Roel looked up. “Why would the Lord of the Changelings want this map?”
“Because, ever since King Avelar came into possession of it, we have had no maidens stolen from our domain, nor from any other part of Faery, as far as I know.
Avelar, you see, promised the Changeling Lord that should he ever take anyone, our armies of ruin would march into the Changeling realm and destroy all. In return for leaving our women be, Avelar promised him he would make no copies.”
“Ah,” said Celeste in revelation. “Then that is why this map is considered a treasure.”
“Oui,” replied Chevell. “And the map was kept in a magically warded vault to guard against the Changeling Lord and his magery. Yet that was no proof against pirates, for they entered the old-fashioned way: brute force. I imagine Caralos was well rewarded for doing so.”
“Then, the Changeling Lord was there to collect his prize,” said Roel. “ ’Tis good we came when we did; else we would not have the map to copy.”
“My lord,” said Florien, “does making a copy not go against the pledge of the king?”
Chevell held his hand out level and wobbled it as of a ship rolling starboard to larboard and back. “Methinks the Changeling Lord violated the king’s trust by trying to steal it; hence mayhap this be tit for tat.” Florien smiled and said, “Just so.”
“And speaking of rewards,” said Chevell, “Sieur Roel and the princess will need funds to continue their quest.”
“Oui,” said Roel, “yet we brought nothing with us but the clothes on our backs and a sword, shield, and a bow.”
“Pah! You brought your skill and knowledge, and aided in the return of the map. And it just so happens you helped us capture a corsair with treasure in its hold-now in ours-some of which is King Avelar’s, but much of which is not. As an officer of the realm, it is from that loot I will reward you. How much might you need?”
Roel glanced at Celeste, but she smiled without looking up and continued to draw.
Roel glanced at the map and said, “It seems a long journey, and we’ll need horses-two for riding and two packhorses-and tack, food, bedding, and other gear for living in the wild.” Roel frowned. “Hmm. . in a port city, it’s not likely they will have war-trained horses.” He paused in thought, but finally said, “I would think-”
“Florien,” said Chevell, “have we a hundred gold we can reward the chevalier and princess?” Roel’s mouth dropped open. “A hundred-?”
“Oui, my lord,” said Florien. “Easily.”
“But that is entirely too much, Captain,” said Roel. He glanced at Celeste, and again she smiled to herself but kept drawing.
“Non, my boy,” said Chevell. “One hundred is not nearly payment enough for the recovery of this map.
When you and the princess return from your quest, come to Port Mizon. I am certain King Avelar will want, not only to meet you two, but also to properly reward you as well.”
Roel took a deep breath and canted his head in acceptance. “As you will, My Lord Captain.” A silence fell among them, broken only by the creak of timber and rope from above and the shssh of the hull through water from below, and the scraping of Celeste’s pen on the vellum. But then Celeste frowned and asked,
“Hmm. . what do you think this might be?” Both Roel and Florien leaned closer in the lamplight to see. “EF, it looks like to me,” said Roel.
“I agree,” said Florien. “But what that might mean, I have no idea.”
“And here it is marked WdBr, ” said Celeste, “and over here Spx and El Fd, and Ct Dd.” Lieutenant Florien touched several more spots.
“There are similar markings all across the map.” Again, none had any explanation, and Chevell shrugged and said, “Mayhap it’s like Lieutenant Burcet’s notations on his medicks: initials to tell only him what a vial or a packet contains. In this case, though, it’s the mapmaker leaving arcane markings.” Burcet stepped to the map table and looked, but he was as puzzled as all the rest. “You’ll just have to find out as you go nigh,” he said at last.
“ ’Tis not only nigh we’ll be going,” said Celeste, “but we’ll be at these points exactly, for that’s where the crossings through the twilight bounds exist.”
“Then mark them well,” said Roel, “for I do not wish to fall into an ocean or a fiery pit or ought else.” He paused a moment and, grinning, added, “Well, mayhap on the stern of a ship would be acceptable.” Chevell roared in laughter.
They sailed all that day and the next, and at dusk of the following day, they hove into the harbor in Port Cient and moored in the sheltered bay.
