Nothing. No weapon in sight. But I think it matters not, for they’ll merely spend an arrow or two and do me in.
And so Chevell waited and watched as his doom drew nigh.
And the ship, she wore around the wind, as if coming to tie up to a buoy. Her lateen sails fell slack as she nosed into the trades, and her headway dropped off until she moved no more.
And then someone peered over the rail and a voice called out, “My lord, might I give you a lift?”
’Twas Armond, captain of the Hawk, that ship, too, now resting on the bottom.
Even as a line came snaking through the air to splash into the water at Chevell’s side, tears sprang into his eyes, and he managed to croak, “Indeed, Captain, though I find a swim now and again pleasant, I would enjoy the ride.” Armond laughed as Chevell took up the line, and the crew made ready to reel the vicomte in, but then Chevell cried out,
“Wait!” And he paused a moment to retrieve the flag of the Eagle yet attached to the shivered mast. When he had it well in hand, he called out, “Heave ho,” and the crew drew him in and up and onto the deck of the corsair dhow.
Dripping, he clasped Armond’s hand and said, “I thought you gone down with the Hawk.”
“Non, my lord, I and my crew and my complement of marines simply took on this corsair, and though the Hawk sank, still I had a ship to command. I call her the Hawk II.”
“Nicely done, Armond. Indeed, nicely done.”
“My lord, I now turn over the command of this vessel to you.”
“Oh, non, Armond, it is your ship, and I am merely a passenger.”
Armond inclined his head in acknowledgment, and then gave orders to get underway, and the great long sails were haled about to pick up the wind and the dhow began to move.
“What of the battle, Captain?” asked Chevell.
“It yet goes on, my lord, and I plan to rejoin it, for I have taken up more than enough men from the waters to sail into combat again.”
“Indeed, and I am one of those taken up,” said the vicomte.
“Just give me a blade and some dry clothes, and I will be glad to join in.”
. .
They sailed on a course to intercept a corsair fleeing from the fight, and, by subterfuge and acting as would fellow pirates, they drew alongside the dhow, her decks and rigging showing signs of fire, and her crew appearing shorthanded. “Ahoy, la!” called Chevell, using the tongue of the corsairs, for the vicomte had been one of their own long past.
“Quem sao voce?” replied the enemy captain.
“He wants to know who we are,” murmured Chevell, and he called out, “A Lamina Vermelha!”
“What did you tell him?” asked Armond, even as they drew closer to the enemy dhow.
“I said we were the Red Blade, the name of my old ship.” The corsair captain then shouted, “Eu sei de nenhuma Lamina Vermelha.”
“ ‘I know of no Red Blade,’ ” translated Chevell.
By then the Hawk II was close enough, and, at a sharp command from Armond, grappling hooks sailed through the air and thunked into the wales of the corsair, and arrows slashed across the space between, felling foe even as marines haled the two ships hull to hull.
The fight was short, for not only were the corsairs surprised, but they were disheartened as well, for they had suffered great losses ere the Hawk II had come upon them.
They quickly surrendered, did the corsairs, and were taken prisoner.
Then Chevell took command of this ship and flew the flag of the Eagle from the standard at the taffrail.
Half of the crew of the Hawk II stepped onto the deck of the New Eagle, and together they struck a course for the few ships yet engaged in battle on the sunwise horizon. Yet by the time they got there, the enemy had been done in, their ships burning furiously as they went down.
And so, a ragtag group of nine ships, two of them dhows-all with decks aslime with the remains of Changelings, masts and sails showing char and burn-took on survivors picked up by the Tern and the Sandpiper and the Gull and finally set sail for Port Mizon, their holds full of human prisoners, their battle this day done.
And as they cut through the waters, Chevell looked up to see a crow soaring high above, the ebon bird to turn on the wind and fly toward Port Mizon as well. Chevell frowned and wondered just what a crow might be doing this far from land, but soon the bird was out of sight and he questioned it no more.
. .
