Once upon a dreadful time ou-4

by Dennis L McKiernan

  With servants and lackeys and, oh, yes, handsome young muscular men. And soft beds fit for a princess, fit for the princess we will be. No! Not princess, but queen! Or empress. Hmm. .

  What do they call a queen of all the world? Never mind, my love, we can call ourselves whatever it is we wish.” Even as she mused over what title she would bestow upon herself, a great croaking din arose in the swamp. “Ah, my Crapaud has sent forth the call. It is much easier than making a fetch of ourselves, isn’t it, my sweet?” Hradian felt her excitement rising, and, thinking of what was to come, she stepped to the cot and lay down and made herself ready.

  A splop sounded on the flet, and Hradian drew in her breath, but it was only Crapaud returning to his station.

  A time passed, and the racket without fell silent.

  “Oh, oh, love, he is almost here.”

  And with a heaving splash, by the firelight Hradian saw in the doorway a Bogle standing, swamp bottom dripping from his dark form, his male member tumescent in anticipation.

  . .

  It was as Hradian was riding on top, she could see in the Bogle’s eyes the peak coming, and it was at his climax that she ripped the keen knife through his stomach and up into his heart, and she shuddered and screamed in orgasmic pleasure in that same moment.

  Dark blood spurted over her chest to gush down her loins and spill onto the bed, where it streamed to the floor, pooling below.

  Reveling in the flood, Hradian waited until the surge ebbed to a trickle, then freed herself and stepped away and called,

  “Crapaud, Crapaud, I need you now.”

  The huge toad waddled in.

  “Taste the blood, Crapaud.”

  Crapaud’s long tongue lashed out and splatted into the puddle under the cot, then disappeared back into his mouth.

  Heaving and grunting, Hradian rolled the slain Bogle off onto the floor, and after a struggle she managed to get the corpse onto its back.

  Hradian reached out and touched the toad between the eyes.

  “Now, Crapaud, lend us your power.”

  The toad seemed to fall dormant, and, clutching the amulet in one hand, and pawing with the other, Hradian began sifting through the Bogle’s blood-warm entrails, seeking an omen, seeking a clue as to just how to use the talisman. After but a moment she said, “Huah, there is no mystery to the talisman at all. Had we known it was this easy, Love, we wouldn’t have had to kill the Bogle. Oh well, no loss that.” Once more she touched the toad. “Awaken, Crapaud, I am finished.”

  Crapaud opened his eyes, and emitted a croak.

  “Yes, yes, you can clean up the mess.”

  Another croak sounded.

  “Very well, that, too. After all, you will need sustenance while I am gone.”

  And Hradian took up an axe and, grunting with effort, she hacked the corpse to pieces for her familiar to consume in the days to come.

  Even as Crapaud’s long tongue flicked forth to snatch one end of the entrails, the viscera uncoiling as the toad gulped away, Hradian, now sweating and blood-smeared and spattered with grume and bits of dark flesh, stepped out to the flet, where, using a pail, she dipped up a bucketful of swamp water.

  She muttered a spell over the sludgy liquid and watched as it cleared, and then sluiced herself down.

  Several more times she dipped and sluiced, and finally clean of all sign of her gruesome handiwork she strode back into the hut and threw on her long black gown, the one with the danglers and streamers and lace.

  After she buttoned up her high-top shoes, she turned to Crapaud, the toad yet swallowing length after length of intestine, rather like trying to gulp down a very long rope all of one piece a foot at a time, the rope stretching from stomach through gullet and throat and out the mouth to the blood-drenched remains of the corpse. “Ward the cote, Crapaud. I go to fetch our master from the imprisonment foisted upon him by those who should grovel at his feet, or rather, by those who will grovel at our feet, and soon we’ll be living in a castle fitting to our station, a magnificent dwelling past all compare.” Crapaud tried to reply past the gore-slick viscera, some of it ingested, most of it yet to slither out from the lower half of the hacked-apart torso, yet all that he managed to utter was a choking belch.

  Hradian snatched up her besom and stepped to the flet and, with a high-pitched shriek of joy, she took to the air. And soon she was nought but a dark form streaming tendrils of shadow, a silhouette growing smaller and smaller to finally vanish against the stars.

