Once upon a dreadful time

Distant Drums

Messenger falcons flew back and forth among the Forests of the Seasons as well as to and fro the king’s demesne, and, given the seers’ visions and Michelle’s and Luc’s conjectures, all decided the most likely place for Valeray and Saissa and the princes and princesses was that they were somewhere in the Great Darkness beyond the Black Wall of the World. And from the legends concerning that void, the only safe place to be therein was the Castle of Shadows, else one could be lost forever, mayhap even falling endlessly through the impenetrable dark. And so they concluded there was nought to be done but to find Hradian and retrieve the key, and then to seek someone who knew the way to that inescapable gaol and hope against hope that is where the prisoners would be found. They also decided the best chance of running down Hradian lay with Raseri and Rondalo, about whom they had heard nought whatsoever since the Ice Sprite had found them.

Some five days after the seers had given their visions, Prince Roel and Armsmaster Anton strode among the men at wooden swordplay on the training grounds at Springwood Manor, and they corrected feints, and showed the way of parries and ripostes, and demonstrated shield bashes, and other such one-on-one combat tactics, giving praise where praise was due, and correction where it was warranted. Elsewhere in the Spring wood, in scattered villages, where men from the towns and nearby steads had gathered, experienced warriors of the manor warband also conducted lessons in the art of killing foe while preventing them from doing the same. Likewise, in the Summerwood, Autumnwood, and Winterwood, and in Valeray’s realm, men were training at arms as well, for Luc and Laurent and Blaise and Emile and the war bands under their command were hard at work preparing, should war become necessary.

In the Springwood, Roel finally called a halt to the duels, and he stood on a small platform and looked out over the men-

some three hundred altogether-as they gathered ’round.

And he raised his voice so that all could hear: “ ’Tis not likely any of us will have the luxury of fighting a single foe, for in war all is chaos and madness, with enemy before and aflank and behind, and melee is the rule. And so-” A distant horn cry interrupted Roel’s words.

He frowned and looked toward the far woods.

Again sounded the horn, and bursting out from among the trees came a rider, a remount in tow. Across the sward galloped the stranger, and he wore the tabard of a king, but just which king it was-

“ ’Tis Avelar’s man,” said Anton.

“Oui, I see it is,” replied Roel.

Once more sounded the horn, and, with the men parting before him, up to the stand galloped the youth. He leapt from his steed and called, “A message from Vicomte Chevell.” He unlooped the canister strap over his head and from ’round his shoulder and handed the container to Roel.

Roel popped the cylinder open and took the parchment from within and unrolled it. “ ’Tis in Avelaine’s hand.” A moment later-“Merde! Orbane is free.”

A murmur of consternation whispered through the men.

Anton glared at them, and the mutter quelled.

Roel looked at the armsmaster and said, “It seems Raseri and Rondalo did not intercept the witch ere she let the wizard loose. We can only hope they succeed in running Orbane and Hradian down and killing them.”

Roel then read the remainder of the message and sighed. “It seems the corsairs are to ferry an army of Changelings to Port Mizon. Chevell intends for the king’s fleet to intercept them at sea and thwart Orbane’s scheme.”

As Roel fell silent, “My lord,” said the courier, “I am to say that this same message has been sent to your brothers and Prince Luc, but that you are to send the message on by falcon to your sire, for those swift fliers can reach him ere we could by riding.”

Roel nodded and called an aide to him. “Take this to the scribe and have him set down a copy in his finest hand to go by falcon to Sieur Emile.” Roel glanced at the sun. “And haste! For there is yet enough of the day for the falcon to reach the Castle of the Seasons.”

“Oui, my lord,” said the lad, and off he sped.

. .

In the Winterwood, Michelle ran through the snow, the Wolfpack ranging among the trees, her guardians on the run. She had begun training each day, for, in spite of Steward Arnot’s protestations, she was determined to go on the campaign against Orbane should war come to Faery.

“But, Princess, war is no place for a lady.”

“Nonsense, Arnot. Ever have there been women warriors.

Besides, what better scouts to have than a pack of Wolves?”

“Sprites, my lady. Sprites.”

“Sprites cannot withstand the chill.”

“Ice Sprites can.”

