Once upon a dreadful time

Traces

“Perhaps I am wrong,” said Celeste. “Mayhap the crow Scruff chased wasn’t Hradian, and she is yet on the grounds.” Regar turned to Camille. “This Hradian, she is the witch you spoke of?”

“Oui,” said Camille.

“And this crow: you think it was she?”

“Oui.”

“Mayhap you are correct, then, for as I stood with the onlookers on the hillside, all of us waiting for the joust, I did see a crow winging dawnwise, and it flew within a strange aura.”

“You can see auras?” asked Liaze.

“Oui. . ’round charmed things, that is. Perhaps it’s my grand-pere’s blood that lets me see.” Regar looked at Camille and added, “That wee bird in your pocket, my lady, he bears a faint red lambency, and I deem he is somehow enchanted.” Even as Camille frowned and looked down at sleeping Scruff-“And the crow. .?” asked Celeste.

“A dark glow,” said Regar.

Celeste sighed. “Still, the winging bird might not have been Hradian, hence she might yet be on the grounds; if so, we must find her.”

Alain turned to Borel. “Brother, your Wolves: they might be able to scent her.”

“Mais oui,” said Borel. “Come, Luc.”

“What of weapons and horses?” said Luc.

“We’ll deal with those,” said Roel, and he turned to his brothers. “Laurent, Blaise, fetch my sword and gather weapons for all-bows, arrows, blades-and meet me at the stables, for I go to ready the steeds.”

“My bow lies yon,” said Regar, pointing to where his goods lay at one side of the chamber. “And I’ll aid Roel with the mounts.”

As the men hied away, “Come, Alain,” said Borel. “The Bear can scent better than my Wolves, for they are sight hunters.”

“What of us?” asked Celeste. “I’m handy with a bow, as is Liaze.”

Camille shook her head. “We must not alarm the contestants, all of us rushing off at once. We three should remain and now and then pass among the players and try to look calm.”

“I must tell Father,” said Liaze, looking across the sundry pairs. “Ah, he is yon.”

“When he finishes his match, take him aside and speak softly,” said Celeste.

. .

In the mustering shadows of the gathering dusk, Luc and Borel and Alain stepped into the courtyard, and, as if anticipating the need, waiting stood Borel’s Wolves. Bearing a lantern, out over the bridge spanning the dry moat they went, and across the great grassy clearing toward the dawnwise end of the arena, where stood Luc’s tent, his pennant-a red rose on a blue field-flying in the twilight above.

When they reached it and stepped inside, Borel spoke strange words to the Wolves-a mixture of growls and half-formed gutturals-and he struck several postures. The pack spread wide, their noses in the air and to the ground.

“What did you tell them?” asked Alain.

“I reminded them of Rhensibe, and asked if there was a similar scent herein.”

“Ah,” said Alain, and he watched as ’round the interior the Wolves snuffled, their lantern-cast shadows sliding against canvas. Slate growled at the threshold of the entrance and looked up at Borel.

“He senses something,” said Luc. “Is it the smell of a sorceress?”

“Perhaps,” said Borel, and he growled another word.

Slate gave a deep-throated rumble.

Borel grunted and said, “Slate thinks it is somewhat like that of the witch he and the pack tore asunder.” Luc groaned.

Again Slate growled, and he rumbled and postured, Borel frowning, watching carefully. Finally, the Wolf fell silent.

“What did he say?” asked Alain.

“It is indeed Hradian,” said Borel.

Out from the tent loped the Wolves, and ’round to one side, with Borel and Alain and Luc following.

“How do they know it’s Hradian?” asked Luc.

“Slate said, ‘Bitch two-legs bad, rock den bad, trees bad, wind bad, leader gone, bitch two-legs gone.’ ”

“How does that point to Hradian?” asked Luc.

“It had slipped my mind,” said Borel, “but the pack had encountered Hradian before.” Alain’s eyes widened in recall. “Ah, oui, when you went to her cote near the blighted part of the Winterwood, and she used one of Orbane’s amulets to send you flying away on a black wind and into imprisonment in a Troll dungeon.”

“Then the ‘bitch two-legs bad’ is Hradian?” asked Luc.

