Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a Spring morn

Celeste took up her spent arrows, most of which had rattled to the bottom of the steps, though she had to climb up after a few.

As she fetched the last of the shafts, “Aha!” crowed Roel. Celeste turned to see him standing on the pedestal of the statue, and in his right hand he held an arrow. And he called out: “Celeste, this is not Tartarus but Senaudon instead, for the gray arrow: I have it!” Celeste darted down the stairs and to the plinth.

“Here,” said Roel, and he handed her the arrow.

Celeste examined it. The shaft was dark gray as was the fletching, and the arrowhead was of a dull gray metal. “It looks like plomb, ” said Celeste. She tested it with her thumbnail, leaving behind a faint mark. “Oui, indeed it is lead.”

“It was in her hands,” said Roel, gesturing at the statue.

Celeste looked up at the depiction. A woman stood, a crown on her head, her arms outstretched, palms up, as if in supplication. “She seems to be a queen,” said Celeste. “Mayhap the queen of Cymru.”

“Or the queen of the Waste City of the Dead,” said Roel. “I wonder why she had the arrow that slew Achilles?”

Celeste shrugged, and as she started to speak-

Thdd! Thdd!

The chamber doors rattled under massive blows.

Roel turned and peered at the juddering panels.

“They must have fetched a ram, and those simple brackets will not withstand such battering.” Celeste slipped the gray arrow into her quiver. “What will we do, my love? There are entirely too many for my blunt shafts and your sword.”

Thdd! Thdd! Bmm!

Roel frowned then looked ’round at the chambers.

“Mayhap there is a back way out.”

Quickly they searched, and the pounding went on, the doors quaking, the bolt rattling in its loosening clamps.

And the horses skittered and whuffed with each blow.

Dmm! Dmm!

Neither Celeste nor Roel found any other exit.

Bmm! Bmm! hammered the ram, and the doors began to give and thin wails and a mewling grew louder, as if the undead creatures anticipated victory.

Celeste shuddered, remembering the touch of one of the beings, and she looked down at her leg where the creature had clutched it, and she gasped, for her leathers held what appeared to be a scorched imprint of a hand, as if the grip was of fire. Yet no scald this, but rather one of intense cold, as she could well attest.

“Freezing!” said Celeste. “I felt a deadly numbness, a bitter chill, when one of those corpse folk grabbed me, Roel. Yet we ward cold with fire; think you flames will deal with these creatures?”

“Perhaps,” said Roel. “In fact, it might be our only hope.” With a few quick strides he went to the foot of the stairs he had defended and took up four of the unlit torches from the pile of splintered bones lying there. “I wonder if these flambeaus yet hold enough oil to burn?”

Bmm! Dmm!

“If not,” said Celeste, stepping to one of the geldings and fetching a lantern, “we have lamp oil here.” Clang! One of the brackets fell to the floor, and the door gave inward. Outside, the mewling of the undead mob pitched even higher.

As she poured oil on the torch rags, Roel said, “But where will we go once we are free of these corpse people?” Bmm! Bmm! Dmm! Clang! Another bracket fell, and the doors gaped even more, and now the crowd yowled.

Celeste glanced over her shoulder at the yielding entrance. She struck the striker on the lantern, and it flared into flame. “The only way we know out of this place is back through the gate whence we came.” Dmm! Bmm!

Roel lit the torches, and as Celeste extinguished the lantern and shoved it into a pack, Roel said, “Oui, yet that way out only leads back to Erebus-either to the Hall of Heroes or to the pit of Tartarus, and neither place will set us free or get us any closer to my sister.

And even should we get back across the Styx and the Acheron and find our way back through Thoth’s portal, that will but leave us trapped in Meketaten’s-”

“Oh, Roel, you have hit upon it!” called Celeste above the crash of the ram and the cries of the mob. “I think I know just how to get us out of here.”

“You do?”

“Oui.” Celeste laughed and said, “Thoth told us the way.”

Roel frowned in puzzlement, and Celeste said, “Trust me, my love.” And she grabbed two torches and leapt into her saddle, and cried, “ ’Tis time to flee through the gauntlet and up the hill whence we came.” And in that moment with a crash the doors flew wide, and the horde of howling corpses pushed inward.

Bridge

Hard they rode, did the warband, long under the sun and stars. They took little rest, only that needed to spare the steeds. Even so, horses went lame, and gear was shifted, and men took to new mounts, abandoning those that could no longer run. And some four days after leaving Port Cient, the riders entered yet another forest, but this one had a windrow through it, and so the woodland did not slow the force as had the previous forest they encountered. They emerged at a run under the stars and hammered across fertile fields, though the crofts were abandoned, as were the steads thereon. In starlight they came unto a palisaded town: ’twas Le Bastion.

Guards aimed great ballistas laded with spears at the milling band, for the citizenry was sore afraid to let such a force within; after all, they could be raiders. Mayor Breton was called, and when he appeared on the wall above, Borel explained that it was Celeste and Roel and Avelaine and Laurent and Blaise they were out to save, and Breton ordered the gates flung wide.

They exchanged as many horses as they could with those from the town, and after but six hours respite, the warband galloped away.

“The Wolves are edgy,” said Borel, as up the narrow pathway they went along the wall of the gorge. “Horses, too. Something dire lies ahead, I ween.” Mist swirled and twined, and as they came to a flat, a stone bridge stood before them. And a huge armored man bearing a great sword and wearing a red surcoat stepped on the far end of the span, the whorls of white alternately revealing and concealing the knight.

And neither the horses nor the Wolves would set hoof or paw upon the stone of the bridge.

“We would pass!” called Borel.

The monstrous knight did not reply.

Donning his helm, Luc dismounted and took up his shield and sword, saying, “I will go parley with him.” With a bit of blood running from his left arm and his shield cloven in twain, Luc returned through the swirling fog and said, “We can go onward now.” And across the bridge they all went, the horses no longer skittish and shy, the Wolves padding forward without delay.

At the far end, the Red Knight’s empty helm sat on one of the pikes, but as to where his slain body had gone, none could say.

They came to the twilight border and passed on through to find themselves in a dank swamp, and slime floated on the water therein. And now no matter how hard they pressed, they could move no faster than a swift walk, and at times they moved much slower.

And there was but a single day remaining ere the dark of the moon.

Escape

Torches aflame and shrieking a war cry, toward the squalling mob drove Celeste, with Roel shouting and charging after, fire in his hands as well. And the mares and geldings smashed into the throng, and brittle bones shattered under the onslaught. Corpses fell and were trampled under, never to rise again. The horses screamed at the touch of the undead things, and yet they hammered ahead, trying to get free of the deadly and draining chill. The princess and her knight laid about with their torches and tattered clothing blazed up, and dangling flesh burst into flame, and burning creatures mewled thin wails and fled back into the horde, only to spread the fire as more of the undead caught flame and squealed and ran into others and those into others still. The corpses gave way before horse and flambeau in fear of hoof and blaze, and some took up rubble and threw it at these living things to try and bring them down. But Celeste and Roel and the horses crashed onward, and finally the princess was free of the mob. . and Roel broke free right after.