Nigh sundown, Hradian came flying back to the swamp, and she lit upon the flet of her cote and trembled to tell Orbane the news. Yet she had no choice.
“Well?” he demanded.
Hradian fell to her knees upon the floor and buried her face in her hands and pressed her forehead to the wood. “My lord, the corsair fleet is gone, sunk, and nought is left of it but bits of wreckage floating upon the waters.”
“What?”
“My lord,” mumbled Hradian, “all I saw in addition to the flotsam were a few of King Avelar’s ships escorting two captured dhows and heading toward Port Mizon; all ships were scarred by fire, and their crews were sparse. I deem there was a great battle, and the corsairs and Changelings are no more.” Rage suffused Orbane’s face, and he looked about for someone to punish, and though throngs of Goblins and Bogles and Trolls were camped thither and yon in the great swamp, Hradian was the only being at hand, and so he stepped forward to where she lay trembling. .
. .
In the plains of blue flowers and yellow butterflies, Michelle waited long moments ere speaking, but finally she said, “The needle, it has stopped moving.”
Sieur Emile looked up from his evening ration of jerky and tack. “Stopped, you say? Well and good. What be our new course, Princess?”
“The very same as the old course,” said Michelle, frowning.
“ ’Tis the very same.”
Gathering Storm
As warders watched the silver needle throughout the night, it remained fixed dawnwise. And when the encampment roused in the morn, dawnwise the needle continued to hew. And so, off they set, four thousand strong, riding and tramping toward the just-risen sun. And as they marched, one of the distant outriders assigned to the right flank came galloping toward the vanguard and sounded a horn. Roel spurred his mount forth to meet him, and, following Wolves, Michelle and Galion on point slowed their pace and watched.
And the outrider and Roel met a short distance away from the main body.
“My lord, good news,” said Bayard, pointing back the way he had come, “a force of fifty knights leads an army of two thousand. They follow Sprites, and their leader is a chevalier named Leon, and he says they are from the realm of Chateau Bleu.”
“Ah, Leon. I know him, Bayard.” Roel glanced back along the train. “He is Prince Luc’s steward when Luc is in the Autumnwood. -Come, let us take this good news to Sieur Emile, and then to Prince Luc.”
“There is more good news, my lord,” said the outrider.
“More?”
“Oui. Leon’s Sprites tell me that when we cross the next border, we will be in the realm where lies the swamp we seek.”
. .
“Acolyte!” called Orbane. “Up from your bed. I need you to lend me your power.”
“My power, my lord?” said Hradian, struggling up from her cot, wincing because of her bruises. “But it is so minuscule compared to yours.”
A twist of rage flashed across Orbane’s face at being even obliquely questioned. Still, he reveled in the fact that she had rightly seen in comparison to him she was all but insignificant.
“Nevertheless, Acolyte, I would have it, for this day I will cover the sky with darkness, and, when that is in place, then on the morrow I will raise the putrescence, and then we march.”
. .
Regar looked at Auberon, the Fairy Lord yet somber. “My lord, though the queen is indisposed, and your son is free, although we cannot use Fairy magic or Elven magic ’gainst him, still we must needs raise your army, else the whole of Faery an
d the mortal world will likely be lost to him.” Auberon sighed and nodded, and stepped to a bell cord and tugged it. Moments later a page appeared.
“Fanir, bring me my horn, for I would summon the army.” As the page darted away, Regar looked at his grandfather in puzzlement. “My lord, a horn?”
“Oui.”
“But will it be heard?”
Auberon smiled. “Indeed, though only by the Fey.”
“But we are underground. . under the hills.”
“Even so, mon petit-fils, it will be heard.” Regar shook his head and sighed. “There is much for me to learn about my kind, quart-sang-quarter-blood-though I am.” In that moment the page returned, and in his grasp was a silver trump. He gave it over to Auberon.
“How long will it take for the army to muster?” asked Regar.
