But then the Troll was upon him, and even as it reached for the knight, Roel swung Coeur d’Acier in a wide swath and opened up the thing’s gut.
The monster roared and entrails spilled forth as of a horrid flower coming abloom, and still the Troll reached out with its great hands and clutched at Roel and grasped an arm and lifted him on high.
Thakk! — an arrow pierced the thing’s eye, and howling, it dropped Roel and crashed down, even as more of the shapechangers rushed into the chamber, and they slipped and slid in the putrid pools of reeking slime and dark liquid.
Roel gained his feet and began laying about, hacking, slashing, taking off heads. Yet there were too many, and soon he was mobbed.
But in that moment two sword-swinging knights crashed through the Changelings at the archway and joined Roel in the melee.
“Laurent! Blaise!” Roel shouted, but they did not respond, so fierce was the battle.
In a back-to-back triangle they stood, and the good bronze of two of the swords and the sharp rune-bound steel of Coeur d’Acier and the arrows from a bow soon prevailed over tooth and claw and fang, and the Changelings fled, those who had managed to survive, though many were maimed.
Panting, the brothers looked upon one another, and Blaise clasped Roel and said, “Roel, whence came you?”
Laurent looked at Roel and said, “This is Rollie?”
“Oui, Laurent. I have grown some since last you saw me.”
But in that moment, Avelaine came running, and Laurent swung up his sword and shouted, “’Ware, Gorgon!” But Roel stepped in front of his brothers and said,
“Non! It is Avelaine. We rescued her.”
“We?” asked Blaise.
“Celeste and I,” said Roel, and even as he spoke, the princess came in among them, wiping dry the arrows she had used in the battle as well as the gray arrow she had retrieved from the corpse of Nefasi, though its shaft was now cracked and its soft plomb point now blunted.
As Laurent and Blaise embraced Avelaine and she them, Roel made quick introductions all ’round. Then he said, “We must leave, and swiftly, for the Lord of the Changelings has summoned his minions.”
“We’ll not go before we kill him,” gritted Laurent.
“Already done,” said Celeste, grinning and gesturing at the dark liquid in the pentagon within the circle.
“Roel took off his head.”
Laurent gazed at his little brother, now no longer a lad, and Blaise said, “There is a tale here for the telling, yet if the minions have been summoned, it can wait.” Out through the archway and down the hall they hurried, Roel and Laurent in the lead, then Avelaine and Celeste, and Blaise coming last.
As they made their way toward the stables, horns sounded from within the castle, as if in rallying cries.
Quickly they reached the horses, and as Laurent and Blaise saddled their mounts with their very own gear found nearby, Roel and Celeste tethered remounts after.
Out from the stables they rode, Avelaine upon a fresh horse, Roel and Celeste upon fresh animals as well, and all trailed strings of horses after. And in the passageway beyond the stables they had to fight their way through Changelings, these armed with weapons. Forward they charged, blades swinging, arrows flying, spears lancing, and out through the exit beyond.
Down the roadway they hammered, leaving much of the foot pursuit behind, though some winged creatures flew above, and four-footed beasts trailed after.
And still the storm thundered and raged, lightning limning the tower aft, a tower now lacking a lord.
One by one the Changelings killed the remounts, one by one by one. They would fly down to land in the darkness and shift shape and lie in wait. And when the humans rode past, the Changelings would loose arrows at the horses and kill at least one or two. Then they would shift shape and take to the air and fly ahead and land and wait in ambush and do it over again.
And those Changelings following afoot would pad through the darkness on the fringes and wait for an opportune moment, and then they would silently attack in a swift foray, and just as swiftly retreat.
Of Roel and Laurent and Blaise, all had been wounded, though lightly. And blood seeped as they rode on, for they could not afford to stop; else they would be o’erwhelmed.
Daylight came, and now they could see likely places where ambushers might lie in wait, and they veered this way and that to avoid such pitfalls. Even so, Changelings rose up from the grasses to loose arrows and take down more horses. And at last there were no remounts remaining.
Still the five rode on, fleeing on a different heading from the one taken inward by Roel and Celeste, for Laurent and Blaise both assured them that it was a shorter ride.
