again to no avail.
With tears of frustration blurring her vision, she walked back into the cavern, and wiping her eyes, she examined the walls for a crevice or rift that would lead to freedom, but she found nought.
Taking a burning brand from the fire, she peered into the well. . and water glimmered some forty or fifty feet below. Yet it stood still. It does not flow; hence perhaps is not a stream leading out from this prison.
Up at the smoke hole above she looked, and then examined the walls and the ceiling leading that way, but she saw no cracks or protrusions by which she could reach that cleft without climbing aids.
All I have is ten feet of rope- No, wait, there is also the rope on the well bucket. Even so, I have no pitons or jams, hence no way up unless I can improvise.
Celeste moved to the trunk at the foot of the Ogre’s cot. She studied it a moment, and then stepped back to her improvised stair and climbed up. Holding her breath, for here the stench was strongest, she climbed up and onto the bed and strode past the corpse and to the chest.
Using her length of rope tied to the hasp, after a struggle she managed to haul the lid back, where she tied it to the foot of the bed, and scrambled down into the trunk.
Inside she found clothing of a size for ordinary people, along with goods suitable for travel-rucksacks, flint and steel, tinderboxes, knives, a bow, arrows, some feminine supplies, a cutthroat razor, a jar of salve of some sort, and other such paraphernalia.
Oh, my, these are the possessions of Lokar’s victims.
A glint caught her eye, and she took up an argent heart-shaped locket on a broken silver chain. She opened the leaves and inside and facing one another were small painted portraits in profile of a handsome, dark-haired man and a beautiful, redheaded woman.
She snapped the locket shut and started to lay it aside, but on impulse she slipped it into her pocket.
She continued to search through the goods, finding combs and mirrors and various herbs and simples and boots and undergarments and scarves and other such fare, but she found no climbing gear.
Clambering out of the chest and crossing the chamber, Celeste scaled up to the top of the sideboard and examined the utensils there-huge spoons, knives, cleavers-none of which offered a way to reach the smoke hole high above the open-pit fire.
Weary with defeat and needing sleep, Celeste sighed and sat down.
Oh, Roel, my Roel, where are you?
By lamplight and firelight, she surveyed the cavern for something she might have overlooked. Beyond the fire, beyond the well, a massive corpse lay on a bed.
And then she knew what she would do, and she lay down to sleep.
Roel was up before dawn, and he fed the horses and watered them and then took a meal of his own as he watched the sky slowly gain light.
Celeste, my love, are you even yet ali- Roel, stop that! She has to be alive. Oh, Mithras, please, Mithras, let it be so.
He saddled the steeds and laded the packhorses even as the sun broached the horizon, and he examined the stony floor where yester he had lost the track.
Nothing!
Sighing, he climbed the ridge on the left and down into the slot below. Once more he swept back and forth, seeking spoor-an overturned rock, an imprint of some sort, anything that would show him the way. Along the floor he went, sunwise and then starwise, but nought did he find.
Back up the ridge he clambered, and at the top he slowly turned about.
Celeste, oh, Celeste, where are-? Wait! What’s that?
Oh, Mithras, it must be her!
Quickly Roel scrambled down from the ridge and ran to the horses, and he leapt astride his mount and spurred away, the other animals in tow.
Hacking, coughing in spite of the wet cloth covering her mouth and nose, Celeste poured water upon the great armload of straw she had ripped from the mattress. She then cast it onto the fire where other wetted straw now burned, releasing dark smoke up toward the hole above, though it also filled the cavern.
At least it somewhat covers the reek of the dead Ogre.
Back to the straw-filled mattress she trod, where she tore out more of the bedding, and she carried it to the well.
Once again she tossed Lokar’s rope-tied goblet into the shaft, for the drinking vessel served as her pail, the Ogre’s wooden bucket too massive for her to use. She drew up the goblet and dipped her improvised mask into the water and then retied it around her nose and mouth. Then she wetted the straw.
She took it to the fire and set it aside.
Wood. I need more wood. Can’t let the straw smother the burn.
