Dennis McKiernan: Once Upon an Autumn Eve

Out from the grove she raced, her still-damp red hair flying, the wounded man bellydown before her across the steed. Toward Autumnwood Manor she hammered, crouching low in the saddle in case the Redcaps had bows. And toward her came running a warband from the mansion, weapons in hand, horns sounding. And from behind charged the Redcaps and the Troll.

As Liaze galloped by she called out, “Remy, ’ware, they have a Troll among them!”

“Oui, madam,” cried Remy in return, the rangy, rawboned armsmaster grinning in relief to see his princess alive and well, no matter that she was naked, “and we have a large crossbow.”

Across the sward and toward the forecourt raced Liaze, where she could see in the moonlight armed men gathered on the lawn and the walkway before the mansion door.

“Healers, healers!” cried Liaze, dropping the grume-slathered sword in the grass as she haled the horse up short among the assembly. “I have a wounded warrior.”

As she sprang from the steed and began to pull the man from the withers, two of the men leapt forward to help her; “Here, Princess,” said one, “we’ll take care of him.”

The doors flew open and a ginger-haired woman-Margaux, a healer-bearing a shielded candle rushed out. Zoe, unable to contain herself, came running out as well.

“Lay him down,” Margaux barked to the men, even as Zoe wrung her hands and hovered about Liaze and asked if she were all right.

From the doorway a scandalized matron called out in the old tongue, “Princesse, vous ne portez pas de vetements!”

Even as Zacharie, steward of Autumnwood Manor-a tall thin man in black-cast a cape ’round her shoulders, and she pulled it tight about, Liaze replied in kind: “Tutrice Martine, c’est pas comme si j’avais le temps de revetir mes vetements quand des lutins me soufflaient sur le goulot!”

The men lowered the chevalier to the lawn. Margaux took a moment by candlelight to examine the man, and then turned toward the door and cried “Litter!”

Several more women came rushing out, a stretcher among them, even as the matron in the doorway called for Zoe to come back in.

“Take care,” commanded Margaux, as the men placed the chevalier on the litter, and then took him up to bear into the house. As they stepped away, Margaux, leading, called out, “We’ll need unguents, needle and gut, and bandages.”

Horns sounded in the near distance, along with the cries of battle and death.

At the sound of combat: “A bow,” said Liaze, stepping toward the circle of men. “I need a bow and full quiver. There are Goblins and a Troll out there.”

“Princess,” said Zacharie, wrapping an arm about her to halt her movement, “Remy and the warband will take care of them.”

Wild-eyed, Liaze started to push away, but then she looked into Zacharie’s face and the fire left her gaze. She sighed and nodded and said, “The warband, yes.” She glanced at the black and said, “Someone should care for the horse.”

A lad-a stable boy-stepped forward to take the skittish steed, only to be met with flattened ears and bared teeth.

“ ’Ware, son,” called out the stable master. “ ’Tis trained for war.” He stepped toward the animal and frowned in thought, then commanded “Calmes-toi!” and the horse settled and permitted himself to be led away by the man.

“Rub him down well and feed him an extra ration of oats,” called Liaze after. “He performed with merit.”

Without turning about, the stable master raised a hand of acknowledgement and continued on ’round the mansion.

Zoe and the matron Martine, portly, a white streak through her black hair, came bustling out, Zoe bearing a blue dressing gown.

Liaze shook her head and clutched her wrap tighter. “This cloak will do until the men return.”

Martine huffed in exasperation and shook her head and tch-tch ed, while Zoe sighed, and together they headed toward the mansion, taking the garment with them.

In the distance the sounds of battle faded, as if the warband pursued the encroaching Goblins and the Troll farther into the woods.

Time passed, and still there came sporadic sounds of combat.

As the distant and intermittent engagements continued, Margaux stepped back through the door and to the princess. “He looks to be quite battered, my lady, as if beaten with clubs. He was certainly struck across his forehead-knocked him clear out I would think. Right bloody it was, the skin torn, but we stitched what we could-nine altogether-and salved and bandaged it. Withal he should recover nicely.”

Liaze frowned. “Margaux, he was not, as you say, ‘knocked clear out,’ at least not immediately, for after the blow he managed to ride his horse into the willows, and he looked straight at me when I rolled him over.”

“Then he must have a very thick skull… or great strength of will to remain aware after that strike,” said the healer.

“Did he say anything?” asked Zacharie.

Liaze shook her head, for though he had asked if she were an “ange”-in the old tongue the word meant “angel”-surely it was but the product of an addled mind.

In the distance, silver clarions-horns of the manor-sounded the recall.

“It seems the battle is over, my lady,” said Zacharie. “I will send some of the guard to fetch your garments.”

“My bow and quiver are there, too,” said Liaze, pulling the cloak closer ’round. “Tell those who go to be alert, for there might be more foe lurking about.”

A short while later, Remy and the warband returned, along with the men who had gone to fetch Liaze’s apparel, a lad among them bearing the leathers and silks, another with the boots and the bow and quiver and linens, both of them somewhat red-faced and shy at carrying Her Highness’s gear, especially the intimate garments. And women rushed out to greet the men of the warband as well as those on houseguard, concern on their faces, Martine and Zoe among them.

“We skewered the Troll, my lady,” called Remy, grinning, running a hand through his red hair, “and a number of the Goblins, too. And we only took a scrape or three.” Remy nodded toward one of the men cradling his left arm, a bone obviously broken, and another man bleeding from the nose. As they were tended, Remy said, “They ran and we pursued, but some got away.-Oh, and we found more dead out in the forest, slain by someone else’s hand.”

“The chevalier,” said Liaze, glancing at the blood-slathered, jagged half-blade yet lying on the sward. “Surely he is the one who did so. Broke his sword in twain.”

As the stable boy sprang forward and took up the damaged weapon and wiped it in the grass to clean away the grume, Remy said, “You deem the chevalier came alone?”

Liaze shrugged. “If others were with him, where are they now?”

“Mayhap lying dead in the forest, or perhaps fled away.”

“Regardless,” said the princess, “as soon as he awakens and tells his tale, then we shall know.”

Liaze turned to the men and called out, “Well done! Indeed, well done!” Then with a sweeping gesture she took in everyone there on the forecourt lawn. “Well done, all!

“Huzzah!” she cried, “and huzzah! ”

Her shout was echoed tenfold and more, when all the gathering called out a Huzzah! in reply.

Liaze then turned to the pair of red-faced but smiling lads carrying her gear. “Zacharie, will you see to my bow and quiver?” And as the steward stepped forward and took the weapons from the one lad, Liaze said to Martine, “And, madam, would you please relieve these young men of their, um, embarrassing burdens, and see that my garments get to my quarters?”

Grinding her teeth at being asked to act as nought but a common maid, Martine snatched the leathers and silks and linens and boots from the two boys and stalked off toward the manor.