And loping Changelings sped onward, and others flew o’erhead, all of them outrunning the flagging steeds. And they bayed and skreighed loudly, summoning others to the hunt, or so Laurent surmised. And many of them ran on beyond without attacking, as if to cut off any escape.
As the five passed through a swale, Roel’s mount was shot out from under him, and he crashed hard to the ground, and his left shoulder was wrenched out of joint.
Up he sprang as beasts closed in, but Laurent and Blaise and Avelaine and Celeste circled back and drove them away. With his right hand Roel grasped his left elbow and pulled it across his body and popped his shoulder back into place. Even so, it was weak and would bear no strain. Avelaine leapt from her horse and gave it over to Roel and cried out, “Celeste and I will ride double.”
And as she sprang up behind the princess, Roel swallowed his protest and mounted the steed.
And with but four horses and the women riding two-up-for they were lighter than the men-across the plains they sped.
Of a sudden Laurent’s horse was felled, and he leapt free as it went down. But a bone snapped in one of his wrists, and an ankle twisted and popped in the tumbling fall.
They continued on three horses-Celeste and Avelaine riding double, as now were Roel and Laurent.
When there were but two horses remaining, Laurent had said, “Avelaine, Celeste, take them and run for the border. Blaise, Roel, and I will stay behind and delay the Changelings.”
Celeste had shaken her head and had spoken of the hostler’s warning. “If we are captured, the Changelings will do dreadful things to us. They will ride me until I am worn beyond living, and breed Avelaine time after time to strengthen their line. As for me, I would much rather die fighting at Roel’s side than to be taken captive and used as a plaything by these monstrosities.” Avelaine had nodded in agreement and had said,
“And I will not become a broodmare for them.” And so, Celeste and Avelaine had ridden at the men’s side until the horses were gone, and then had travelled afoot with them toward the border.
When they came within sight of the twilight bound, a flying reptile of a thing swooped down upon Blaise, and though Blaise dodged away from its claws, the creature gashed a deep cut in his side with one of its deadly wing talons. As it flew up and circled ’round for another attack, Celeste slew the creature with a well-placed bow shot.
On they ran, blood seeping from Blaise, Roel with his left arm dangling, Laurent nursing a broken wrist and limping on a sprained ankle. But Celeste and Avelaine were relatively unharmed, for the Changelings had other plans for them.
And now they came to a great pile of boulders, the marker for crossing out of the Changeling realm, the twilight bound no more than a furlong past. But a host of shapeshifters barred the way, and they swept forward in a wide arc, the ends to come together to entrap their victims. And about Celeste and the others the ring slowly closed.
Roel said, “Let us make our last stand atop these rocks; there lies some shelter against arrows, and it will be difficult for creatures to come at us except from above. Celeste, with your remaining shafts, you can guard that way. The rest of us will watch the ramps.
And now, my loved ones, let us give them a battle of which the bards would ever sing if they only knew.” All nodded in agree
ment with Roel’s words, and up onto the great pile they clambered, Roel helping Laurent to the crest, Celeste and Avelaine aiding Blaise.
Now they took shelter from the Changeling arrows behind boulders ajumble, and they waited.
Quickly Avelaine tore a strip from her dress and bandaged Blaise’s side, but the blood yet seeped through.
And cautiously the shapeshifters closed in.
Celeste looked at her arrows. Not counting the broken one of gray, she had but three remaining, and two of those were blunt tipped.
Horns sounded, signaling among the Changeling ranks, and some lines delayed while others moved forward, making ready for a final rush.
Roel gripped Coeur d’Acier and looked on. Laurent held his sword in his left hand, for his right wrist was the one broken. Blaise struggled to his feet and stood swaying but ready. Avelaine gripped Roel’s long-knife and remained at Blaise’s side.
At last the signal for the attack sounded.
And as they charged, Celeste raised her own horn to her lips and called out the war cry of Springwood Manor.