To the woodpile she went, and took up an armful and headed back to the fire pit.
Even as she knelt to jam branches into the coals, a rope came snaking down from above.
Celeste leapt to her feet. Oh, Mithras, please let it be.
She grabbed the end of the line to keep it out of the fire.
She pulled away her wetted mask and cried, “Roel!
Roel!”
There was no answer.
She stood, her heart in her throat, and moments later a figure came sliding down through the dark smoke.
It was Roel.
Even as his feet touched the floor, he reached for Coeur d’Acier, but he could not draw it, so fierce was Celeste’s embrace.
And she wept, as did he.
“I thought I had lost you,” whispered Roel.
And she hugged him all the harder.
And he kissed her and kissed her again-her eyes, her cheeks, her throat, her lips-and she mastered her sobbing long enough to take his face in her hands and fervently kiss him on the mouth, and then she laid her head against his chest and quietly wept again.
And Roel looked through the smoke and ’round the chamber.
“The Ogre, by the smell of it, is he-?”
“Dead,” said Celeste, her voice small. “I slew him.”
“You slew him?” Roel’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“Oui.” She looked up at him. “Oh, Roel, let us flee, for I do not wish to spend another moment in this dreadful place.”
“Oui, cherie,” said Roel. “Indeed, let us leave.” He looked about.
“We need to climb,” said Celeste, disengaging, “for a great boulder blocks the way.”
“Up through the smoke, then,” said Roel, grinning, and he pulled the wet, smoldering straw from the fire to diminish the column somewhat, and then he gestured for her to begin.
Celeste grabbed the rope, and even as she looked above, “Wait,” she said, and she turned and ran back to the bed. Up she clambered and onto the cot, and strode to the cheek of the Ogre. And there she grasped the hilt of her long-knife and pulled it free. “This will teach you, Lokar, to leave princesses be.”
She wiped the blade clean against his beard and sheathed and secured the weapon. Down from the bed she scrambled and back to Roel, and, together, Celeste first, Roel coming after, up the rope they went.
24
Warband
Back in the drawing room, Borel passed the letter ’round, and all read Celeste’s words:
My dears:
I hope this finds all in good health and spirits, and I pray to Mithras that Anton and the warband came through the battle unscathed, though I fear some took wounds. If so, please keep them safe, and give them the best of care.
As for Roel and me, when we fled from the attack of the Redcaps and Bogles and Trolls, we escaped through the twilight border on the sunwise bound of my demesne. As you know, that bound is perilous, and perhaps we gave you a scare. You might have thought we drowned, since there is nought but ocean where we crossed. Yet when Roel and I eluded pursuit through that dusky marge, we fell (no doubt thanks to the Fates) upon a passing ship, the Sea Eagle, captained by Vicomte Chevell, a former colleague of Papa’s (as the Fates would have it).
Strangely enough, he happened to be after the very same chart Roel and I and Anton and the warband had gone to see (here again, I deem the Fates were in
volved). The map had been stolen by rovers who raided Port Mizon (as it turned out, it was the Changeling Lord himself who had arranged for the pirates to steal the chart).
To shorten this letter let me merely say we managed to recover the map, and I made a copy of a key part of it, the section that shows the way to the Changeling realm (and I deem this is why the Changeling Lord wanted the chart taken, for he would prevent those whose loved ones had been stolen from finding their way unto him).
Regardless, by the time you read this, know that Roel and I will be well on our way to rescue his sister, Avelaine, and his brothers, Laurent and Blaise. Pray to Mithras that we get there before mid of night on the night of the dark of the moon, else Avelaine is doomed.
Do not fret, for know we are hale and in good spirits, and we deem the Fates are with us. Know as well that you are in our thoughts.
With love, I remain,
Celeste
Princesse de la Foret de Printemps
“By Mithras, we must do something,” declared Valeray. “We cannot just idly sit by and let them face the bloody Changeling Lord by themselves.”
“I agree,” said Borel.
