Now the mayor looked at Celeste and then back to Roel. “And you say you slew Lokar?”
“Not I,” said Roel, “but Celeste instead. Mayor Breton, what we tell you is true. As I said to your gate wards, I swear it on my honor as a chevalier.” With wonder in his gaze Breton turned to Celeste.
“Princess, you must forgive me, but I found it altogether preposterous to believe that a mere slip of a fille had succeeded in slaying Lokar. Such is quite improbable.”
“I thought so, too,” said Celeste. “Nonetheless, I did so.” Tears suddenly welled in Breton’s eyes. “With Lokar dead, I can lead my people back to our lands.”
“Back to your lands? Is not this ville your home?”
“Non. We fled from Lokar. Starwise is where we belong. On the other side of the forest.”
“Did you have a manor there?”
“Oui. But Lokar came on a night of celebration, and only a few of us escaped his dreadful grasp. Some days after, I alerted the countryside. We fled through the forest and settled here. But seasons later Lokar found us, and he raided our farms and slew many, and took the corpses back with him. To prevent such a calamity in the future, we built this fortress and called it Le Bastion.”
“That must have been some years ago,” said Roel.
“Seasons upon seasons past,” said Breton. Then he looked at the chevalier. “You are from the mortal lands?”
“Oui,” replied Roel. “But how did you know?”
“Your use of the term ‘years.’ ”
“Ah, I see.”
“Mayor,” said Celeste, “your manor remembers that night still.”
Again tears welled in Breton’s eyes, and he said, “As do I, for my own daughter was slain by that monster. It was her betrothal we were celebrating.” Of a sudden Celeste gasped, and said, “Did she have hair the color of yours?”
Breton touched his fringe of red. “Oui.” Celeste reached into her pocket and withdrew the silver locket she had all but forgotten, and handed it across the desk to the mayor, saying, “Perhaps this is rightfully yours.”
Breton’s eyes widened in recognition, and he took it up and opened the leaves and burst into tears. After long moments he said, “My Melisande and her Chanler.” He clasped the locket to his breast. “Princess, where did you find this?”
“In Lokar’s cavern. He had it in a chest along with other possessions of those he had slain.” Breton looked again at the portraits. “I gave this to her on the eve of her betrothal. Oh, Melisande, Melisande.” Once more he clutched the keepsake to his breast.
Again long moments passed, as tears slid down Breton’s face. Finally, he closed the leaves and placed the pendant on the desk and said, “Merci, Princess. Merci.” Celeste canted her head in silent acceptance.
Breton then pulled a kerchief from his sleeve and blew his nose. Then he called out, “Sauville!” and when the door opened and a small man appeared, Breton said, “Tell the town criers that Lokar is dead, slain by Princess Celeste de la Foret de Printemps.”
“M’sieur?” His eyes flew wide and he looked at Celeste.
“Oui, she is the one,” snapped Breton, and he snatched up the locket by its broken chain and held it up and said, “I have here the proof. Now go, Sauville, go!” The small man rushed from the office, and for moments quietness reigned, though shouts from the street began breaking the silence. Finally, after one more look at the portraits, the mayor slipped the keepsake into his pocket. “Princess, my captain said you wish to see our armorer. Was your long-knife damaged when you slew Lokar? If so, we will gladly replace it.”
“Non. My long-knife is quite satisfactory. Instead, I would have Monsieur Galdon blunt half my arrows.” Breton glanced at Roel and then back to Celeste.
“Blunt half your arrows? Whatever for?” Celeste shrugged. “Whatever for? That, Monsieur Breton, I do not know.”
The news of Lokar’s death hurtled throughout Le Bastion. Impromptu celebrations erupted. An innkeeper offered Roel and Celeste his very best rooms, but the mayor would have none of that, and instead put them up in his own modest residence. Armorer Galdon was fetched, and shaking his head, he took away half of Celeste’s arrows to refit them with blunt ends.
Celeste retrieved the silver needle and golden tweezers, and then she and Roel gave over their leathers and undergarments to the mayor’s staff to be cleaned. And the princess and her knight luxuriated in hot baths, and drank fine wine, and stuffed themselves with hot beef and steaming goose and savory gravy and onions and bread and artichokes and mushrooms and other such delicacies.