And-lo! — it was answered in kind. And she whirled to see Anton and the full warband of Springwood come charging on horses through the border, and elements of the warbands from Autumnwood and Winterwood and Summerwood manors along with Vicomte Chevell and crew members of the Sea Eagle. And horns blew and war cries sounded. Borel and his Wolves led the charge, Alain in the fore as well, and he leapt from his horse and a darkness came over him, and a huge grizzled Bear smashed into the Changeling ranks.
And Celeste fell to her knees and wept with joy as all around chaos reigned.
47
Return
Horses, men, Wolves, and a Bear: they crashed into and through and over the ranks of the Changelings.
Swords rived, spears impaled, arrows and bolts pierced, hooves trampled, fangs rent, and claws savaged. Shapechangers screamed and fell slain in pools of slime and slurry, and surviving Changelings broke and fled, only to be hauled down from behind, though a handful outran the pursuers. Some rose up to flap away, and several of these were brought to earth by bolt or arrow-including one brought down by the last pointed shaft from Celeste’s bow-and only a few escaped.
The warband formed a protective ring about the great jumble of boulders, and up clambered Borel and Alain, the latter no longer a Bear. And they embraced Celeste and held her close, and she wept in relief, as did they.
And Borel said, “Oh, Celeste, we thought we had lost you, that you had drowned, but then your letter came, and we set out straightaway, warbands and horses, to help you rescue Roel’s sister. But we were too late for that.”
“But you did rescue Avelaine, for this is she,” said Celeste, pointing to the maiden, “as well as rescue the rest of us.”
Then up came Vicomte Chevell, and he roared in laughter and said that he and his men would not have missed this for all the world, and he eyed in admiration the twice-rescued beautiful demoiselle Avelaine, and she blushed most modestly.
Clambering up came Anton of the Springwood, and Remy of the Autumnwood, and Jules of the Winterwood, and Bertran of the Summerwood: armsmasters all.
Accompanied by Gilles the Healer, a tall, slender, dark-haired man climbed up, one who had been exceptionally devastating in the fight; it was the chevalier Luc, betrothed of Princess Liaze of the Autumnwood, though Borel introduced him by his full title: Comte Luc du Chateau Bleu dans le Lac de la Rose et Gardien de la Cle.
There at the top of the mound, Gilles treated the wounds of Blaise, Laurent, and Roel, and the scrapes of Celeste and Avelaine, while down at the base of the boulders, Chirurgeon Burcet treated the ten or so warriors who had been injured in the battle with the Changelings.
Finally, aiding Blaise and Laurent, down they all clambered, and when they reached the ground Celeste said, “Come, let us leave this dreadful place and find an inn, for hot food and good wine I would have, and a bath and clean clothes, but mostly I would have sleep.” And so they set out and along the way, they stayed in inns and wayside manors and even in a bordello. And they ate hot meals and drank fine wines and took long baths and slept, and, of course, Celeste and Roel made sweet love.
When they came to the swamp, the men groaned, for they would have to pass through this distressing place again.
Late in the day they at last emerged from the mire and came to the Bridge of the Red Knight. Yet that fearsome warrior was not there, nor was his helm on a pike.
Why he was absent, they knew not, though Celeste proposed that he stood ward against only someone passing the opposite way.
After they had crossed over and had made their way down to the river below, as all men bathed in their turn to remove the muck of the mire, Luc said, “The toughest battle I ever fought was against the knight of the bridge.”
“He was indeed hard to kill,” replied Roel
“I agree,” said Laurent.
“Ah, oui,” added Blaise.
And these four chevaliers all eyed one another in speculation and broke out in laughter, and they all agreed that sooner or later, lances and chargers ready, they would take to the lists against one another, and then unto the fields.
The great warband was welcomed in Le Bastion, and they stayed there for a sevenday, and fetes were held every eve as they told and retold their many tales. It was during this time that Celeste learned that Luc’s steed Deadly Nightshade at the command of Liaze had been the one who actually killed Iniqui-“. . kicked the witch into the fire he did, well-trained knight’s warhorse that he is.” Too, Alain and Borel and all others had learned that Nefasi had been slain by the gray arrow loosed by Celeste.