  And in the cottage behind, Crapaud continued to swallow and swallow and swallow the seemingly endless gut.

  Tocsin

  Morning dawned at the Castle of the Seasons and, as the sun cleared the horizon, buglers stood on the battlements and sounded a special call. Faire-goers looked up to see what was afoot, but only a few of them knew that it was a signal requesting Sprites to attend King Valeray.

  Even as the clarions sounded, from dawnwise a Sprite and a bumblebee came winging. And waiting on the ramparts for them stood Flic, and he heaved a great sigh of relief as Fleurette and Buzzer sped toward the merlons.

  As they alighted, Flic embraced Fleurette, while Buzzer, somewhat agitated, hummed her wings and paced ’round the two. “She missed you,” said Fleurette, “as did I.”

  “What of the crows?” asked Flic.

  “They did not cross through the border.”

  “Ah,” said Flic, relieved.

  Fleurette glanced down into the courtyard, where nine men prepared for travel, with several others at hand. “What is going on, and does it have ought to do with what we saw?”

  “Indeed, and I’ll tell you along the way, for we are going to the Fairy King Under the Hill.”

  “Right now?”

  “Oui.”

  “But Buzzer needs nectar, and I could use a sip or two.”

  “Worry not, my love, for honey awaits.”

  Fleurette frowned. “The Fairy King? But did you not tell me he was capricious and might give us an onerous duty to perform?”

  “Oui. But dire events are afoot, and all must answer the call.

  — Now come, for Prince Regar and Sieur Blaise await.”

  “Blaise I know, but who is this Regar?”

  Flic leapt into the air. “I’ll introduce you.” He sped downward, Buzzer winging after, and, with a sigh, Fleurette followed.

  . .

  In the courtyard, four knights and a bastard prince, along with four guides-one from each of the Forests of the Seasons-all of them buckled in armor and strapped with weaponry, waited for attendants to bring horses and remounts from the stables.

  Standing at hand were King Valeray and Queen Saissa, Princesses Celeste and Liaze, Prince Borel and Michelle, Prince Alain and Camille, Sieur Emile and Lady Simone and Vicomtesse Avelaine. Nearby a pack of Wolves lolled upon the cool granite of the courtyard.

  “Ride with care,” said Valeray, “for we know not what traps Hradian might have set.”

  “Sire,” said Alain, “they go in haste.”

  “Oui,” said Valeray, “I know, I know: safety and haste oft are strangers to one another. Even so, even agallop, it pays to keep an eye toward what might be dangers ahead.”

  “Damn!” blurted Borel, “but I would go, too, were it not for these closing ceremonies four days hence.” Slate and the pack lifted their heads and looked expectantly at Borel, the Wolves eager to be away from this great stone den.

  “Ah, my brother,” said Alain, “what could you do in the Winterwood and I in the Summerwood that Sieurs Laurent and Blaise will not already have under way by the time we reach our respective manors?”

  Borel merely growled and turned up his hands in a sign of exasperation.

  “Right,” said Alain.

  Saissa said, “My son, e’en though the alert will be sounded in this realm on this day, still we must put on a show of normality here at the faire, for morale purposes if nought else.”

  “Oui,” growled Borel, “but do all of us have to be pr
esent for the closing?”

  “King, queen, princes, and princesses, and even prince Duran,” said Saissa, “as it has ever been.” Borel drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out, and Michelle took him by the hand and smoothed out his clenched fingers. Borel looked at her and fleetingly smiled, and with his other hand he made a signal to Slate. The big male Wolf dropped his head, the pack following suit.

  The attendants brought horses, remounts tethered behind, and at that same time Flic and Fleurette and Buzzer arrived and settled to the cantle of one of the saddles, and, after a welcoming of the tiny femme and the bee, Flic introduced Fleurette and Buzzer to Prince Regar.

  Regar slapped a tricorn upon his simple bronze helm and said, “Lord Borel and Lady Michelle assure me that when you are not flying this is your customary mode of transport.”

  “Indeed it is, my lord,” said Flic. “And now about some honey, Fleurette and Buzzer need to break their fast, and I could do with a nip myself.”

