Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a dreadful time

“How did you fare ’gainst your opponent?” asked Luc.

Liaze smiled and said, “He seemed quite preoccupied in looking at something other than the board.” Celeste laughed and said, “As did the man I played.” Roel grinned. “I shouldn’t wonder, given your decolletage.” Luc smiled and looked at each of their low-cut gowns, the women bare from the throat down to the considerable cleavage shown. Then he frowned. “Liaze, where is the key?”

“Key?”

“The amulet. I gave it to you ere the jousting.” Liaze shook her head in bewilderment. “Non, cheri. You gave me no amulet.”

“But you came to me in my tent and asked to keep it safe.

And I willingly handed it over.”

“Non, Luc. Though I did now and then change seats, I was in the stands the whole time.”

Camille gasped and turned pale. “Oh, Mithras. That’s what Scruff was agitated about: the witch was here at the tourney!

Somehow she fooled you, Luc.”

The color drained from Luc’s face, and Blaise whispered,

“Hradian?”

“Oui, Hradian. By glamour or other spell, it wasn’t Liaze, but must have been Hradian instead, or so I deem.” Celeste blanched and looked at the sparrow, who now slept in Camille’s pocket. “Nor, I think, was it a crow he chased, but again ’twas Hradian.”

Tears sprang into Liaze’s eyes. “Oh woe upon woe, for now she has the key to the Castle of Shadows and, can we not stop her, she will set Orbane free.”

Success!

Laughing in glee, Hradian-to all eyes nought but a crow- flew on her broom through the darkening sky, and her hand clutched the amulet on the chain ’round her neck. “Fools, those fools, little did they know they could not stop you, my love. Your potion worked to perfection. Perfection! Ha! A simple glamour wouldn’t do, oh no. Instead you had to become that slattern Liaze, for you knew that her paramour would embrace you, and his arms would feel what his eyes saw not. And you, my sweet, now have the key, the key that will gain your master’s release! Oh, clever you. None of your sisters could do as did you.”

Chortling and laughing, Hradian fled across the sky, her distant swamp cottage her initial goal, and then a realm afar and the Great Darkness beyond. But as she crossed the very first twilight border and entered the Springwood, she came to ground on a high, rocky tor and cast a calling spell. And soon, in spite of the growing dark, the air about was filled with a milling flock of cawing crows, and Hradian spoke to them in their very own tongue. What she said, they understood, though none but someone else versed in the cornix tongue could know the words of her command. Regardless, when she fell silent, in a great cawing racket, the flock flew up and ’round and then fragmented into individual birds hammering across the sky, heading toward the Summerwood and Winterwood and Autumnwood, and deeper into the Springwood as well.

Once more Hradian took to the air, smirking unto herself and saying, “They don’t call them a murder of crows for nought.” And then she burst into laughter and flew on into the gathering dark.

Wakened by a cacophony, two Sprites scrambled to their feet on the leaf where they had bedded down for the night. Tiny they were, no more than two inches tall, and their diaphanous wings quivered, the Sprites ready to spring into flight. But for a scabbard belted at one Sprite’s waist and a speck of a moonstone on a miniscule chain ’round the neck of the other, male and female, they were completely unclothed. And at the sight of a black flock circling, the male drew a wee silver epee from the sheath at his side.

“Crows, Fleurette, crows! Quickly, cover Buzzer. Hide her from the crows.”

As the female snapped a leaf from a branch and used it to hide the bumblebee asleep on their green bed, she said, “What is it, Flic? What is going on?”

Away flew the ebon birds, scattering this way and that, and both Fleurette and Flic crouched down. Flic said, “I don’t know what this is all about, but there’s someone on the tor, and-” Of a sudden he gasped. “ ’Tis a witch, Fleurette. She just took to flight.”

Both watched as a dark figure, silhouetted against the twilight sky, soared upward, the lace and long danglers of her black dress flowing out like wisps of gloom.

“Oh, my,” said Fleurette. “I think that might be Hradian.”

“How know you this?”

“Camille once described Hradian’s flight as a sinister knot of darkness, streaming tatters and tendrils of shadow flapping in the wind behind.”

Flic’s eyes widened in remembrance. “Oui, but you are right, my love; Borel once described her to me. Oh, my, Hradian in the Springwood. We need warn Celeste of the witch in her demesne. Perhaps I should fly onward to the Castle of the Seasons, yet, with all these crows about, I cannot leave you behind.”

“Those murdering birds are gone,” said Fleurette, and she gestured toward the sleeping bee and added, “but it’s Buzzer we cannot leave behind.”

Flic glanced toward the nearby twilight border looming up in the darkness. “I could carry her across the bound and leave her in a safe place with you, and then fly on to the castle. The crows are not likely to come across, especially with night now falling.”

“Well and good,” said Fleurette. “And first thing in the dawning, Buzzer and I will take to wing and follow.” Cradling the sleeping bumblebee and struggling a bit to fly-

for the insect was nearly as large as the Sprite-Flic followed Fleurette through the dark marge, Buzzer shifting uneasily in the embrace yet not awakening. On the far side of the border, Fleurette led Flic to a broad oak, and out at the end of one arm of the tree she found a suitable leaf to settle on.

Flic set Buzzer down, and then offered Fleurette the epee, but Fleurette refused, saying, “Buzzer will be my protector, cheri. Go you now, and swiftly, for a witch to be in the Springwood is an ill omen.”

Flic nodded and kissed Fleurette and leapt into the air, and soon he was lost against the deepening purple of the failing twilight sky.

“Perhaps I am wrong,” said Celeste. “Mayhap the crow Scruff chased wasn’t Hradian, and she is yet on the grounds.” Regar turned to Camille. “This Hradian, she is the witch you spoke of?”

“Oui,” said Camille.

“And this crow: you think it was she?”

“Oui.”

“Mayhap you are correct, then, for as I stood with the onlookers on the hillside, all of us waiting for the joust, I did see a crow winging dawnwise, and it flew within a strange aura.”

“You can see auras?” asked Liaze.

“Oui. . ’round charmed things, that is. Perhaps it’s my grand-pere’s blood that lets me see.” Regar looked at Camille and added, “That wee bird in your pocket, my lady, he bears a faint red lambency, and I deem he is somehow enchanted.” Even as Camille frowned and looked down at sleeping Scruff-“And the crow. .?” asked Celeste.

“A dark glow,” said Regar.

Celeste sighed. “Still, the winging bird might not have been Hradian, hence she might yet be on the grounds; if so, we must find her.”

Alain turned to Borel. “Brother, your Wolves: they might be able to scent her.”

“Mais oui,” said Borel. “Come, Luc.”

“What of weapons and horses?” said Luc.

“We’ll deal with those,” said Roel, and he turned to his brothers. “Laurent, Blaise, fetch my sword and gather weapons for all-bows, arrows, blades-and meet me at the stables, for I go to ready the steeds.”

“My bow lies yon,” said Regar, pointing to where his goods lay at one side of the chamber. “And I’ll aid Roel with the mounts.”