“They will be here within the day,” said Auberon. Then the Fairy King raised the clarion to his lips and sounded a call, and the cry rang throughout the hollow hills and beyond.
. .
Even as Roel and the outrider galloped back toward the long column, Peti and Trit gasped.
“What is it?” asked Michelle.
“The Fey Lord has summoned his army,” said Trit.
“Fey L-the Fairy King?”
“Oui,” replied Peti.
“And you know this how?”
“He has sounded his horn.”
“But I heard nought,” said Galion.
“ ’Tis not meant for your ears,” said Trit.
Galion grunted but made no other comment, yet Michelle said, “If the Fey Lord is mustering his legions, it means Prince Regar has succeeded in his mission.” She glanced hindward at the vanguard, where Roel and the outrider had gotten to. “You must fly back and tell Sieur Emile. It might change his battle plans to know the Fairy Army will come.”
. .
Gesturing at the sky and shouting out arcane words, Orbane stood on the flet, Hradian beside him, and directly high above a cloud began to form-a dark cloud, an ominous cloud, a great tower of blackness slowly building up and up. And soon lightning began to flash within its bowels and thunder boomed, yet no rain came flashing down. And still Orbane called to the sky, and the monstrous dark began to spread, even as it continued to grow upward.
And Hradian sagged under the drain on her vigor. “Crapaud,” she managed to croak, and the bloated creature waddled to her side. “Crapaud,” she whispered as she touched him on his forehead, “lend me your power.” And the great toad belched but once and then fell somnolent.
. .
Angling in from sunwise and following Sprites, the Chateau Bleu contingent slowly merged with that from the Forests of the Seasons and others. And Leon, sighting the crimson and gold flag of the Autumnwood, gave over command to the chateau armsmaster and then spurred his horse toward the banner.
“My Lord,” said Leon as he fell in alongside Prince Luc, “I turn over to you le Bataillon du Chateau Bleu.”
“Non, Leon,” replied Luc, “ ’tis yours to retain, for I am in command of the Autumnwood battalion. It is Sieur Emile in charge of this legion, and, just as are all the others, your force will be at his disposal. He is seasoned in war, and he and his sons-Roel, Blaise, and Laurent-have been in many campaigns. And so, the Battalion of the Blue Chateau is yours to command under his leadership. Now come, let us ride forward to meet him.”
Luc heeled his horse into a canter, and with Leon coursing alongside, ahead to the van they went, where they dropped into a walk aflank of Sieur Emile.
After the introductions had been made, Emile broke into a broad smile. “You bring fifty chevaliers? Mithras, but that is splendid news. I was beginning to wonder if we could prevail with the few we have.”
“Forget not, Sire,” said Roel, “there might be more on the way. And certainly the Fairy King will bring his fey knights to our side.”
And on they rode, and they were joined by Laurent and Blaise, as well as Petain and Georges, two of the commanders they had acquired on the march. And they spoke of strategy and tactics, and of the best way to use the windfall of a half-hundred chevaliers, Leon giving and taking in the discussion among his battle peers.
. .
They crossed the twilight marge in midafternoon, to come under dark and ominous skies. And the silver needle and the Sprites who had been in this region before agreed that the great swamp lay a point to sun of duskwise, hence in that direction did they fare.
The land itself was of rolling hills, dotted here and there with small groves and thickets, while rough grass and wild weed covered the rest. In the distance starwise, low mountains loomed and streams flowed down from the heights.
Accompanied by the Wolves, Michelle yet rode on point, now escorted not only by Galion but also by two of the knights of Chateau Bleu. Sprites ranged out before them, now and then flitting back to say what lay ahead. And as they went onward, the cast above, dark as it was, grew even blacker, and lightning raged and thunder roared, and light stuttered within the ebon gloom above, and dimness lay over all.
In late afternoon they approached a long rise in the land that went up and up to a broad ridge, running down from the distant mountains to starwise to stretch horizontal for a way, only to drop off sharply into hills leftward. And waiting on the near side of the crest of the ridge, as foretold by the Sprites, were another two thousand men. A man named Bailen led them, and he rode forth to meet with Sieur Emile.