  Regar smiled and pointed up to his three-cornered hat and said, “Even now there is a dollop in place along the back brim of this cocked chapeau.”

  Flic laughed and sprang into the air, and he and Fleurette and Buzzer darted to the tricorn and the meal thereon.

  With tears in her eyes, Lady Simone stepped forward and embraced in turn her three sons, Avelaine following. And Celeste kissed Roel, even as Liaze kissed Luc.

  And then all the men mounted up and rode out over the bridge, and, with each following a guide, Laurent headed starwise and Roel dawnwise, while Blaise and Prince Regar-with his two sprites and a bee aboard-fared sunwise and Luc duskwise. They spurred the horses and away they galloped, warriors running in haste on their separate but allied missions.

  From a corner of the parapets above, where the ones left behind had rushed to, they watched until the riders finally vanished among the trees beyond.

  “May Mithras ward them all,” said Saissa, and the others nodded in mute agreement.

  Moments passed in silence, then Borel sighed and looked at Michelle. “Ah, well, tomorrow morn I will send you and my warband on to the Winterwood, and then follow after the faire is done.”

  Michelle nodded. “I understand.”

  “But I do not,” said Avelaine.

  Michelle smiled and said, “Lady Avelaine, were I to wait, I would merely slow the prince down on his journey home.” Avelaine looked at Borel, an unspoken question in her eyes, and he said, “With remounts for me, I can travel to Winterwood Manor in but a day.”

  “I see,” said Avelaine, but then she frowned and said, “Yet, my lord, you would go alone?”

  “I will not be alone, for my Wolves will be at my side.”

  “Can they keep up?”

  Borel barked a laugh. “Ah, Lady Avelaine, my Wolves, if let run free, could be there in even less time. Non, they will easily hold pace with the horses.”

  “Speaking of leaving,” said Celeste, “I think it would be wise, Lady Avelaine, were you and half of my warband to start out for Port Mizone on the morrow as well.” Avelaine frowned in puzzlement. “But why?” Celeste held up two fingers and said, “Two reasons.” She ticked down the first finger. “Your husband, Vicomte Chevell, readies a war fleet to go after the corsairs, and I would have you to your home ere he sets sail on that mission.”

  “And the second reason?”

  Celeste ticked down the remaining finger. “You are with child, and we know not when Hradian might strike, and so I would have you safely away, not only from here but also well beyond the Springwood, for we are her deadly enemies, and she would like nought more than to see us slain, and I would not have you and your unborn be caught in the storm to come.” In spite of Avelaine’s protests to the contrary, all agreed this was the wisest course. Avelaine continued to protest, but finally Valeray said, “Lady Avelaine, must I command it done?” Avelaine curtseyed and said, “No, my lord, I bow to your will.”

  And Sieur Emile stepped forward and embraced Avelaine and whispered, “My daughter, I am loath to see you go, yet it is best for you and Lord Chevell and the child now in your womb.” And Avelaine looked up at him, tears brimming in her eyes, and she whispered in return, “Oui, Papa, I know.” And even as it was decided, Sprites came winging toward the Castle of the Seasons in answer to the bugled call.

  . .

  “Crows, you say?”

  Valeray nodded at the tiny, black-haired femme. “Oui, Peti.”

  “And Flic and Fleurette saw this witch, this Hradian speaking to them?” Again Valeray nodded. “We reason she set them at the starwise bounds of the four Forests of the Seasons to ward against the alarm being spread from here by Sprites. Flic suggests that you fly at night when the crows are asleep.” Peti sighed and said, “Ah, oui, at night, when the silent owls are awake instead, and just as dangerous.”

  Beside her, a brown-haired male Sprite said, “I know this Flic. He bears a silver epee, less likely to snap in twain than thorns we at times use to defend ourselves.”

  “You use thorns?” asked Emile.

  “Oui. Though usually our quickness alone is enough to cope with crows and such, there are occasions when a long slender thorn is a better way to deal with a foe.” The Sprite turned to Valeray. “If you provide us with epees like Flic’s, we would appreciate having them. Regardless, thorns or silver, we can not only spread the alarm throughout Faery, we can deal with the crows as they sleep on their perches.”

