Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a Spring morn

“I thought so, too,” said Celeste. “Nonetheless, I did so.” Tears suddenly welled in Breton’s eyes. “With Lokar dead, I can lead my people back to our lands.”

“Back to your lands? Is not this ville your home?”

“Non. We fled from Lokar. Starwise is where we belong. On the other side of the forest.”

“Did you have a manor there?”

“Oui. But Lokar came on a night of celebration, and only a few of us escaped his dreadful grasp. Some days after, I alerted the countryside. We fled through the forest and settled here. But seasons later Lokar found us, and he raided our farms and slew many, and took the corpses back with him. To prevent such a calamity in the future, we built this fortress and called it Le Bastion.”

“That must have been some years ago,” said Roel.

“Seasons upon seasons past,” said Breton. Then he looked at the chevalier. “You are from the mortal lands?”

“Oui,” replied Roel. “But how did you know?”

“Your use of the term ‘years.’ ”

“Ah, I see.”

“Mayor,” said Celeste, “your manor remembers that night still.”

Again tears welled in Breton’s eyes, and he said, “As do I, for my own daughter was slain by that monster. It was her betrothal we were celebrating.” Of a sudden Celeste gasped, and said, “Did she have hair the color of yours?”

Breton touched his fringe of red. “Oui.” Celeste reached into her pocket and withdrew the silver locket she had all but forgotten, and handed it across the desk to the mayor, saying, “Perhaps this is rightfully yours.”

Breton’s eyes widened in recognition, and he took it up and opened the leaves and burst into tears. After long moments he said, “My Melisande and her Chanler.” He clasped the locket to his breast. “Princess, where did you find this?”

“In Lokar’s cavern. He had it in a chest along with other possessions of those he had slain.” Breton looked again at the portraits. “I gave this to her on the eve of her betrothal. Oh, Melisande, Melisande.” Once more he clutched the keepsake to his breast.

Again long moments passed, as tears slid down Breton’s face. Finally, he closed the leaves and placed the pendant on the desk and said, “Merci, Princess. Merci.” Celeste canted her head in silent acceptance.

Breton then pulled a kerchief from his sleeve and blew his nose. Then he called out, “Sauville!” and when the door opened and a small man appeared, Breton said, “Tell the town criers that Lokar is dead, slain by Princess Celeste de la Foret de Printemps.”

“M’sieur?” His eyes flew wide and he looked at Celeste.

“Oui, she is the one,” snapped Breton, and he snatched up the locket by its broken chain and held it up and said, “I have here the proof. Now go, Sauville, go!” The small man rushed from the office, and for moments quietness reigned, though shouts from the street began breaking the silence. Finally, after one more look at the portraits, the mayor slipped the keepsake into his pocket. “Princess, my captain said you wish to see our armorer. Was your long-knife damaged when you slew Lokar? If so, we will gladly replace it.”

“Non. My long-knife is quite satisfactory. Instead, I would have Monsieur Galdon blunt half my arrows.” Breton glanced at Roel and then back to Celeste.

“Blunt half your arrows? Whatever for?” Celeste shrugged. “Whatever for? That, Monsieur Breton, I do not know.”

The news of Lokar’s death hurtled throughout Le Bastion. Impromptu celebrations erupted. An innkeeper offered Roel and Celeste his very best rooms, but the mayor would have none of that, and instead put them up in his own modest residence. Armorer Galdon was fetched, and shaking his head, he took away half of Celeste’s arrows to refit them with blunt ends.

Celeste retrieved the silver needle and golden tweezers, and then she and Roel gave over their leathers and undergarments to the mayor’s staff to be cleaned. And the princess and her knight luxuriated in hot baths, and drank fine wine, and stuffed themselves with hot beef and steaming goose and savory gravy and onions and bread and artichokes and mushrooms and other such delicacies.

That evening, crowds gathered before the mayor’s residence, and they called for Celeste and Roel to make speeches, and to repeat the story of the slaying of Lokar.

Long into the night did the revels last. As for the two heroes, they climbed into a soft bed, and the moment their heads touched the pillows, they fell into deep sleep, though the next morn they made sweet love in the onset of dawn.

It was not until the noontide that Monsieur Galdon returned with the twenty blunt, bronze-tipped arrows. “I made a special mold,” he said of the teardropped points, their rounded ends forward. “I do not know what good these will serve, but here they are. ’Tis the best I can do given your strange request.”

Celeste thanked him, and within a candlemark, she and Roel rode out through the gate to the cheers of the citizenry.

A league or so later, Celeste snapped her fingers and said, “Ah, me, but we should have gotten a dog.”

“I asked, cherie,” said Roel, “but none would part with any, for all said it is certain death to go into the realm of the Changelings, and the townsfolk do not want a vile shapeshifter to come back disguised as one of their dogs.”

Celeste sighed and shook her head, and down the road they fared, and there were but ten days and a nighttide left ere the fall of the dark of the moon.

Span

Celeste unfolded the map and, after some study, said,

“It seems as soon as we cross the next twilight bound, we need bear due sunwise.” She passed the vellum to Roel.

After he looked at it for a moment, he pointed to a symbol. “What think you this marking means?” Celeste swallowed the bite of bread and leaned over to look. “Hmm. . WdBr. I have no idea, my love.”

“Think you it represents another one of the tests of which Lady Lot spoke?”

“Perhaps,” said Celeste, “for the first test-defeating Lokar-came right after we met her, and that was at the twilight bound.”

Roel frowned. “I think that was not the first test. For when I met you, it was brigands we fought. Then there was the poison of the blade. Then the attack by the Goblins, Bogles, and Trolls fell next. After that there were the corsairs. -Oh, and the Sirenes. Then came the giant Ogre. So, mayhap he was-what? — the sixth test?” Celeste nodded and took a bite of well-cooked beef; it and the bread and other foodstuffs as well as grain for the steeds had been provided by the grateful citizenry of Le Bastion.

Roel sipped a bit of red wine. “Tell me, cherie, are the Fates the ones causing these tests?” Celeste shook her head and swallowed. “Non, Roel.

The Fates merely see what lies before us. It is rare that they actually interfere with the course of men or with that of any given individual. -Oh, when someone breaks a solemn oath or even a serious wager, well, then, I hear that one or the other of the Sisters steps in to take a hand. -Pity the one who has transgressed, for soon or late, he will pay, and dearly.”

“If their interference is so rare, then why do they seem to plague you and your kith?”

Celeste shook her head in rue and peered into her own cup of wine. “My love, I do not know. Camille, Alain’s wife, thinks it has something to do with Wizard Orbane, though she knows not what that might be, for, in addition to the Fates, it seems we are also plagued by Orbane’s acolytes: Hradian, Rhensibe, Iniqui, and Nefasi.”

“Did you not say the witch Rhensibe is dead? Slain by Borel?”

Celeste nodded. “Not directly, but by his Wolves instead. . and Iniqui was slain by Liaze.”