Borel nodded. “Given the context, it can be no other.” At the side of the tent the pack milled about.

“Merde!” spat Borel. “They’ve lost the trail. Too many people have come this way, and their taints overlie Hradian’s.”

Alain stooped down and took up a small vial and held it up to the light of the faire. “Hmm. . ocherous dregs inside.” He handed the vial to Luc. “Mayhap this contained some sort of potion Hradian used to fool you.”

As Luc looked at the container, Borel turned to Alain and asked, “Brother, think you the Bear can winnow her spoor from the others?”

Alain turned up a hand. “Mayhap.” He frowned in concentration, and a darkness gathered about him, enveloping him, his shape changing, growing huge, brown, with long black claws and ivory fangs, and it dropped to all fours, and where Alain had been now growled a great Bear.

Back to the entrance shambled the Bear, and he snuffled at the ground, then he lumbered out to the side of the tent, and, nose to the ground, took off at a lope toward the dawnwise entrance of the arena, but the moment he got there, again he turned, and he made his way toward the stalls and tents of the merchants. Through the lantern-lit midst of the faire went the huge dark brown creature, Borel and Luc at his side, the pack of Wolves ranging aflank and arear, and people, some screaming, others crying out in fear, scattered this way and that to get out of the path of this monstrous animal and his grey savage escort, as well as the two princes.

And riding across the grass and toward this strange assortment came a gallop of horses, some with torch-bearing riders thereon, still other steeds trailing on tethers. And they angled toward the Bear and the Wolves and the two striding men.

The Bear broke free of the faire, and with its nose yet to the ground it headed toward a distant stand of trees as stars began glimmering above.

Roel and Laurent and Blaise and Regar rode nigh, but the horses reared and skittered and belled out at the reek of the Bear, and it was all the riders could do to retain control of the animals-all but Deadly Nightshade, that is, for that horse was inured to the scent, having campaigned against the Changelings in the presence of the Bear.

And still the animal lumbered on, now entering the forest, trees darkly looming up left and right and fore. In a stand of wildflowers, the Bear came to a stop, where it cast its nose this way and that, only to roar in rage and then plop down to sit among the blossoms.

A dark shimmering came upon the beast. Luc marveled as swiftly it changed, altering, losing bulk, gaining form, and suddenly there before them sat a man, a prince: Alain.

“This is where the oldest scent lingers,” said Alain, gaining his feet. “And indeed it is Hradian’s, for the Bear remembers her from the time the mages came to try to break the curse, for she was among them. I followed the trail backwards, or rather the Bear did so, and this is where it begins. It ends there beside your tent, Luc.”

Borel glanced at Luc and said, “Then she flew her besom to this place, and walked through the faire to the arena, but then turned and went to your pavilion, where she became Liaze and fooled you into turning over the amulet.” Luc clenched a fist. “But why did no one see her passing through the faire, and why did she go to the arena before coming to my tent?” Alain frowned, and then his face brightened. “She needed to see what Liaze was wearing; that’s why the stop at the arena.”

“Glamour,” said Borel. “She must have looked like someone other than herself to slip through the faire unnoticed. I mean, had any one of us been on the faire grounds then she would have been in jeopardy. A spell would conceal her true form.”

“But I embraced her,” said Luc. “It was Liaze, I vow. Could a glamour transform her into my truelove?” Both Alain and Borel shrugged.

Roel came striding into the forest, his torch held high. He looked at the trio. “Well?”

“Here’s where she entered the faire grounds,” said Alain.

“Here the trail begins. It ends at the side of Luc’s tent. I fear she is no longer in this demesne.”

“The crow?” asked Roel.

“Most likely,” said Borel.

“Come,” said Alain. “Let us go speak with Father, for now Hradian has the key, and, if she knows how to use it, then all of Faery is in peril, for with it she surely will set Orbane free.” With Wolves ranging fore and aflank and aft they strode toward the sward where Laurent and Blaise and Regar waited with the horses. With the Bear now gone, the animals had settled by the time the four men emerged from the woods.

“The witch has flown,” said Borel to those three as he mounted. “We go to see the king and break the ill news.” Even as they set out for the castle, through the dark from dawnwise a tiny Sprite came winging.