  “Mais oui!” exclaimed Peti. “You have hit upon it, Trit. And we can enlist the aid of the Root Dwellers in dealing with the crows in the night.”

  “Root Dwellers?” asked Avelaine.

  “The wee folk we saw on our journey here,” said Celeste, holding one hand above the other to indicate a being some few inches to a foot tall. “They live among the roots of the trees.”

  “Ah, those,” said Avelaine. “I remember.” Valeray looked at Saissa, and she said, “We’ll round up all the pins and needles and such that we can find.”

  “But there will not be enough to supply all Sprites throughout all of Faery, much less of this realm,” said Celeste.

  “Indeed not,” said Trit, “yet I know where grow many of the right kind of thorns, and they will serve.”

  “The Ice Sprites of the Winterwood need no thorns,” said Borel, “for, living in ice as they do, they are well protected from crows.”

  “Speaking of the Winterwood, Lord Borel,” said Peti, gesturing at her naked form and that of Trit, “we cannot long bear the cold, dressed as we are, or, rather, undressed I mean.” Trit turned up a hand and said, “But we can stand it long enough to pop over and find one of our cold-weather kindred and pass on the message and then pop back.”

  “Fair enough,” said Borel. “And as for the other cold realms, the Ice Sprites will then travel through those frozen demesnes and pass on the alarm.”

  As Borel fell silent, Camille looked at Peti and added, “If perhaps Hradian enlisted crows only to ward the starwise bounds of the Forests of the Seasons, there to keep you and the other Sprites herein from spreading the word, then once you fly beyond, there will be none to stop you. Hence, mayhap you will only need weapons nigh those four borders.”

  “If that’s true,” said Valeray, “Hradian must have great confidence in those birds to stop the Sprites from sounding the alarm.”

  “Crows are quite dreadful,” said Trit, “and massing an army of them is perilous beyond compare.”

  “For us, that is,” said Peti.

  “But if you fly at night,” said Valeray, “perhaps you can avoid the worst.”

  “Mayhap,” said Peti. “Regardless, we will fly, enlisting more and more Sprites throughout Faery as we go, and the warning will spread and spread like wildfire. What message is it you would have us bear, my lord?”

  “That a means for freeing Orbane has come into the witch Hradian’s hand, and for the realms to prepare for his escape.

  Tell them as well that we will send word as to where to assemble shou
ld that event come about.”

  “And how will you know where that might be?” asked Trit.

  Valeray smiled and said, “With you and your kind to act as our scouts, how can we not know?”

  Trit smiled and bowed and said, “At your service, my lord.”

  Valeray looked ’round at the others. “Is there ought else we should add to the message?”

  “Oui, my lord,” said Camille, and she turned to Peti. “Tell all Sprites not only to cry the alarm, but to find Raseri and warn him as well, and ask him to fly to the Black Wall of the World and there to wait and intercept Hradian and slay her ere she can free her master.”

  “Raseri the Dragon?” asked Trit.

  “Oui, for he is quite deadly, and has the best chance of stopping the witch. Too, he might have with him Rondalo the Elf, and he wields bow and spear and sword. If Rondalo is not with Raseri, he might know where the Drake flies. There is this as well: Lady Chemine, Rondalo’s mere, perhaps also can speak of Raseri’s whereabouts. She lives on a tiny island near the city of Les Iles, at the confluence of four great rivers.” Peti nodded and said, “This then is our mission: to spread the alarm and seek the Dragon, and then to act as scouts.” She looked at Valeray, and he inclined his head in assent. “Very well, my king, as you have commanded, so shall it be done.” She then turned to Saissa. “Now, my queen, let us to the needles and pins, for there are crows to slay.”

  Messengers

  It was ere midmorn when Laurent and his guide, Edouard, galloped through Valeray’s starwise twilight border to emerge running sunwise in the Winterwood, snow flying from shod hooves and flinging out behind. From warmth to cold they passed in but strides, and even as they hammered among the barren trees, a great squawking murder of crows rose up into the chill air. Yet though the crows filled the surround with racket, they let the men pass unmolested. And as the riders and their remounts plunged on, the crows settled back to the stark branches, their black eyes awatch on the twilight border, as if waiting for other beings to come hurtling through.