Once upon a dreadful time ou-4

by Dennis L McKiernan

  “And what you and your sisters have seen is dreadful?” asked Roel.

  “Indeed.”

  “Then, my Lady Who Fixes the Past, tell me what I must do.”

  “Heh. You know the rules, Roel. First you must answer a riddle, and then I will give you advice.” Roel sighed and said, “Say on, Lady Doom, say on.” Urd took a deep breath, and the clack and thud of shuttles and battens swelled:

  “They stood there as if long dead,

  Their children buried alive,

  And someone well might wonder:

  Did any of them survive?

  Parents awoke at my passing;

  New vigor seemed to flow;

  Some children then did rise up,

  Most all with a healthy glow.

  Now my riddle is done;

  I’ve given you sufficient hint.

  Tell me, Roel, who am I,

  And what is this grand event.”

  The sound of looms abated, and Roel’s heart fell. Devereau started to speak, yet with a gesture Urd silenced him and said,

  “This is for Roel alone to answer here in the Springwood.” Here in the Springwood? Is that another hint? Roel frowned in deep thought. What is it vis-a-vis this demesne that might give a clue to the answer? He looked about in the twilight to see burgeoning trees and flowers and new leaves, and sprouts pressing upward. It was a woodland of eternal-

  “Spring, my lady Doom, bringing with it resurrection and life anew. The ones standing as if long dead are the trees and shrubs and grasses and other such in their winter sleep. And the buried children are seeds in the ground. And when spring comes they quit their slumber, vigor flows, and seeds sprout. And so, my lady Urd, I say the answer to your riddle is the coming of spring and the awakening of life.”

  Fretting, he looked up at her, and Urd said, “Exactly so, Roel.

  It is spring and rebirth, indeed.”

  Devereau shook his head. “And here I thought it had to do with parents grieving over children trapped in a collapsed mine or cave and the ones who came to dig them out.”

  “Heh!” crowed Urd. “Fooled you, eh?”

  “Oui, Lady Doom.”

  “That’ll teach you to stop and think ere speaking, laddie.”

  “Lady Urd,” said Roel, “have you a rede now to give us?”

  “Impatient, are we?”

  “Somewhat, my lady Doom, yet I am at your behest.” Urd nodded and cackled, her toothless smile wide, and once again the clack of shuttles and thud of battens intensified.

  “ ’Pon the precipice will ye be held, As surely as can be,

  Yet can ye but touch the deadly arcane, The least shall set ye free.”

  And as the sound of weaving fell, Roel frowned but remained silent, yet Devereau said, “But, Lady Doom, I, for one, do not understand. Will you not tell us more?”

  “Non, I will not,” replied the black-eyed crone. “But this I can tell you for nought: If you do not solve this rede, Roel, then all as we now know it to be will come to a horrible end.” And after laying that terrible responsibility upon Roel, again the clack and thud intensified, and then vanished as did Lady Urd.

  Manors

  Just after dusk, Laurent and Edouard spurred up a wide, snow-laden pathway along the face of a high bluff, and as they crested the rise, they came into the lights of a great mansion-Winterwood Manor-the walls of which were fashioned of massive dark timbers cut square, and its roof was steeply pitched. A full three storeys high, with many chimneys scattered along its considerable length, the manse spanned the entire width of the flat. All along its breadth the windows were protected with heavy-planked shutters, most of them closed as if for a blow. Even so, enough were open so that warm and yellow lanternlight shone out onto a stone courtyard cleared of snow. Atop the lofty river bluff it sat like a great aerie, not only for surveying the wide vale below but also the white world beyond.

  With remounts trailing behind, the knight and his guide crossed the flat and came unto the courtyard and clattered upon the stone of the broad forecourt, where lit lanterns illuminated their way, and warmly dressed men were on hand to greet them.

  Reining to a halt, from his sweat-lathered horse Laurent somewhat stiffly dismounted, and to the men who took the steeds in hand he said, “Rub them down well, and feed them extra rations, for they did run most gallantly.”

  “Oui, Sieur,” said one of the men, while another asked, “Is it true the word Ice Sprites brought? Does the witch Hradian really have the means to set Orbane free?”