But for a few key crewmen, the rest drew lots to see who would have first shore leave and who would have second and who third, for Chevell would not leave the map unwarded aboard the Eagle for three days.
As the first third of the crew prepared to go ashore, Celeste and Roel among them, “My lord,” said Burcet,
“are we not going to ask for volunteers from among the crew-ourselves included-to aid the princess and chevalier on their quest?”
Chevell shook his head. “Non, Burcet. I offered, but Roel says that two alone can go where a full warband cannot. Too, he reminded me that our duty lies in another direction: not in a venture into the Changeling realm to recover his sister and brothers, but instead to return the map to King Avelar. Besides, he reminded me of my very own words: that few if any ever return from the Lord of the Changelings’ demesne.”
“Ah, I see,” said Burcet.
Chevell patted his breast pocket. “The princess has given me a letter to be delivered to Springwood Manor, and I shall arrange to do so as soon as we arrive in Port Mizon. The staff and family will no doubt be pleased to know she and Sieur Roel are in good health, but I suspect they will not be pleased to read that they plan on going into the Changeling realm alone.” Burcet nodded and said, “I shall miss them.”
“I believe we’ll see them over the next three eves,” said Chevell, “for they have much to do ere setting forth.”
“When we do,” said Burcet, “I shall drink to their health.” He leaned over the rail and waved to Celeste and Roel in the dinghy now pulling away from the Sea Eagle.
In their rooms at the Tasse d’Or, Celeste, wrapped in a towel but still damp, and briskly toweling off her wet hair, padded into the bedchamber. “Ah, Mithras, how splendid it is to once again have a hot bath.”
“And in freshwater,” said Roel, “not salt.” Celeste paused. “Do I smell witch hazel?”
“Oui,” said Roel, leaning close. “A dash the barber patted on.”
Celeste grinned and ran a hand across his clean-shaven cheek. “Ah, then, you are trying to bewitch me?” Roel took the towel from her hands, as well as the one from ’round her slim form. “The question, my lady, is who is bewitching whom?”
He wrapped his arms about her and kissed her deeply, and when they broke at last, Celeste whispered,
“I ween ’tis you wielding magic, my love, for my breath is completely taken away.”
“Then let us see what we can do to restore it,” said Roel, and he scooped her up in his arms and stepped to the waiting bed.
Over the next three days, Roel and Celeste purchased rations and utensils and cooking gear for the trail, and Celeste visited a fletcher and ordered two sheaves of arrows fitted to her draw and quivers to bear them in, while Roel purchased a light crossbow and a sheaf of quarrels and a quiver. They spent much time at various stables talking to the hostlers and examining steeds. It was as Roel had said: there were no horses trained for war. Regardless, they finally selected two feisty mares for riding and two placid geldings for bearing their goods, saddles and harnesses included, as well as a kit for dealing with thrown horseshoes and another for repairing tack. Roel engaged a smith to have a spear-lance made, as well as sought out a leatherworker for a slinglike saddle scabbard to bear the spear. Celeste, too, had a saddle scabbard made for her bow and quivers, but she also asked the worker to make an over-the-shoulder sling for
the bow as well.
At a clothier’s, they purchased pants and shirts and undergarments to avoid having to constantly wear their leathers. And since they knew not what they might face in the realm of the Changeling Lord, at still other stores they purchased rope and grapnels and climbing gear. Rucksacks they bought, and lanterns and oil and candles, as well as flint and steel and tinderboxes and medicks and gut and needle and bandages, and other such paraphernalia as they might need.
Not all of their time was spent in acquiring goods for the journey, for in the evenings they sang and ate and drank and joshed with the crew of the Sea Eagle, and Celeste showed the sailors how to dance the reel, and they showed her how to clog. Sea chanteys the crew sang and Celeste sang ballades, and Roel added war songs to the mix, and with a shrug of an apology to the princess he also sang tales of willing women and randy men, and Celeste laughed right along with the crew and clapped her hands in appreciation.
And their nighttimes were spent speaking of many things as well as making sweet love.