“We have elements of our warbands with us,” said Alain, “as well as the full Springwood warband at our behest. That makes a formidable force.”
“Oui,” said Luc, “yet the dark of the moon is but a fortnight hence, which gives us little time. I say we gather remounts for all and ride to Port Mizon.”
“Mizon?” asked Saissa. “Why th-? Oh, I see: Mizon is where lies the map, and you will need a copy to find your own way.”
“Seek Chevell,” said Valeray, “for he knows where Celeste and Roel debarked. He is a good man and will aid.” Valeray glanced from Luc to Alain to Borel and said, “Let us fetch the warband leaders. There is much planning to be done ere we can be ready to leave.”
“Sire, you are not going,” said Borel.
“What?”
“I am sorry, Papa, but with your broken foot, you will only be a burden, and as Luc has pointed out, time is short, and we must hie.”
“But, but-”
“He is right, love,” said Saissa, stepping to a nearby bellpull, “and you know it.”
Borel turned to Liaze and Michelle and Camille.
“You will not go either. Camille, if you are indeed with child, we cannot risk it. But even if not, to you and Michelle and Liaze I say, we will be freer and faster if we do not have to worry about you, especially in the midst of battle.”
Even as the three began to protest, Valeray growled,
“Borel is right: we must stay.” In that moment a servant knocked on the door in answer to the bellpull, and shortly thereafter Armsmasters Anton of the Springwood, Remy of the Autumnwood, Jules of the Winterwood, and Bertran of the Summerwood entered the room.
The very next day, out rode the combined warband, Borel and his Wolves at the fore, Alain at Borel’s side, Comte Luc just behind, along with Anton and Remy and Jules and Bertran. Remounts trailed after, just one apiece, yet they hoped to get more in Port Mizon.
A horn sounded, and away they galloped, Quint on point and running sunwise.
With tears in their eyes, Liaze and Camille and Michelle watched them go, as did members of the various staffs of the four Forests of the Seasons.
And when the last man disappeared into the woodland, Michelle sighed and said, “May Mithras protect them all.”
“Oui,” said Liaze.
Camille turned to the two and said, “Let us find Hierophant Georges and see what he knows of familiars.”
“Familiars?” asked Michelle.
“Oui, for I suspect the crow Anton spoke of is a familiar of some witch.”
“One of the acolytes?” asked Liaze.
“Mayhap,” replied Camille, “for with Rhensibe and Iniqui dead there are two acolytes left, and who better to want revenge upon the house of Valeray?”
“Hradian and Nefasi both,” said Liaze.
“Oui,” said Michelle. She looked up at the balcony where Valeray and Saissa stood to watch the warband go. “ ’Twas Valeray who fooled Nefasi into revealing where she kept the Seals of Orbane. Let us see what he knows of familiars, too.”
And into the manor they strode.
The warband reached Port Mizon in the noontide on the fourth day after setting out. There they exchanged all horses for fresh ones, most coming from King Avelar’s stables. Avelar called Vicomte Chevell unto him and arranged for the Sea Eagle to transport the warband and their animals to Port Cient, for that’s where Celeste and Roel had debarked to ride to the Changeling realm.
Borel and Lieutenant Florien were given access to the treasured map, and they copied down all that Celeste had drawn, for Florien had aided her in that task, just as he now aided her brother.
Some two days after and in the wee hours, they laded the Eagle. And when they were done, the holds and even the decks were jammed with men and horses, and, of course, Borel’s Wolves.
At dawn they weighed anchor, and halyards were haled, and the sails bellied full, and the ship got under way.
25
Memories
Hacking and wheezing, they came out through a smoke-filled cleft nigh the crest of a rocky tor, and Celeste filled her lungs with sweet, fresh air, and she wept to see open skies. Roel embraced her from behind, and Celeste clasped her hands to his and said, “I thought I might be trapped forever.” Roel kissed her on the nape of the neck. “And I thought I might never find you.”
“But you did, and I wasn’t,” said Celeste, and she turned in his arms and kissed him deeply; then she looked into his eyes.