“Oui, but the campaign mayhap will go from summer to winter to spring to fall, depending upon which borders we cross. Neither the Ice Sprites nor the winged ones can follow in places, but the Wolves and I suffer not those limitations.”

The debate had gone on, yet Michelle had been adamant, and finally Arnot yielded. And so she had practiced with her bow, and had run with the Wolves, and every day had become more fluent in their speech.

Laurent could see the worth of having Wolves to reconnoiter, for he knew the value of good scouts. Even so, he would not have Michelle endangering herself. But she pointed out that no one else could speak their tongue; she also maintained she could remain somewhat at a distance while the Wolves did the work of reconnaissance. In the end Laurent threw up his hands and gave way as well.

And so she ran with the grey hunters in daylight and moonlight as well as the twilight of dusk and dawn. And she told them what she planned.

They agreed, for they would have Borel back at the side of his cub-smart two-legs bitch.

It was at the end of one of these runs, when Michelle heard the sound of a clarion. Wolves pricked up their ears and gazed sunwise.

Slate: Two-legs call. Tall four-legs run.

Michelle: How many four-legs?

Slate: Two.

Michelle had learned that the Wolves had their own numbering method, six levels in all: one, two, four, more, small herd, big herd.

Michelle: We run.

And she and the pack began trotting toward the manor.

. .

After she had read the message, Michelle turned to Arnot and Laurent and Jules and said, “Well then, it seems there will be a war after all.”

The men nodded solemnly, including the courier from Chevell.

“Let us get the word to all the men throughout the Winter shy;

wood. Too, we need alert the Sprites in other realms to be on the watch for Orbane’s army on the march, for we will need to intercept his force, wherever it is bound. Also, we need to make certain that our allies in other realms know of this, and to rally under Valeray’s flag when we choose a place to rendezvous.”

“That will be difficult, my lady,” said Armsmaster Jules.

“How so?”

“The twilight borders of Faery are tricky, to say the least.

And wherever it is that it seems Orbane has decided to march, he can simply change his crossing point a minor amount and be headed somewhere else entirely.”

“Then the Sprites must be at their best to keep us informed,” said Michelle.

She glanced at Laurent, and he said, “This fighting in Faery is not like anything I have e’er done before, and so I depend upon you to get me and the army to the battle, for ’tis in combat that I know how and what to do.” Michelle nodded and said, “Arnot, Laurent, Jules, here is what I propose: have all armsmasters meet with Luc, for he is of Faery, while Sieur Emile and his sons are not. Hence, Luc should be more familiar with the ‘trickiness’ of the twilight borders as well as to the shifts in direction Orbane might employ. He and the armsmasters must come up with a plan not only for organizing the Sprites and finding our way, but also for tracking Orbane and his army so that we might intercept them. And when we do, it must be at a place to take advantage of the terrain, whether it be the high ground or an ambush or by meeting them in a narrow lieu, or anywhere we have the edge.” Michelle paused a moment in thought. “Too, Arnot, see that my sire gets Chevell’s message as well.”

Even as Arnot said “Oui,” the courier said, “My lady, Prince Roel was to inform Sieur Emile.”

“Indeed,” replied Michelle, “yet if that courier is delayed or worse. .” Michelle paused, then turned to Arnot. “In fact, send falcons with Chevell’s words to all manors as well as the castle, for who knows what Orbane might have done?”

“As you will, my lady,” said Arnot, and then he and the men withdrew.

She sighed and peered into the flames of the hearthfire, yet she did not attend to ought there. Instead her mind turned toward the future and wondered what it would bring.

. .

That night, in between snatches of restless sleep, Michelle tossed and turned and tried to get comfortable, yet it seemed she could not. Finally, she arose from her bed and padded to a window and threw wide the shutters. In the cold bracing wind, she peered out on the bright ’scape, the full moon above shining down. And running through her sleepless mind was the question she’d been gnawing upon all eve: Who knows what Orbane might have done?

And where are Raseri and Rondalo? Why haven’t they-

Oh, Mithras, what if Orbane caused a dread wind to carry the Drake and Elf away? Mayhap that’s why we’ve not heard from them, and surely we should have by now. Are they, too, trapped in the Great Darkness beyond the Black Wall of the World?

Michelle did not sleep again that night.