That evening, crowds gathered before the mayor’s residence, and they called for Celeste and Roel to make speeches, and to repeat the story of the slaying of Lokar.
Long into the night did the revels last. As for the two heroes, they climbed into a soft bed, and the moment their heads touched the pillows, they fell into deep sleep, though the next morn they made sweet love in the onset of dawn.
It was not until the noontide that Monsieur Galdon returned with the twenty blunt, bronze-tipped arrows. “I made a special mold,” he said of the teardropped points, their rounded ends forward. “I do not know what good these will serve, but here they are. ’Tis the best I can do given your strange request.”
Celeste thanked him, and within a candlemark, she and Roel rode out through the gate to the cheers of the citizenry.
A league or so later, Celeste snapped her fingers and said, “Ah, me, but we should have gotten a dog.”
“I asked, cherie,” said Roel, “but none would part with any, for all said it is certain death to go into the realm of the Changelings, and the townsfolk do not want a vile shapeshifter to come back disguised as one of their dogs.”
Celeste sighed and shook her head, and down the road they fared, and there were but ten days and a nighttide left ere the fall of the dark of the moon.
27
Span
Celeste unfolded the map and, after some study, said,
“It seems as soon as we cross the next twilight bound, we need bear due sunwise.” She passed the vellum to Roel.
After he looked at it for a moment, he pointed to a symbol. “What think you this marking means?” Celeste swallowed the bite of bread and leaned over to look. “Hmm. . WdBr. I have no idea, my love.”
“Think you it represents another one of the tests of which Lady Lot spoke?”
“Perhaps,” said Celeste, “for the first test-defeating Lokar-came right after we met her, and that was at the twilight bound.”
Roel frowned. “I think that was not the first test. For when I met you, it was brigands we fought. Then there was the poison of the blade. Then the attack by the Goblins, Bogles, and Trolls fell next. After that there were the corsairs. -Oh, and the Sirenes. Then came the giant Ogre. So, mayhap he was-what? — the sixth test?” Celeste nodded and took a bite of well-cooked beef; it and the bread and other foodstuffs as well as grain for the steeds had been provided by the grateful citizenry of Le Bastion.
Roel sipped a bit of red wine. “Tell me, cherie, are the Fates the ones causing these tests?” Celeste shook her head and swallowed. “Non, Roel.
The Fates merely see what lies before us. It is rare that they actually interfere with the course of men or with that of any given individual. -Oh, when someone breaks a solemn oath or even a serious wager, well, then, I hear that one or the other of the Sisters steps in to take a hand. -Pity the one who has transgressed, for soon or late, he will pay, and dearly.”
“If their interference is so rare, then why do they seem to plague you and your kith?”
Celeste shook her head in rue and peered into her own cup of wine. “My love, I do not know. Camille, Alain’s wife, thinks it has something to do with Wizard Orbane, though she knows not what that might be, for, in addition to the Fates, it seems we are also plagued by Orbane’s acolytes: Hradian, Rhensibe, Iniqui, and Nefasi.”
“Did you not say the witch Rhensibe is dead? Slain by Borel?”
Celeste nodded. “Not directly, but by his Wolves instead. . and Iniqui was slain by Liaze.”
“And this Orbane. .?”
“Ah, him. One or the other of the Fates-perhaps all three-told Camille that he would pollute the River of Time itself, if he ever got free.”
“And this pollution would. .?”
“I know not the effect, yet if the Fates think it dreadful, then I cannot but believe it would be terrible indeed.” Roel frowned. “Why do not the acolytes simply set him free? I mean, you have told me he is imprisoned in a castle beyond the Wall of the World. Why not simply storm the gates and free the wizard? During the war, my comrades and I assailed many a fortress-castles, palaces, bastions-and with our siege engines we were quite successful. So, why not simply attack with the proper forces and equipment and set Orbane loose from his shackles?”
