Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a Summer Day

“Well, that answers that,” said Flic, looking at Borel, the prince grinning at the Sprite.

“Flic, Flic,” said Arle, “that is what is so diabolique about the spell. You see, with no need to procure food or water or ought else, we would ride forever unless we deliberately chose to dismount. And of course, should we do that, a thousand years would catch up with us all at once.”

“Oh, how dreadful,” said Chelle.

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Chelle said, “But that is not all the story, surely. I mean, you now have horses with you and dogs and goods. How came you to acquire those?”

“Ah, that. There is a citadel above the town of Nione, a goodly sized ville just a half day’s ride from here. Three years past, the former chevaliers of that stronghold rode off on a campaign against nearby Trolls and haven’t been seen since. A representative of that town happened to be where we found the bitch-the dog, not the wife-and he asked us to come and be their protectors, for we have weapons of steel, and that’s most certainly good enough to lay the Trolls by the heels. He gave us funds, and we bought what we would need to get us there: packhorses, supplies, other goods.”

“What of the dogs?” asked Chelle.

Arle laughed. “I told the merchant I would use them to track, but the truth is I love to hunt, though I’ll not pursue White Harts ever again.”

“I should think not,” said Chelle, laughing.

“Ah, so it is to Nione you go?” asked Borel.

“Oui.” Arle looked at Borel. “You and your party are welcome to join us, my prince.”

Of a sudden Chelle looked at Borel. “Are weapons of iron-of steel-such that they can break through the tangle of thorn? If so, we can rescue those within.”

Borel said, “There is still Rhensibe to deal with, and the wheel yet turns the ensorcelling spindle.”

“I said this before and I’ll say it again: can we not simply put wax in our ears?” asked Flic. “That would shut out the sound.”

Borel said, “I tried stopping my ears, Flic, but Rhensibe’s spell overcame that. After all, it is magie at work here, and I think we will need a magicien in our company to cope with the arcane.”

Chelle’s face fell, and she glumly nodded in agreement. Then she said, “But we must find one as soon as we can, Borel.”

Borel nodded and took her hand and sealed the agreement with a kiss on her fingers, and then he turned to Arle. “My lord, when we find someone powerful enough to go against Rhensibe, will you aid us?”

“Prince Borel, I and my men will aid you in any way we can, for if it were not for you, we would yet be cursed. But again I ask, won’t you join us in my citadel, my friend? As I say, it is not far.”

Borel glanced at Flic and then said to Arle, “My lord, because of your iron and my Spritely friend here, this I ask: how far is the citadel above the town? That is, how far away from the ville will iron be from Flic?”

Arle shrugged. “A mile more or less I was told.”

Flic said, “A mile is certainly enough to allay the twist of aethyr.”

Borel grinned and said to Arle, “This then I propose: We will accompany you as far as your town of Nione, yet for the sake of my Spritely friend, we will stay in the ville, while you go up to your citadel. I need to purchase a bronze long-knife, and acquire three horses and the supplies we will need to return to the Winterwood. Shortly thereafter we will ride to the Summerwood, for my brother is betrothed, and the wedding comes soon, and I would be there when that happens.”

“Staying in Nione will also give you a chance to rest and heal,” said Chelle.

“A minor matter,” said Borel.

Chelle smiled ruefully and shook her head and said, “Men.”

“After the wedding,” continued Borel, “we need find a magicien or sorciere to combat Rhensibe, and then we will come and ask you for help in freeing Lord Roulan and his household from Rhensibe’s curse.”

“Well and good,” said Arle, smiling. “We will be ready.”

That night, with Flic and Buzzer on a leaf nearby, Chelle and Borel slept by the small fire well away from King Arle’s camp. Borel-exhausted, drained from two full days without rest, much of it loping o’er field and stream and sand-fell aslumber the moment he lay down. On the other hand, Chelle spent much of the night watching him sleep in the illumination of the full moon, noting how the silvery radiance played o’er the planes of his face, how the argent beams highlighted the sheen of his hair. At last she sighed and lay down against his back and held him close.

The next morn, following the directions given the evening before by King Arle, Flic and Buzzer flew away, the Sprite to be far from the iron the chevaliers bore. Shortly after Flic took to wing, Arle rode nigh, dogs running alongside, and in tow he had a horse.

“Andre would be honored if you would ride his steed,” said Arle.

“My lord, what will he ride?” asked Borel.

“One of the packhorses unladed of its goods.”

“A chevalier’s mount belongs to none else, my lord. Chelle and I will ride the packhorse in Andre’s stead. Besides, ’tis easier on the animal if two ride bareback than one in saddle and the other across the withers.”

“Oh?” said Chelle. “You were planning on riding on the withers, Prince Borel?”

Then Chelle broke into laughter, and Borel’s guffaws joined hers.

Arle said, “Ah, a spirited demoiselle. You have chosen well, Lord Borel.”

Borel’s laughter stopped, as did Chelle’s, and they looked at one another. “My lord,” said Borel, “I remind you: but for a brief time long past, until yester we had only met in dreams. And even though my heart is most surely hers, I would court her properly.”

“Ah, yes,” said Arle. “I had forgotten you were not yet lovers.”

Chelle blushed and Borel sighed and Arle laughed. Then the king said, “I would hear your own story, Lady Michelle, as we ride this morn.”

Borel mounted the steed and gave Chelle a hand up, and with her riding behind, they rode to the chevaliers’ camp and dismounted.

Over Andre’s protests, the prince and his lady rode bareback upon a gentle gelding, and as the cavalcade wended its way toward the town of Nione, King Arle reined back until he rode alongside the pair. “Your tale, my lady?”

Chelle nodded and said, “My father-the duke-decided well in advance that on the day of my majority he would hold a gala. And so he invited many to attend-nobles, Fairies, merchants and other townsfolk. And they all came, Fey Folk on horses with silver bells, merchants in broughams, nobles on prancing steeds, and even some Fey who flew in.

“Ah, the party was splendid, with croquet and quoits and darts and blindfold tag, with music and dancing, and the food, oh the food, it was delicious-roasts and quail and breads and fruits and pastries as well as sweet candies.

“And the gifts were considerable. The Fairies gathered ’round and spoke as if their gifts had been given to me at my birth, though I don’t know what those might have been.

“Regardless, one of the Fey Folk, a most gracious and beautiful lady who had somehow arrived unnoticed and unheralded, drew me aside and asked if I would see her offering. Of course I said I would, and she took me to the unused chamber at the top of the turret, and there sat a lovely spinning wheel, a gift I had not heretofore seen. And this Fairy asked me to try the treadle, to see how easily the wheel spun. I sat on the stool and pressed it but once, and it ran without needing another press, but it squeaked horribly, yet it also somehow made music. It was then that Rhensibe dispelled the glamour surrounding her, and she showed her true self to me. She laughed cruelly, and I tried to flee, yet I did not even reach the stairwell, but collapsed instead. What happened thereafter, I cannot say.”