“It means that there is but Hradian left of the four acolytes,” said Borel.
“But there is yet Orbane,” said Alain, “and even though he is entrapped in an inescapable prison, one day, I deem, he will have to be dealt with.” They paused at the ruins of the manor devastated by Lokar the Ogre, and Celeste laid a wreath of wildflowers at the door and prayed to Mithras to give the manor peace.
On they went, and finally, two full fortnights in all after the battle in the Changeling realm, they came to Port Cient.
Roel and Celeste stood on a candlelit veranda in the twilight and looked out over the harbor. There rode the Sea Eagle at anchor, her crew readying her for the voyage home. In the garden below the balcony, Vicomte Chevell and Avelaine sat in quiet conversation, and Chevell said,
“Lady Avelaine, might I come courting?”
“Oh, my lord, I am most sorry, but I am betrothed to another.”
“Betrothed?”
“Oui. He is someone I do not love, yet my parents arranged it so.”
“Non, Avelaine,” called down Roel.
When Avelaine turned and looked up at him, Roel said, “I did not mean to eavesdrop, Avi, but you are no longer betrothed. Maslin did not wait for you, but married another. You are free to choose for yourself.” Avelaine squealed in joy, and she blew a kiss to Roel.
Then she turned to Chevell and cast down her eyes most modestly and said, “Oui, my lord, you may indeed woo me, though you have my heart even now.” Across the brine sped the Sea Eagle, and the lookout above called out, “Land ho!” And within a candlemark the Eagle rode at anchor in the harbor at Port Mizon.
Vicomte Chevell escorted Celeste and Roel, Borel and Alain and Luc, and Avelaine and Laurent and Blaise to stand before King Avelar. When he had heard the full of their tale, Avelar praised them highly for what they had done, especially Celeste and Roel for ridding Faery of the Changeling Lord.
There was great joy in Port Mizon that eve, and the next four nights as well, but on the fifth day, during a noontide meal at the palace, even as Celeste spoke of their plans to set out for the Springwood on the morrow, a page came in and whispered to the king. Avelar nodded and the page sped away, and moments later a man in robes strode in, a roll of cloth under his arm.
“What is it, Sage Gabon?”
“My king, the map, it is- He
re. Let me show you.” He unrolled the cloth. It was blank on both sides.
Startled, Chevell said, “This is the treasured map?”
“Oui. . or perhaps I should say it was,” replied Gabon.
Celeste reached into the breast pocket of her leathers and pulled out the vellum chart she had borne so very many days. Spreading it out, she gasped, for it, too, was blank.
Now Borel did the same with his copy of the map, and it was blank as well.
Blaise and Laurent also drew forth their copies to find those vellums unmarked.
“What does this mean? I wonder,” asked Avelar.
“Hsst!” said Demoiselle Avelaine. “Listen. What is that?”
In the subsequent quietness, all heard a faint sound of looms weaving, which faded into silence.
“Huah!” exclaimed Roel and shook his head. “I ween we now know just who the cartographers were. Cryptic, a cipher in places, a chart that only they could see would be needed, first by you, my lord, then by my brothers, then by Celeste and me, and finally by the warbands who rescued us. And it is-or rather was-on woven cloth.”
Avelar looked at Roel in puzzlement, and Celeste said, “My lord, Roel deems, as do I, that the Ladies Wyrd, Lot, and Doom have reclaimed the patterns woven into that piece of fabric, as well as those we drew.”
“But why?”
“Mayhap, my lord, so that Faery itself-or, that is, a great portion of it-will now remain a mystery.” Avelar held up his hands in a modest gesture of surrender and said, “Who are we to question the Three Sisters?”
Chevell laughed and said, “ ’Tis better this way, forever would I rather sail off into the unknown than to follow the tried and true.”
Avelaine gazed at her vicomte, and there was nought but adoration in her eyes.
Just after dawn of the following day, siblings and siblings-to-be and the warbands and a pack of Wolves set out for the Springwood, Vicomte Chevell riding at Avelaine’s side, Celeste and Roel together, with Luc and Blaise and Laurent laughing at some bon mot as out through the gates they rode.
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