Celeste shrugged. “I think the Castle of Shadows isn’t like an ordinary palace or fortress. And as to the Wall of the World itself, perhaps it cannot be breached. Besides, what the castle actually is, I do not know. Mayhap it is simply lost beyond the Black Wall of the World, and not easily found. Perhaps it is a moving castle, and when approached it simply vanishes. . goes elsewhere. When we have freed your sister and found your brothers, we will ask my sire these questions. Perhaps he has some answers.”
Roel smiled. “Moving castle, eh? That would make it difficult.”
Celeste laughed. “ ’Tis Faery, love.” On they rode, and the way became hilly, then rocky, and in the distance ahead they could see the twilight boundary rearing up into the sky. They came into a land of cliffs and massifs and deep gorges. And that eve they spent on the left bank of a swift-running deep river, with high stone walls rearing up o’erhead.
Swirling mist cloaked the next dawn as Celeste and Roel got under way. And still the passage was rugged.
The gorge they followed was narrow, and became even more strait. And the river roared, the sound trapped as it was between opposing sheer stone walls. And the horses became somewhat skittish, especially the mares, and only by patting the animals on the necks and speaking to them soothingly did Celeste and Roel move forward. Finally, just ahead the river filled the entire width, and on the left wall and barely seen through the hanging vapor a wide ledge rose up out from the water, and at its far end a narrow path led up and along the face of the stone bluff.
“ ’Tis good we are on this side of the flow,” said Celeste, “for I think we must follow that upward way.
Even so, we need turn or cross over somewhere; else we will stray too far from our course.”
“If we are to climb that path, we must reach it first, and here the river is narrow, the water likely deep,” said Roel. “Yet given the curve of the gorge, mayhap along the left wall it will be shallow enough to reach the trail upward. Let me go first.”
Roel tried to urge his mount forward, but the mare snorted and balked and laid back her ears and refused to enter the water, refused to go any farther into the roaring gap.
Roel ground his teeth and said, “Ah, me, would that I had my stallion. A splendid horse, he would brave anything.” Roel dismounted and tried to lead the mare into the flow, but with white, rolling eyes, the horse jerked back.
Now Celeste rode forward, her mare likewise balking at the thundering run, though it seemed a bit less skittish than Roel’s horse.
But Celeste leaned forward and laid a soothing hand alongside the neck of her mount and called out calming words. And hesitantly, and with the whites of her eyes showing, and snorting in dread, still the mare entered the rush, and Celeste’s placid gelding packhorse, though nervous, followed.
Roel’s mare stomped and whinnied and belled, calling out to the other mare, as if to tell her to come to her senses and return to the safety of this side. But Celeste urged her horse forward, and clinging to the wall, ahead they went, and the water roared and clutched at the animals’ legs, rising over hoof and fetlock, pastern and hock, and unto their very bellies.
And still Roel’s mare cried out, and Roel, knowing that the herd instinct was strong, mounted the horse and heeled her. And now the animal, though her sides heaved with fright and her eyes rolled white and she snorted in terror, entered the roaring water as well.
Ahead, Celeste finally reached the ledge, and up onto the broad shelf she rode, up into the mist, and Roel’s mare with his gelding in tow soon followed.
Roel’s mare calmed when she came up out of the water and onto the flat, for once again the herd was whole.
Roel dismounted and looked straight up the sheer stone wall. How high it went-a hundred feet or a thousand or more-he could not tell, for the fog shrouded all. He turned to Celeste and said, “The path looks steep, the way narrow. Best we lead the horses.” She nodded.
Roel took the reins of his mare in hand and said,
“Ready?”
“Ready,” replied Celeste.
And with Roel in the fore, afoot they began leading the horses higher into the swirling mist.
Whiter it got and thicker, and the roar of the river diminished, for sounds seemed muffled in the vapor’s grasp. Wetness clung to everything: animal, man, gear, path, and sheer-rising stone. The way narrowed, and in places Celeste feared for all of their safety, and she wondered how she and Roel would cope had they to unlade the packhorses, for there was not space to do such.
Up they went and up, along the slender and twisting path, and the higher they got, the more nervous became the horses, even the geldings.
“Roel, is your mare reluctant?”