Roel smiled down at her. “Burning wet straw was quite clever, cherie; else it would have taken me longer to fetch you. -But tell me, how did you manage to slay the giant Ogre?”
Celeste leaned her head against his chest and murmured, “I remembered an old tale of men being trapped by a giant being, and they got him drunk and blinded him. Me, I did not want him blind, but dead instead.” She raised her face. “Where are the horses? I’ll tell you the full of it as we ride.”
“Yon,” said Roel, pointing to one of the twisting canyons below.
“Then come,” said Celeste, kissing him once more and then freeing herself from his embrace, “let us away from this Ogre hole.”
Roel nodded, and from its anchorage, he untied the rope they had climbed to get free and coiled it. Then he took her by the hand and down the slope they went.
“. . and so you see, I slew him, though in hindsight mayhap ’twould have been better had I blinded him and tricked him into rolling the boulder aside, as did the men in the tale, though I only thought of that later.”
“Non, cherie, what you did was right; else he might not have been fooled and would have slain you instead.” Celeste shrugged. “Mayhap so, but I wouldn’t have risked starving to death, for alone I could not move the rock.”
Roel laughed. “You could have eaten the Ogre. He would have lasted for many, many days.” Celeste shuddered. “Don’t even think that, Roel.” They rode without speaking for a while, and then Celeste said, “He was a man-eater, and many a victim had he consumed. His stew was of people he had captured and thrown into his pot. Oh, Roel, though I did not take pleasure in slaying Lokar, Faery is a better place without him.”
“Oui, my love.” Roel reached across the space between them and touched her arm.
In that moment Celeste gasped and cried in dismay.
Roel jerked his hand back and clutched the hilt of his sword, and he stood in his stirrups and scanned about, yet he saw nought but the rolling hills they had come into. “What is it, Celeste?”
“I deliberately let Lokar win at pips,” said Celeste, despair in her tone.
“Oui, and. .?”
“Don’t you see, Roel, Lady Lot told us there would be many challenges along the way and we must win them all. But I let Lokar triumph at pips.” Roel frowned in thought and then intoned:
“Difficult tests
will challenge you At places along the way;
You and your love must win them all, Else you will not save the day.” He looked at Celeste and shook his head. “I think the test was not in playing pips, but rather in defeating an Ogre. That, and finding a way to get free. And in both of those, you managed skillfully.”
Celeste sighed. “Well, I did slay Lokar, and together you and I got me free. Oh, my love, I do hope you are right.”
In midafternoon, the wind strengthened and clouds scudded across the sky above, presaging an oncoming storm, for on the far horizon, a dark heave of clouds roiled toward them. Left and right and ahead they looked, but nought of shelter did they see. They paused long enough to fetch their oiled, leather cloaks from their bedrolls, and to make certain the gear on the packhorses was well covered. On they rode-a candlemark and then two-and even as in the distance ahead they caught sight of a broad forest, spatters of rain forerunning the storm came flying on the wind.
“We can make shelter in its eaves,” said Roel, spurring his mount to a trot, Celeste doing likewise. But a deluge came pouring down ere they reached the woodland, yet at last, and with the horses thoroughly drenched and chilled, they rode in among the trees.
“I deem we can-”
“Roel, wait. I think I see a dwelling, or rather the wall of one.”
On they rode, deeper into the forest, where they found a high stone wall running to left and right, and along this barrier they turned rightward.
And the rain thundered down.
They came to a gate ripped from its hinges and lying across the way, beyond which lay a courtyard covered with litter and leaves, and beyond that sat what was once a stately manor, for it had the look of long abandonment: vines grew wildly, and shutters hung awry; windows were broken, and the front door stood ajar.
“Hello!” cried Roel above the hammer of rain.
There was no answer.
“Hello!” he cried again, louder.
Still there was no answer.
He turned to Celeste. “I deem this place be a derelict.
’Round side or back should be a stable; let us get the horses into shelter.”
Once upon a Spring morn ou-2 Page 18
