Once upon a dreadful time

Blow

Alain laughed and turned Prince Duran upside down, the lad squealing in delight, and Scruff flew about, chirping in joy. Yet Alain’s conversation was anything but playful. “Not since yesternight and this morning, eh?”

“Non,” replied Camille, adjusting the small tiara and inspecting herself in the mirror. “Just those two times.” Alain lifted the boy up and set him upon a shoulder. “Why is it, I wonder, we males do not sense it, this sinister spying? And if not Hradian, then who?”

“That I know not, my love,” said Camille, smoothing the front of her wide-sweeping gown. “But there is this to consider: if it is Hradian, then Raseri and Rondalo have yet to deal with her.” She turned to Alain. “Ready?”

Alain looked up at Duran. “Are we ready, Little Prince?”

“Asphodel,” said the lad.

“Oh, my, that’s right. It would not be complete without your Fairy horse.”

Alain set Duran down, and the boy scrambled across the chamber and took up the toy. “Now we are ready, Papa.” Scruff flew to Camille’s shoulder and lit, and out into the hallway all went and down the stairs, Duran holding onto Alain’s hand and jumping two-footed from step to step with a minor boost from his sire. As they reached the great welcoming hall, Borel stood and said, “At last we can close this faire, and the sooner done with that, then the quicker we can get out of this finery and get on with the business of making ready for war.” Both he and Alain were dressed in silks and satins, Borel in his customary white and pale blue, signifying the Winterwood, and Alain in his green and gold, signifying the Summerwood.

Likewise was Duran in green and gold, as was Camille, and under her gown she wore gold pantaloons for riding ahorse in the rade.

Borel looked about impatiently. “Now where are our dear sisters and mother and father?”

Alain pushed out a hand. “Forbear, brother, forbear. They’ll be here anon.”

Even as he said it, sweeping down the grand staircase came Liaze in russet and yellow and Celeste in pale pink and white.

Almost immediately they were followed by Saissa and Valeray, both in dark crimson and black.

. .

In the late afternoon sunlight, across the Springwood hurtled Hradian and Orbane astride the witch’s besom, and as they came to the starwise border, Hradian looked down to see the corpses of slain birds amid a litter of black feathers. “My crows, my beautiful crows. What has happened here?”

“Your crows?”

“My lord, I set them to watch the borders to stop the flight of Sprites to slow the spreading of the alarm. And now they are all dead, my beautiful, beautiful crows.” Seething, Orbane sucked air through clenched teeth. “Since you failed in that small matter, Acolyte, we can assume that the word is spreading even now. All the more reason to hurry and assemble my armies before these fools can assemble theirs.

Faster, Acolyte, faster.”

Hradian urged her broom to greater speed, and through the twilight bound they plunged.

. .

Out through the gate and over the bridge rode the royal party, Wolves to the fore and aflank and aft. Through the grounds of the faire they went, the crowd cheering, though rather thinly, and many faces were filled with concern. The news had spread like wildfire of Hradian’s obtaining a means to possibly free Orbane, and the appearance of men arriving at the castle to be trained for war had all citizenry on edge. Many had left the faire-grounds and even then were on their way to their homes: some in Valeray’s demesne, others in one or another of the four Forests of the Seasons, and still others from farther away.

The baggage trains of the princes and princesses had departed yester, and Princess Michelle and the Vicomtesse Avelaine had gone two days ere then, each party trailing remounts no less, for they were in a hurry.

And yet King Valeray and Queen Saissa and their get, as well as Princess Camille and wee Prince Duran, had remained, and this had had a calming effect on many a taut nerve.

Still, at the stables stood other horses, ready to bear Borel and Liaze and Celeste in haste to their own manors. Only Prince Alain and Princess Camille would ride at a more leisurely pace, and that was because of wee Prince Duran, who would slow the stride of that particular cavalcade. Even so, they would press forward as fast as they could, for if the Wizard Orbane were indeed to be set free, then the presence of prince and princess in their demesnes would strengthen trembling hearts.

And so, as the sun sank through the sky, through the dilute crowd of well-wishers rode the procession and toward the arena where the faire would come to an end.

A fanfare of trumpets sounded the entry of the royal party into the amphitheater, and ’round the perimeter rode the procession, people cheering to see them pass by, especially Prince Duran, seated before his father on a high-stepping black.

To the royal box rode all, and there they dismounted, and pages led the horses away as into the seats King Valeray and his family ascended. At a gesture from Borel, the Wolves plopped down upon the ground off to one side.

And as Valeray stood to give the ceremonial closing speech, Borel smiled as Duran “clip-clopped” his toy along the forward rail.

Of a sudden, Borel’s eyes widened. “Mithras!” he exclaimed, turning to Alain. “But I now know what at least a part of Skuld’s rede means, though I don’t understand the full of it.” In that same moment, Scruff leapt into the shoulder pocket of Camille’s gown and frantically tugged on her hair, and Wolves sprang to their feet, and a Sprite came hurtling through the air and across the arena, shrilling, “It’s not a crow, not a crow!” Camille glanced up to see a black bird lazily circling o’erhead-

— and then it wasn’t a bird, but a witch and someone else astride a broom.

“Orbane!” cried Valeray.

“Hradian!” shouted Alain, even as Camille reached for Duran.

Arcane words rent the air, and amid gleeful laughter from above, a great, roaring, whirling black wind descended upon the royal box and bore them all away.