Dennis McKiernan: Once Upon an Autumn Eve

Luc nodded and said, “And I am to become a comte.”

“You are already one,” said Liaze. “It is your birthright.”

Luc nodded and said, “Then it only remains for me to claim it.”

“Won’t that lead t’fightin?” asked Gwyd, “even t’war?”

“Not necessarily to war,” said Luc. “If Guillaume disputes me, I can challenge him to trial by combat.”

“What of his son?” asked Twk.

“Him, too,” said Luc, shrugging. Luc then turned to Liaze and asked, “Is Guillaume yet alive?”

“Oui,” she said, “or at least he was two moons ago, for he is the one who asked Iniqui to locate you.”

“Iniqui?”

“Oui. She is the witch who bore you away, and-” Of a sudden, Liaze’s eyes widened in revelation. “Oh, now I understand.”

“Understand what?” asked Gwyd.

“The meaning of Luc’s title,” said Liaze. “Luc, not only are you a comte, you are le Gardien de la Cle — the Keeper of the Key.”

“Key? What key?”

“You wear it about your neck, Luc. It is the key to the Castle of Shadows beyond the Black Wall of the World. That is what Iniqui was after, for with it she would set free her master Orbane.”

Gwyd sucked air in between clenched teeth, and Twk cried out in alarm. “She would loose that monster upon Faery again, lass?” asked Gwyd.

Liaze nodded. “She was one of his acolytes.”

“Dead and gone,” said Twk, glancing at Jester, the rooster scratching away at the cold soil. “Two are left.”

Luc sighed. “You need tell me the whole of this tale. But first I would ask this: where lies this blue chateau, this lake of the rose?”

“Ah, that,” said Liaze. “I know the way there from here, for I rode o’er it with Lord Fear and the Wild Hunt on the way to this black mountain. I marked it well, the way between, and I will take you there. But, heed me, Luc, you are yet weakened by your ordeal, and until you are fully recovered I would not have you face the one who seeks your death.” Liaze pointed back in the direction she had ridden to get to the mountain and said, “There is a town across the border yon, and there we will stay until you once more have your strength and are ready to face this usurper.”

Luc smiled and said, “As you will, my princess. As you will.”

Two evenings later they rode into the town, Liaze on Pied Agile, Luc on Nightshade, and Gwyd and Twk on two of the four geldings, for they had found the one that had been lamed-now fully recovered-placidly grazing on the shores of the lake near where they had left him.

They took two rooms at Le Renard Noir-the Black Fox-the single inn in town: Gwyd and Twk and Jester in one; Liaze and Luc in the other. They took warm baths, and Luc shaved, for he now had two days’ growth of beard; while he was enspelled on the black mountain, his whiskers had grown not at all. Afterward, they ate a sumptuous meal, and Gwyd and Twk both imbibed heavily of wine-Gwyd three bottles and Twk several thimblefuls-and they had to be borne to bed.

That night as well, though Luc yet felt the ordeal of his ensorcellment, he and Liaze made sweet and gentle love. “ ’Tis a bewitchment of a different kind,” said Luc.

They stayed at the Black Fox for an entire fortnight, and every day Luc took to the yard behind the inn and drilled with his sword-his movements like those of a dancer, or of a feral cat, graceful and powerful, whether measured or rapid, whether slow or swift.

And many of the townsfolk came to watch, for they had never beheld a true knight ere then, and they ooh ed and ahh ed to see him at swords and long-knives.

Some tried their hand at staves and quarterstaffs with the chevalier, but always they ended up in the tavern, holding aching hands and arms, ribs and heads, and drinking to his health and his prowess.

And for the full of the fortnight, they ate well, and drank good wine, and rested and recovered, though Gwyd was more likely to need his recovering every morning after an evening of imbibing.

On these eves as well, Liaze played Gwyd’s silver harp in the common room, and she sang the songs she had sung to the specters of the men of the Wild Hunt, and townsfolk came to hear those songs as well.

Gwyd, too, played his harp, and his nimble fingers made lively songs all the livelier, and townsfolk called for more, and some even thought to pay him, but he would accept nought, for such came perilously close to an expression of thanks, and he did not wish to leave the comforts of the inn. Instead, acting upon Liaze’s advice, the citizens would buy themselves a drink, and just happen to set it near the Brownie and then promptly forget about it, and not know whose drink it was when the Brownie asked.

And every night of the full of the two weeks, Liaze slept in Luc’s arms.

But at last Luc said, “Let us be on our way to Chateau Blu, for I am fully recovered.”

They tried to pay their bill, but the innkeeper would take nought, saying, “The extra trade while you were here more than made up for your keep.”

And so, on the dawn two days after the full of the moon, they set out for Luc’s demesne.

Some twelve days after, they rode to the outskirts of the village of Fleur Rouge, there on the Lake of the Rose, and Liaze led them to the Widow Dorothee’s cottage, for Leon had told the princess where it lay. As Liaze dismounted she said, “Let us see if she will take us in until we can execute our plan.”

A woman with dark copper-blond hair answered their knock, and her eyes flew wide at the sight of them, especially of the Brownie and a Pixie riding a rooster. Once they had introduced themselves, she smiled as if she held a secret and said her own name was Dorothee, and she welcomed them in, Jester included. Even as they stepped into the front door, and the widow bustled off to make tea, they heard a back door bang shut, and a heavily bearded man strode into the parlor, a load of wood in his arms. And it clattered to the floor in his surprise, and he exclaimed, “Luc!”

It was Leon.

“Armsmaster,” cried Liaze, just as surprised as he, “what are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, Princess. Waiting for you to bring Luc.”

The next morning, Liaze rode Pied Agile along the briar-covered, rose-bearing lakeshore and toward the causeway leading over the water to the Blue Chateau. Gwyd and Twk and Jester, all three on one of the geldings, rode at her side. Liaze had in her possession a letter of credence bearing King Valeray’s signature and seal; she had as well a letter penned by Leon and a note penned by Luc.

Arcing about the opposite shore of the lake, rouge cliffs loomed upward a hundred feet or more, their color reflected in the lucid water. And in the middle of the lake blue stone ramparts stood in contrast, the chateau a walled fortress, the battlements crenellated, with towers at each corner.

“It must have been built during dire times,” said Liaze.

“What, m’lady?” asked Gwyd.

Liaze gestured at the chateau. “ ’Tis more of a bastion than a comte’s manor, hence it must have been erected in perilous times.”

“Or built by someone quite fearful,” said Twk.

On they fared, and they came to the causeway and turned onto it. A pair of drawbridge towers stood halfway along the raised road across the lake, the bridge itself down. Two warders, playing at cards at one of the towers, looked up as the horses came onto the stone pave. They set aside their diversion and stood as Liaze neared, and when the horses clopped across the bascule, one warder held up a hand to stop them. Liaze drew Pied Agile to a halt before them, Gwyd halting the gelding as well. The two guards looked on curiously, especially at Gwyd and Twk and Jester.