“Just beyond that rise,” said Bailen, lifting his voice to be heard above the roar of thunder, “the land gently falls for a league or so to come to a broad plain, and another league on lies the swamp. Except for my hidden warders, I have kept my men on this side of the slope so as not to alert Orbane as to our numbers. -Would you care to see, my lord?”
“Indeed,” replied Emile. “For much needs to be planned.” And so he and Bailen rode upslope and dismounted just this side of the crest. They walked to the top, and, under black, roiling skies, Emile took in the view. The ridge slowly fell away and into a shallow, ever-widening valley. Off to the right the land rose steeply; to the left it turned into rolling hills, where the ridge itself dropped sharply to join them. But in between and at the bottom of the league-long slope lay the broad plain.
And some two leagues away from where Emile took in the view stood the beginnings of the mire.
The swamp was vast and fed by streams and rivers flowing down from the mountains to starwise and the hills sunwise; the morass stretched out for as far as the eye could see.
“How is the land on the plain? Soft, treacherous, or does it provide good footing?”
“My lord, I do not know, for I got here but this morn, and I would not give our presence away to the foe.”
“What say the Sprites?”
“My lord, they are not of a size to gauge the pack of the soil, for to them even soft loam seems good footing.”
“I and my Wolves can go in the night,” said Michelle softly.
Emile turned to see the princess had come up to take a look as well.
“My lady,” said Emile, “I would not have you-”
“We have been through this argument before, Sieur, and again I say, there is none better to take on this task.”
“Oui, but-”
“Sieur, I insist.”
Emile took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Then I will send Galion to-”
“Sieur, non! Where one person and seven Wolves can go in stealth, two-and-seven more than doubles the risk. My pack will not be seen, and I have been training with them, whereas Galion has not.”
“But, Princess-”
“Sieur Emile!”
Again Emile took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. Finally he said, “No unnecessary risks.”
“No unnecessary risks,” agreed Michelle.
. .
Splatting through the swamp, the Serpentine scout rode at a gallop, his scaled steed running flat out. The vertical pupils of the rider’s viperous eyes were open to the full, a
nd his way in the dismal mire was lighted by the nearly continuous barrage of lightning above.
At last he came to where he could see the witch’s cote standing on stilts and surrounded by a quag of turgid water, and he called out for her to attend.
Hradian barely heard the cry, for, just moments before, Orbane had completed his spell casting. The dark pall above was now more than sufficient to carry out his plan. And so he let her enthrallment lapse, and she in turn released Crapaud. She was drained of nearly all energy, and she lay in a collapsed heap, sweat streaming from her body.
“See what he wants, Acolyte,” demanded Orbane.
Hradian crawled to the edge of the flet, and she croaked out,
“Speak,” her voice but barely above a whisper.
“My lord and master Orbane, there is an army of some eight or ten thousand humans just beyond the dawnwise brim of the swamp.”
“My lord,” whispered Hradian, “he says-”
“I heard what he said, Fool!” raged Orbane. Then he shouted out, “Humans? Only humans? No others?”
“Some Sprites, my lord.”
“Ah, good,” murmured Orbane. “Then my sire is not with them. I heard his horn this morning, but it will take a while for the Fey to assemble, and by the time that is done, I will have succeeded. Yet these pests of humans now think to beleaguer me. Bah! Without my father they will easily fall. And I must keep them from delaying the lifting up of the putrescence.” Then he shouted to the Serpentine scout, “Bring Bolok to me!
Now!”
. .
Given the dark of the overcast, night came on uncertain feet.
Yet at the point when the blackness was complete but for the lightning above, Michelle and Slate and Dark and Render, Shank, Trot, Loll, and Blue-eye slipped up the rise and over and down and headed toward the plain below. The Sprite Trit rode in the prow of her tricorn.
Once upon a dreadful time ou-4 Page 27