  “Sadly, so,” said Laurent.

  “Enough,” commanded one of the men, tall and spare and somber. “We must let Sieur Laurent and Edouard warm themselves and have a meal. There will be plenty of time to learn exactly what is afoot.”

  The men touched their caps in obeisance and led the horses away, as Arnot, the steward of Winterwood, escorted Laurent and Edouard ’neath a sheltering portico to the great double doors, and they passed along a short corridor to come to a broad welcoming hall. And there assembled were a somber gathering of members of the mansion household-maids, servants, footmen, seamstresses, bakers, kitchen- and waitstaff, laundresses, gamekeepers, and others-men and women deeply concerned, though they managed smiles in welcome and bowed or curtseyed accordingly.

  Ere Arnot could shoo them away, Laurent stepped across the heavy-planked floor to a wide marble circle inset in the wood, within which was a great hexagonal silver inlay depicting a delicate snowflake. Laurent looked at the anxious faces and said,

  “The message the Sprites have brought is true: the witch Hradian does indeed have a key to the Castle of Shadows. We do not know if she has the means or the knowledge to use it, but if she does, then without doubt she will set Orbane free.” Some in the hall gasped, while others’ faces grew grim. A few shed tears.

  Laurent went on: “Regardless, we must needs prepare for such an eventuality, hence able-bodied men throughout the Forests of the Seasons must stand ready, for surely Orbane will raise his own forces to become master of the whole of Faery.

  “All is not bleak, for even now the word is spreading across the realms, and others will answer the call. We will have al1 lies, and powerful ones at that, one of whom is your very own prince who will be here in but a few days.

  “So, let me ask that you go about your business in the knowledge that we will meet the challenge. Dark times might be coming, but brighter times lie beyond.” Then Laurent smiled and said, “Now, I wonder, could Edouard and I have a warm meal, with a soothing hot bath afterward?”

  For a moment none said ought, but then a redheaded woman snapped, “Well, you heard Sieur Laurent. To my kitchen, tout de suite!”

  As the staff bustled away, Laurent turned to Arnot and said,

  “Steward, I would have you join Edouard and me, for I bear messages from Prince Borel, and I would have you know all that has come to pass. Much will be afoot in the coming days, and we must make ready.”

  Outside a soft snow began to fall, as if the Winterwood paid no heed to these matters of men.

  . .

  In the dining chamber of Autumnwood Manor, Luc set down his glass of wine and turned to Zacharie, steward of the realm.

  “The princess will be here within a few days. She and the warband will start their journey as soon as the ceremonies are concluded at the faire. In the meanwhile, we need send falcons to the other manors and King Valeray’s castle as well, reporting our safe arrival.” Luc frowned and added, “And I would also tell them of Moissonneur’s strange reply.”

  “Strange reply? The Reaper?” asked Zacharie, a tall, gaunt man with dark hair and pale blue eyes.

  “Oui,” said Luc. “When I told him we would need all the aid we could summon, he said, ‘My lord, I will come when the time is right.’ It was as if he would be waiting for some unknown event ere joining us. Do you know what it might be?”

  “Non,” replied Zacharie, “but Princess Liaze might.”

  “Or even King Valeray,” said Mauri
ce, ’round a mouthful of roast duck.

  “What know you of him?” asked Luc.

  “The Reaper, you mean?” said Zacharie, and at Luc’s nod, the steward went on: “Very little, I’m afraid. It seems he has always been under that oak, waiting for someone to need grain from the field below. It is only then he leaves the tree and takes that great scythe of his and with a few strokes- swish, swash-

  the yield is ready to be sheaved.”

  “And otherwise he never goes away from the oak?”

  “Non, my lord, at least not to my knowledge.”

  “Then what does he eat and drink, and how does he obtain it?”

  Zacharie turned up his hands. “I know not, my lord.”

  “Did he participate in the last war against Orbane?”

  “I think not, my lord,” said Zacharie. “Some say there is an old Keltoi legend that the Reaper waits for some event, just as you have surmised.”

  “Hmm. .” mused Luc. Then he took a deep breath and dug into the green beans.

  . .

