and their weapons overcoming such foe.” Celeste laughed and said, “My sire, King Valeray, says no matter the foe, stealth and guile are better weapons than force of arms. Of course, he started out in life as a thief.”
Roel’s eyes flew wide in astonishment. “Your father was a thief and is now a king?”
Celeste smiled and nodded.
“There is a tale here for the telling,” said Roel, “and I would hear it one day.”
“I will tell it one day,” said Celeste.
Roel grinned. “From thief to king is quite a leap, my love. -Regardless, as to stealth and guile, my father says the same thing. Yet he also cautions there are instances when there is no time to bring them into play, and one must fall back on force of arms. . either that or a rapid retreat.”
“You mean run away?” asked Anton, cocking an eyebrow.
“Perhaps,” said Roel. “It all depends on the situation.
Let me give you an example. . ”
They continued to ride throughout the morning, Roel and Anton and Celeste discussing strategy and tactics and the choices one might make, given the foe, his numbers, the terrain, and the numbers of allies one might have at hand to go up against the enemy. They discussed when it might be better to fall back to a new position, when it is better to create diversions, flanking attacks, ambushes, and when it is better to charge head-on, and other such choices of combat.
During these discussions it became clear to both Celeste and Anton that Roel was a master of strategy and tactics as well as being a knight of surpassing skills. They marveled at his grasp of battle, whether it involved armies or a handful of warriors or single combat, though he seemed unaware of the admiration in their eyes, so focused was he on the exchange of ideas, though in truth he did most of the talking.
When they stopped to feed and water the horses and to take a meal of their own, Celeste said, “Roel, I have often heard my sire and brothers speak of war and combat, but never so clearly have I understood all that is entailed.”
“Oh, my lady, we have not covered even a small fraction of everything involved,” said Roel. For a moment he paused, his gaze unfocused, as if he was lost in memory. But then he took a deep breath and said, “A grim business is war and combat and not to be undertaken lightly, but when it is unavoidable, one should fight to win, and that means turning every weakness of the foe into an advantage, while preventing him from doing the same.”
They sat in silence for a while, eating bread and cheese and drinking hot tea that one of the warband had brewed. Finally Roel said, “Your brothers: are they knights as well as being princes?”
“Non,” replied Celeste. “Although there are many knights in Faery, seldom do we fight great wars. I think the Keltoi never told long sagas of such.” Roel frowned. “The Keltoi?”
“Legendary bards,” said Celeste.
“What would their stories have to do with, there not being wars in Faery?”
“Ah. Well, this is the way of it, or so Camille thinks-
and I happen to agree. You see, it is said that before there ever was a Faery, the Keltoi told such marvelous tales that they entranced the gods themselves. And the gods in turn made Faery manifest and populated it with all the many kinds of folk the Keltoi told of, be they human or Elves, Dwarves or Fairies, Trolls or Goblins, Sprites or Pixies, or whatever other kind you wish to name. And now we ourselves must be entertaining the gods, for the Keltoi seem to have gone to a green island somewhere beyond the rim of the world.” Roel frowned and said, “And these Keltoi never spoke of war?”
“For the most part, only in passing, my love. They told tales of knights going off to war, or returning from war, or of the folk left behind, but seldom of the war itself.
Instead they spoke of the heroism of those who were on their way home from war, or of the hardships of those left at home, or of the terrible deeds done in the absence of the warriors.
“Oh, not to say that the Keltoi never told of battle, for some of their tales did speak of the great deeds done by heroes in combat or by heroic armies. Usually though, most of their tales of war spoke of a king and his army riding off to meet the army of a neighboring kingdom, or of war occurring in a realm far away. Where this so-called ‘neighboring kingdom’ might exist, I haven’t any idea, nor do I know where the faraway realm lies.
“But for the most part these gifted bards told of heroic deeds done in pursuit of villains, or in the rescuing of maidens, or the doing in of Dragons, or of the slayin
g of Giants, and such: great deeds all, but by single men or single women, or by a mere handful of doughty people, and not by vast armies clashing.
“And so, you see, if it is true that the Keltoi did cause the gods to make Faery manifest, that’s why war is seldom fought in Faery, or if it is, then it happens someplace away.” Celeste fell silent and took another sip of tea.
“Hmm. .,” mused Roel, “would that were true in the mortal world as well.”
Again a quietness descended between them, but Celeste finally said, “It occurs to me that you and I and the warband are caught up in a heroic tale much like those told by the Keltoi, for you seek your sister to rescue her from the Lord of the Changelings, and we ride at your side to deal with whatever the Fates decree. If that doesn’t become a saga to be told, well. .” Roel sighed and said, “It is not a tale much to my liking, though within it I have found my truelove, and that I would not trade for ought.”
Celeste smiled, her eyes bright, and she squeezed Roel’s hand, and in that moment Anton came to the two and said, “My lady, the horses are full watered and fed, the men as well.”
“Then let us be on our way,” said Celeste.
Roel leapt to his feet and handed her up, and in a trice all mounted and fared onward.
And as they rode they passed through a forest ever caught in the moment of spring, and in places snow yet lay on the ground and the air was chill and trees were barely abud, while elsewhere warm breezes wafted and forest and flowers and grass were full leafed and full bloomed and full green. Throughout the entire swing of the season did they ride, coming upon early here and late there and intermediate elsewhere. And limb runners chattered and scolded; birds sang melodies with words unknown; deer bounded away with tails like flags held high in warning; a black bear waddled downslope toward a raging creek to move out of the line of the ride; and just within the edge of a briar thicket, a heavy boar bristled and snorted and turned and lumbered deeper in among the thorns. Partridges burst away in a thunder of flight, and hummingbirds darted among the flowers, though Roel now and again thought he espied among them tiny beings with iridescent wings flitting thither and yon. And he was certain that he had seen a wee man sitting in the knothole of a tree and smoking a pipe and watching the cavalcade ride past, even as small brown things-were they people, too? — ducked away on two legs.
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