Just after dawn on the fourth morning since dropping anchor, Captain Chevell bade, “Au revoir!” and the Sea Eagle sailed away on the ebb of the morning tide. Most of the crew stood adeck and shouted their farewells, not only to Celeste and Roel, but also to a goodly number of ladies of leisure who had come to the dock to bid their own adieu. And when the ship was gone from sight
’round the shoulder of the headland, Celeste and Roel returned to the Golden Cup to break their fast.
That eve the fletcher and smith and leather worker delivered the last of the ordered goods.
The very next dawn, Celeste and Roel saddled their horses and laded their pack animals with gear and, map in hand, rode out from the town of Port Cient and toward the Changeling realm.
There remained but eighteen days ere the dark of the moon would fall, just eighteen days until Roel’s sister would be bound forever to the Changeling Lord.
18
Missive
A cross the deeps sped the Sea Eagle, bearing a cargo of recovered wealth along with a treasured map, bearing as well a letter written by Princess Celeste to be dispatched to Springwood Manor telling everyone that she and Roel had survived and were even then on the way to the Changeling realm.
On the deck paced Vicomte Chevell, captain of this three-masted, full-rigged craft, and he eyed the sails and asked Destin if they were making the best of the wind.
“Oui,” replied the bosun. “We’re flying all canvas and the wind is on our beam, and nought better can she do.” And so the craft sliced through the waves with all due haste, the Eagle bound for Port Mizon.
On the third day after setting out from Port Cient,
“Land ho!” cried Thome, lookout on the foremast above.
“Mizon dead ahead.”
“Steady as she goes,” said Chevell.
“Aye, aye, My Lord Captain,” replied Gervaise, the helmsman.
A candlemark later, Chevell debarked from a swift gig and sprang into the saddle of a waiting horse. In haste he rode to the palace, but e’en ere seeing King Avelar, he stepped to the stable where the king’s messengers stood by. “Quint!” he called, and a lithe lad sprang down from the loft, his pants unbuttoned and his shirttail out, and there came a giggle from above.
“My lord?” he said, grinning, while stuffing in his shirt and buttoning his breeks and buckling his belt.
Chevell handed the lad a letter. “Quint, grab a remount and take your fleetest steed. Be as swift in delivering this as you are with the ladies.”
“Where be I going, my lord?”
“To Springwood Manor. Know you the way?”
“Oui, my lord. ’Tis where Giselle lives.”
“Ha! My boy, have you a doxy in every port?”
“Well, my lord, I would not call them doxies, but, oui, I know many a femme. ” Quint grinned. “Such is the life of a king’s messenger that he spends much time in households away.”
“Then be on your way, lad.” Chevell handed the youth a golden coin. “Take care, and see this gets into the hands of the steward himself, or if not him, then give it over to the armsmaster.”
“Someone in charge, my lord,” said Quint, leading a saddled and provisioned horse out from its stall, and then another to tether to that mount.
Moments later, away galloped the lad, Chevell watching him go.
Then the vicomte turned, and he made his way across the yard toward the palace, for there was much to tell the king.
19
Forest
Beyond Port Cient the land rose up from the sea to become rolling hills, with scatters of thickets and groves amid ground cleared and filled with vineyards and fields of grain and cultivated rows of vegetables, as well as orchards and nut groves. Farmhouses dotted the land, some attached to byres, others not, and an occasional manor graced a hillside. Pastures with herds of grazing cattle and flocks of sheep gathered ’round these dwellings, and gaggles of geese hissed at the pair of sunwise-faring riders, but only if they ventured too near.
The air smelled of turned earth and new-mown hay and the tang of fruit ripening, and of the dung of cow and sheep and horse, and of barnyard and henhouse and sty, and of sawed and chopped timber and woodsmoke from hearth fires. Traces and pathways and lanes and farm roads crisscrossed the region, and Celeste and Roel followed a well-travelled way as it wended among the hills and passed nigh many a dwelling. Field workers or drovers or farmwives and children would pause in their daily chores to watch these two strangers riding by.
“Where be ye bound?” some would call, and Roel would point ahead and answer, “Yon.”