  In the bathing house of Summerwood Manor, with their bellies full, Blaise and Jerome and Regar luxuriated in hot water, soaking the soreness of the long, swift ride from their bones.

  On the tub’s edge sat tiny Flic, with Buzzer adoze on a soft towel nearby. At hand stood grey-haired Lanval, steward of this demesne. Also close by sat a young man at a small table, with quill and inkpot and parchment ready. “And what would you have in this message, Sieur Blaise?” asked Lanval.

  “Ah,” replied the knight. “We need to tell all the others just what it is that Lady Verdandi said, for perhaps they can unravel the riddle. Now let me see, how does it go? Ah, oui:

  . .

  “ ‘Grim are the dark days looming ahead Now that the die is cast.

  Fight for the living, weep for the dead; Those who are first must come last.

  Summon them not ere the final day

  For his limit to be found.

  Great is his power all order to slay, Yet even his might has a bound.’ ”

  The steward nodded at the young man, and the youth began scribbling, pausing now and again for clarification from Blaise.

  Flic frowned and asked, “I say, will all of that writing fit on a falcon-borne message, or will the bird have to walk all the way under the load?”

  The men laughed, and Lanval said, “Fear not for the falcon, Sieur Flic, for the message will be transcribed in diminutive script on the thin strip of tissue the birds customarily bear in their message capsules.”

  “Are all four missives to be the same?” asked the youth.

  “Oui, Randin,” said Blaise. “-Oh, and add that we arrived safely.”

  “Won’t they deduce that from the mere fact that you dispatched a message?” asked Flic.

  “Oh, right,” said Blaise. “Scratch that, Randin.”

  “You might add,” said Regar, “that Flic, Fleurette, Buzzer, and I are pushing on for the halls of the Fairy King.”

  “When?” asked the youth.

  “On the morrow,” said Regar. Then he looked at Flic.

  “Right?”

  “Oui,” replied the Sprite. “We cannot delay in something such as this. I’ll get Buzzer to dance out a course for us.” Regar frowned. “Dance out a course?”

  “Oui,” said Flic. “You see, Buzzer can fly the most direct line to anywhere she has been. All we need to do is describe the type of flowers there, and some of the terrain. And she will do a honeybee dance to tell me the direction we must go. It will surely be shorter than the one Borel, Buzzer, and I followed when we were on the quest to rescue Lady Michelle.” Blaise glanced at Buzzer and said, “Honeybee dance? But she is not a honeybee.”

  “Non, she is not,” said Flic, “but I taught her the dance and she adopted it immediately.”

  “There is a story here for the telling,” said Regar. “But I must say that I don’t know any of the kinds of flowers that grow in my father’s domain.”

  Flic grinned. “You forget, my prince, that both Buzzer and I have been there ere now.”

  . .

  In the Springwood, as Roel dried off, he said, “I wonder if any of the others ran afoul of the Three Sisters?” Vidal frowned and said, “Sieur Roel, I would not characterize coming across any of the Fates as ‘running afoul’ of them.” Roel smiled at the dignified, silver-haired steward. “Think you they might take offense?”

  “Who knows?” asked Vidal, casting his eyes skyward.

  Roel laughed, then sobered. “Still, I wonder.”

  “If others did indeed receive redes from the Ladies Wyrd and Lot and Doom, then surely things are dire,” said Vidal.

  Roel frowned. “Hmm. . Isn’t it true that they only appear when one or more of Valeray’s get are present? If so, then why did Lady Doom appear to Devereau and me?” Vidal shook his head. “Non, Valeray’s get are not necessary for the Fates to show themselves, for they aided Lady Camille, and she was alone.”

  “Oui, I had forgotten about Camille, but every other time-

  Look, they did appear before Celeste and me on our quest to rescue Avelaine, and they did manifest in front of Camille and Alain and the staff of Summerwood Manor along with the Dwarves of the Nordavind on what was then Troll Isle, as well as at several other gatherings where many were present. And so, setting aside the early part of Camille’s quest, in all of those cases, the get of Valeray were on hand.” Roel paused, his gaze lost in thought. Finally he said, “I wonder why this might be different?”