“Oui, but I know not why. Surely they do not fear heights.”
“Ever since we entered this gorge, the horses have been edgy,” called Celeste. “I thought it the water and the noise, yet now I am not certain, for that is far below, and should by now be forgotten.”
“Mayhap ’tis the narrowness,” said Roel.
“Perhaps, though I doubt it.”
In spite of her reservations, it seemed to be true, for the animals continued to grow more uneasy along the constricted path. But then the way widened, yet even so, still the horses snorted and huffed, as if sensing an un shy;seen danger, and both Roel and Celeste had to murmur soothing words to somewhat calm the steeds. Finally they came to a broad flat, though the walls of the bluff yet rose on high.
“A bridge,” called Roel, still in the lead, but stopping.
“I can make out a bridge straddling the gorge.” And still the mist swirled, obscuring here, revealing there, and then shifting anew.
The flat was wide enough for Celeste to pull her unwilling mount forward until she stood next to Roel.
And through the swirling mist she could see glimpses of a lengthy stone span reaching from one side of the gorge to the other. “Ah, perhaps that’s what the Br in WdBr means: bridge.”
“Mayhap,” said Roel. “But what does the Wd mean?
Surely it can’t be ‘wide,’ meaning ‘wide bridge.’ ’Tis a bit too strait for that.”
“It matters not, love,” said Celeste, “for, in spite of this fog, somewhere just ahead must lie the twilight bound.”
“Well, then,” said Roel, and he started forward, Celeste following.
And as they moved toward the near end of the span, Roel could see along the length of the bridge short poles jutting up from the stone railings to either side, round objects affixed thereon.
Within ten strides he reached the stone structure, and there his mare flattened her ears and refused to take another step and pulled back on the reins. The gelding as well drew hindward, and together they hauled Roel back to where Celeste and the other animals stood.
“They sense something, love,” said Celeste.
“Let me go forward and see what I can find,” said Roel, and he handed the reins to Celeste, and then took his crossbow from its saddle scabbard and cocked and loaded it.
“Take care,” said Celeste, as he moved toward the bridge.
No sooner had Roel set foot on the pave than at the other end
a giant of an armored knight-a great two-handed sword in his grip-stepped onto the far end of the span.
A crimson surcoat he wore, and the mist swirled, shrouding him and revealing him only to veil him again.
“Friend, we would pass,” called Roel.
He received no answer from the fog.
“Then we will hold and you may pass,” Roel cried.
Yet the armed and armored man, now vaguely discernible, did not respond but stood waiting.
Roel sighed and turned to Celeste. “WdBr means
‘warded bridge.’ ”
“Why would someone stand athwart this span?” asked Celeste.
Roel shrugged. “For toll? Perhaps that’s it.” Then he called out, “What be the toll?”
The giant of a man, some nine feet tall, made no response.
“Perhaps the Changeling Lord set him here to keep interlopers from his lands,” said Celeste.
Roel walked back to his horse, and unladed and un-cocked his crossbow and slid it into its saddle scabbard and the quarrel to the quiver. Then he slipped his helm on his head and took down his shield and drew Coeur d’Acier from its sheath.
“Cheri?” said Celeste.
“I must accept his challenge,” said Roel.
“I’ll simply feather him,” said Celeste, reaching for her bow.
“Were the air currents still and could you see him clear enough, perhaps,” said Roel. “But, non, my love,
’tis something I must do, for a gauntlet has been flung.” Celeste shook her head. “Men.”
“Nay, love. Knights.”
He tenderly kissed her and stepped onto the span and strode into the churning vapor. The moment he moved forward, so, too, did the massive warrior.
Her heart hammering with fear for Roel, Celeste strung her bow and nocked an arrow, not one of the blunts but a keen point instead.
Roel then passed a pike jutting up from the wall of the bridge, and now he could see the round object affixed thereon: ’twas the spitted head of a knight, helmet in place, rotted flesh dangling from bone. To left and right Roel looked as he trod onward. More pikes came into view; more knights’ helmeted skulls gaped at the passing warrior.
Once upon a Spring morn ou-2 Page 20
