Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a Spring morn

And there in the silver light of dawn washing across the spring morning sky, amid tiny white flowers with a faint blush of pink, Roel shouted for joy.

They announced their betrothal upon their return, and that eve a grand party was held, with a banquet and music and singing and dancing and festive toasts proffered and accepted. Never, it seemed, had the manor been so full of bliss, and that evening more than one happy couple found pleasure in one another’s arms.

On the ninth day after Roel first awakened from his bout with poison, Gilles removed the stitches from the cut. “Well, Sieur Roel, I declare you fit for questing. Yet heed, my lad, try not to get struck again by an envenomed blade.” Roel laughed and said, “I shall do my best, Gilles.”

Standing at hand, Celeste said, “On the morrow, then, Gilles?”

“Your meaning, my lady?”

“To start for Port Mizon,” said Celeste.

Gilles sighed, for he, too, did not wish to see Celeste going on a quest where Changelings were involved. But then he nodded and said, “Oui, Princess, Roel is well, and the sooner started, the sooner done.”

“Bon!” she said.

That night, Celeste and Roel made tender love, the princess saying, “We will be on the trail, my darling, with no privacy. There are few towns between here and the border, and few between there and Mizon. It would not be fair for us to make love while the men of the warband leave their own wives and lovers behind.”

“Oui, I understand, ma cherie. But if we stop at an inn, where privacy is once again ours to have, then be certain I shall ravish you.”

Celeste laughed and said, “I question as to who will be the ravisher and who the ravishee.” The next morning, just after dawn, the warband saddled horses and laded pack animals and donned armor and arms, all readying for the trek ahead.

Many in the band were excited, for not oft did a venture come their way, while the veterans of skirmishes and other such went grimly about their tasks.

Roel, too, slipped into his brass-plated leather jacket and strapped on his long-knife and buckled on Coeur d’Acier. He checked his crossbow and bolts, making certain the newly oiled mechanism was fit and the quarrels well sharp. Gerard hovered nearby, tears brimming, for he was not a member of the warband, nor had he any training with weapons, yet he swore to Roel that a valet de chambre would be needed on the quest. Nevertheless, Roel denied him permission to come along.

Henriette stood sniveling, not only because Celeste was leaving, but also because Marlon would be riding away. Marlon was a young man of the warband, whom Henriette had within the week taken as a lover- spurred on, as she was, by the heat of listening to the sounds coming from Celeste’s and Roel’s quarters.

Vidal was at hand, along with Amelie. Theon and the houseguard were there as well. Marielle, Theon’s wife, comforted sobbing Darci, for her husband, Captain Anton, was leaving. So, too, were others weeping, wives and lovers and loyal staff.

Altogether some two candlemarks passed before all was ready-horses and men and supplies and gear-

and Celeste gave the signal to mount. Now the weeping intensified, and Henriette swooned, caught by Roche, who happened to be at her side.

And even as Celeste raised a hand to start the trek,

“My lady,” cried Leroux, the hawk master, “a falcon comes winging.” Celeste commanded the warband to stand by, and Leroux ran for the mews.

Down spiraled the falcon, descending toward the cote, finally to land on the platform and stalk inside. Moments later, Leroux came running, the falcon now hooded.

“ ’Tis a bird from the Autumnwood,” he said, and he handed the small message canister up to his mistress.

Celeste opened the tube and fetched out the tissue within. She unrolled it and read the words thereon. A smile broke across her face and she announced, “It is from Steward Zacharie of Autumnwood Manor. Sprites have come flying bearing the news that Princess Liaze and her betrothed, Luc, along with an armed escort, have entered the Autumnwood. She is safe and should be home in a threeday.”

A cheer rose up from the Springwood Manor staff.

Celeste read on, a frown on her features. Then she said, “Zacharie also reports that the witch Iniqui has been slain by Liaze, and warns us to be wary, for two of Orbane’s unholy acolytes yet remain-Hradian and Nefasi.”

A hushed murmur rippled through the gathering, but Celeste smiled and said, “Iniqui has joined her sister Rhensibe in death, and Liaze and Luc are safe; I think that calls for a celebration. Vidal, hold a feast this eve, for though we will be gone, this news deserves a fete.”

“As you wish, my lady,” said the steward.

Another cheer rose up from the staff.

Celeste called Theon to her, and leaned down and said in a low voice, “Keep the houseguard alert, Captain, for the remaining two witches, living foe that they are, might choose to attack Springwood Manor.”

“Fear not, my lady, for we will keep the mansion secure.”

Celeste motioned Vidal to her and said, “Four days from now, when Liaze is safely home, send falcons to my siblings and my parents with word as to what has happened here and the quest we now follow. Tell them of my betrothal, and say that when this quest is done, we will notify a king-my sire-and post the banns and plan the wedding. Give each of them my love as well.”

“As you will, my lady,” said the steward.

Theon and Vidal stepped back, and Celeste straightened in the saddle and gave the order to ride. New sobs erupted as forward the cavalcade moved; once again Henriette swooned, once again caught by Roche. Theon and the houseguard managed a respectable, thrice-shouted Hip-hip-hooray!

And with Celeste and Roel in the lead, warband and packhorses trailing, across the lawn they fared and into the forest beyond.

Riddles and Redes

They passed into the woodland through a grove of flowering dogwoods at the edge of the lawn, did Celeste and Roel and the warband. Scattered cheers from some members of the staff followed them within, but soon faded to silence in the quietness of the ever-awakening trees. And the only sounds were those of shod hooves on soft soil and the creak of leather and the quiet conversation among the riders.

But then Anton called, “Verill, ride point. Garron, Deverel, one to each flank. Merlion, assume rear.” As those riders swung away from the cavalcade to take up their assigned positions, Celeste said, “Are you expecting more brigands, Anton?”

“My lady, with the news of another of the witches being slain, this one by your sister, we need ward against revenge. Hradian or Nefasi most likely were responsible for those brigands who attacked you, and who knows what they might do next?”

Roel nodded. “My love, Anton is most likely correct, for did you not say the leader spoke of his mistress wanting to see you dead or alive? And did not the crow itself cry out for revenge? And if not these witches, who else comes to mind as someone who might wish you ill?”

Celeste shrugged. “No one else I know of.”

“How powerful are these witches?”

Again Celeste shrugged. “That I cannot say, though if indeed the crow was bewitched or- Oh, my, I wonder if the crow was actually one of the remaining sisters.”

“Changed her shape? Transformed herself into a bird?” asked Roel.

“Oui.”

“Is that even possible?”

“We are in Faery, my love,” said Celeste, as if that explained all.

Roel’s hand went to the hilt of his sword and he said,

“Strange are the ways herein, and I can only hope Coeur d’Acier will ward us against any ills that might beset us.” Anton shook his head and said, “I’m afraid, Sieur Roel, sharp edges are no guarantee against sorcery.”