“Well, don’t go too far-the forest be that way,” said a straw-hatted man ambling along the lane in the same direction Celeste and Roel fared, the man leading yoked oxen pulling a wain filled with large, pale yellow root vegetables-parsnips, most likely, their sweet fragrance redolent on the air.
“The forest?” asked Roel.
“Oui. It be a terrible place.”
“Terrible in what way?”
“Strange goings-on and mystifications, that’s what.”
“How far?” asked Celeste.
“Two days by horse, or mayhap three, all told,” he replied, raising his voice to be heard above the grind of bronze-rimmed wheels now running over a rough patch of road. “They say it lies beyond the pass through the mountains, and that’s just a day away.”
“They say?” asked Celeste.
“Oui, them what should know, for I wouldn’t be fool enough to go there myself.”
Celeste glanced at Roel, and as he began to grin, she gave a faint shake of her head, and so he put on a sober mien and said, “Merci, mon ami.”
“Eh,” said the man, with a gesture of dismissal, as he continued his unhurried walk and led his oxen onward, the wagon trundling in tow.
Celeste and Roel rode beyond, leaving the man in their wake.
By midday the pair had ridden well past the farming region, and the land had continued to rise.
When the noontide came, they stopped in a willow grove nigh a stream for a meal and to feed and water the horses. As soon as the animals had been taken care of, Celeste sat down among the tall, waving grass along the bank, the seed-bearing heads nodding in the faint breeze. Roel handed her a torn-off hunk of bread and a wedge of cheese and plopped down beside her. Celeste took a bite of each and peered at her map. “Hmm. .,” she said, chewing and then swallowing. “Roel, look at ONCE UPON A SPRING MORN / 159
this.” She tapped a spot on the chart. “This place might be two or three days hence.”
Roel leaned over and looked. “A twilight bound, eh?
Ah, I see, this is the one marked EF. ”
“Oui,” said Celeste. “And if what that crofter said is true, then EF might mean ‘enchanted forest.’ ”
“Are there such things?”
Celeste smiled. “This is Faery, my love.” She took another bite of cheese.
“Ah, yes,” replied Roel, the
n frowned. “But, say, aren’t all things in Faery enchanted, be it a forest or field or stream or whatever else might be?” Celeste nodded. “Oui, yet some things are more charmed than others. And when something is particularly Faery-struck, then it is said to be truly magical. Hence, the EF on this map might indicate just such a place.” Around a mouthful of bread Roel asked, “And what might be in an enchanted forest?”
Celeste shrugged. “Wonderful folk. Terrible beasts.
Magical pools. Dreadful pits. Who knows?” Roel swallowed his bread and said, “Who knows?” He took a sip of water and then added, “Well, I suppose we will, once we reach it. -And by the bye, using your definition, I would call the Springwood an enchanted forest. It has wondrous folk, and it is ever springtime therein. Besides, it has a beautiful princess who rules that demesne.”
Celeste laughed and leaned over and kissed Roel.
“Mmm. . cheese,” said Roel, licking his lips. “I love cheese.”
Celeste giggled and pushed a crust of bread toward his mouth. “Here. Make your meal complete.”
“I’d rather have another taste of cheese, if you don’t mind.” And he embraced her and they kissed again, and two hearts began to race.
“Love,” said Roel, his voice husky with desire, “this grass is as soft as a bed.”
“Yes, it is,” she replied, her own voice laden with want.
Unclothed, they made reckless love amid the tall blades and stems and heads, flattening all in a wide and nearly circular swath. Breathless at last, lay they on their backs side by side. A sheen of sweat drenched Roel, beads running down in streamlets. A glow of perspiration covered Celeste, runnels pooling between her breasts and within the hollow of her navel. For long moments the lovers looked up through the limbs of swaying willows at swatches of blue sky above, and listened to the shush of the soft breeze whispering among the leaves and the murmur of the stream as it wended its way toward a distant sea. Finally, Celeste sprang to her feet and pulled Roel to his, and laughing, she jumped into the clear-running flow, and waist-deep, she splashed water upon her knight. “Oho!” cried Roel, and he leapt in after the princess.
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