  Vidal shrugged. “None knows the ways of the Fates, Sieur Roel. Certainly not I.”

  Roel sighed and laid the towel aside and slipped into a silken robe. “Regardless, if the others think to send messages, we will soon know whether or not any other Sister appeared.” Vidal nodded. “Come the dawn, falcons will fly, and then we shall see.”

  Roel yawned and stepped through the doorway and toward the bed. “Even if none else received a cryptic message, at least the Sprite-borne warnings are spreading and the muster has begun.”

  Vidal nodded and stepped to the chamber door, where he took up a glass-chimneyed candle to see his way to his own rooms. “Let us pray to Mithras that one of them has found Raseri and Rondalo, and that they have intercepted the witch so that it won’t come to another war with Orbane.”

  “Indeed,” said Roel, yawning again as he crawled into the canopied bed.

  As the knight pulled the covers about himself, Vidal said,

  “Bonne nuit, Sieur, et bon repos, for tomorrow promises to be demanding.”

  Roel did not reply, for he was quite sound asleep.

  Vidal withdrew and softly closed the door and went into the darkness beyond.

  A Murder of Crows

  The sun had long set, followed by the moon, and in the darkness of the Springwood and the Summerwood, as well as the Autumnwood and the Winterwood, from within the embraces of the roots of the trees along a key portion of the starwise bounds of each forest, small beings emerged in the night and stealthily climbed upward. And they had with them razor-sharp shards of flint and obsidian, and slender barbs and nooses and other such weaponry, all of a size for the Root Dwellers, and all silent when compared to brute-force smashing weapons, such as hammers and mauls. Out along the limbs the tiny people crept, searching, seeking, hunting for crows, and death came mutely among the birds.

  And from deeper within the Springwood and Summerwood and Autumnwood, more Sprites came with long thorns in hand and silently glided toward the trees.

  And from Valeray’s demesne, Sprites drifted on wings through the twilight bound, needles and scarfpins and thorns in hand, to join in the murder of crows.

  And they settled to the roosts of given trees and at a specified signal, they stabbed through the eyes and into the brains of the ebon birds. Even though slain, the crows fell to the ground and flopped and fluttered for long moments, yet other dark birds asleep in adjacent trees did not note the passing of their

  more, the troops of tiny
warriors moved to the next set of full roosts.

  In the Winterwood it was Ice Sprites who popped from frozen pond to icicle to ice-laden limbs, seeking blackbirds who perched on ice, and there the winter Sprites reached forth with their tiny fingers to oh-so-lightly touch the birds at the places where they grasped the clad branch; and the Sprites froze them to death, while the Root Dwellers of that forest slew the ones who sat on ice-free roosts.

  When morning came in these four domains, the floor of each woodland along those portions of the starwise margins was littered with dead birds, like black leaves fallen to ground.

  Leave-taking

  At dawn the day after Luc, Roel, Laurent, and Blaise and their guides had ridden away, Michelle and the Winterwood retainers as well as Avelaine and half of the Springwood warband prepared to set out for their respective manors. At Sieur Emile’s manse, Avelaine would pick up a small escort of men and ride on to her home in Port Mizon, there where her husband Vicomte Chevell readied a battlefleet with the intent of once and for all clearing out the corsair stronghold on the island fortress of Brados. Just how a release of Orbane from the Castle of Shadows might affect this seafaring mission, none could say, for Orbane was not noted for conflicts upon the brine, but the warring of armies on land instead.

  Regardless, Michelle would be at Winterwood Manor by morrow eve to await the arrival of Borel, while Avelaine’s return to her port city would take a seven-day altogether.

  Borel embraced Michelle and said, “I’ll be on my way the very moment the closing ceremonies are done; the Wolves and I will press through the night, so look for me the morning following the eve we get quit of this faire.” Lady Simone kissed Avelaine and said, “Take care, my daughter, for there is more than just you to worry about. I would not have my future grandchild placed in jeopardy.” Sieur Emile gently embraced Avelaine. “Avi, heed your mother, for in war, who knows what might come. Thank Mithras you live by the sea and should be fairly safe, for the war will be fought aland. Even so, the battles might come close, so be ready to hie to a safer place.”