Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a dreadful time

And the diminutive beings flew throughout the Springwood and Summerwood and Autumnwood, to all the hamlets and villages and crofts and mines and strongholds and manors and other such. And to the Humans and Gnomes and Dwarves and other beings therein they relayed the dreadful news that a means for freeing Orbane had come into the witch Hradian’s hand, and for the realms to prepare for his escape. They told them as well that the prince or princess or even the king would send word as to where to assemble should that event come about. Many gasped, for they thought that after his imprisonment Orbane would ne’er again be of concern, and others wept, remembering the last time he had been on the loose, while still others girded their loins and sharpened their weapons and oiled their armor of old, for if the wizard got free, then once again all Enfer would break loose upon this peaceful realm.

And Sprites flew across various twilight borders to other realms, and they alerted their kindred there, and those in turn bore the messages onward, warning the inhabitants of their respective domains, and carrying the news beyond.

Doubling and doubling and doubling again, it was as Peti had said: like wildfire did the word spread.

And as evermore Sprites flew onward they kept an eye out for Raseri the Dragon and Rondalo the Elf, but of these two they saw nought.

Yet Faery is endless, or so some have claimed, hence no one could gauge whether or no the word would reach all corners of that magical place, and if it would come soon or late or not at all.

Following Jerome, among the green-leafed trees of the Summerwood galloped Blaise and Regar, along with Regar’s tricorn passengers-Flic, Fleurette, and Buzzer. Across grassy glades they ran, and down into sunlit dells, and through long, enshadowed woodland galleries, and past stony cliffs over which crystalline water tumbled in roaring falls. Now and again they would pause to change mounts, and then take up the run once more.

They passed through the village of Fajine, where folk had gathered in the square and hailed the riders.

Blaise and the others paused a moment, and someone called out, “Is it true what the Sprite who came just said: that Orbane is free?”

Blaise frowned. “I think what you heard is not the message they bore.”

“He’s right,” called a man. “The Sprite only told us that Orbane might be set free and to be ready for such an event, should Prince Alain send word.”

“Regardless,” said another. “Has Orbane been set free?” Blaise shook his head. “That we cannot say. Yet the witch Hradian has the means to set him loose. So alert your fighting men, and be ready to assemble at Summerwood manor should the call to muster come.”

Somewhere within the small gathering a woman burst into tears. And Prince Regar added, “We have sent for one who might be able to stop the witch, yet we cannot be certain of success.”

Ere any could ask more, Blaise spurred his mount, and away galloped the riders, remounts in tow.

A candlemark later as the noontide drew on, they paused at a meandering wooded stream to water the horses and to give them grain and a bit of a breather.

“That was fast,” said Regar.

“What was?” asked Blaise.

“That the Sprites had reached the village ere we got there.”

“Not very,” said Flic. “I mean, those people acted as if the messenger had just come, and had I been bearing the warning, I would have been long gone from there.”

Blaise laughed and said, “Lord Borel once told me of this penchant of yours to speak of just how swift you are.” As Flic sputtered and searched for a reply, Fleurette said,

“Well, it’s true. Flic is the fastest Sprite I have ever seen.”

“And I suppose you have seen many, Lady Fleurette?”

“I have. And in the Sprite races, Flic has never lost.”

“Then I apologize, Sieur Flic, for you must be swift indeed.”

Somewhat mollified, Flic started to speak, but in that moment, from beyond an upstream turn there came the cry of

“Oh, help! Oh, help!”

With a shing! Blaise drew his sword, even as Regar swiftly strung his bow and nocked an arrow. Jerome drew his own blade.

Flic, his epee in hand, said, “Let me go see.” And ere any could object, he darted away, Buzzer flying in his wake.

Moments later, Flic and Buzzer returned, the Sprite’s epee now sheathed. “It is a silly woman up in a tree. She says she cannot get down.”

“Are you certain it is just a woman, and not the witch in disguise?”

“I have Fey sight,” protested Flic. “Were she glamoured, I would have seen it, just as I would have seen it had I been at the faire when Hradian came englamoured.”

“As would have I,” said Fleurette.

Blaise nodded, though he did not sheathe his sword. “Well then, let me go see what is to be done.”

“I’ll go as well,” said Regar, and he did not unnock the arrow from his bow.

“Sieur Blaise,” said Jerome-

“Stay with the mounts,” said Blaise, and he and Regar set off upstream, Flic and Fleurette and Buzzer again riding the tricorn.

Jerome sighed and sheathed his blade and watched them until they vanished beyond the turn.

’Round the bend fared the knight and bastard prince, along with two Sprites and a bee, and aseat on a low limb of a widespread oak sat a distressed, yellow-haired demoiselle, a small basket in hand. She was clad in a gingham dress, though her feet were bare. Relief swept over her face at the sight of the men coming to rescue her.

“Oh, sieurs, I am so glad to see you, for I need aid in getting to the ground.”

“What are you doing up this tree, m’lady?” asked Regar.

“Collecting birds’ eggs, Sieur, for my sisters and me.”

“Your sisters?”

“Oui, I have two.”

Blaise sheathed his sword and stepped among the great gnarled roots spreading out from the bole and across the ground.

“Mademoiselle, if you would trust me, please lower the basket first, and then yourself afterward. I will catch you.”

“Oh, Sieur, but I am afraid.”

“Then I will climb up, and ease you down to my friend.” He turned to Regar. “N’est ce pas?”

Regar nodded, and as Blaise climbed, the prince sheathed his arrow and slipped his bow across his back.

Blaise took the basket with its grass-cushioned eggs and gave it into Regar’s upstretched hands, and the prince set it to the ground.

Then Blaise grasped the mademoiselle by the wrists and, with her emitting small whimpers, he lowered her to Regar’s embrace.

Blaise leapt down as Regar eased the femme to earth, the prince saying, “There, my lady. Safely done.” And in that moment the basket and eggs vanished and a shimmering came over the mademoiselle, and there before them stood a matronly woman with golden hair and golden eyes and dressed in a gold-limned ebon robe, and the air was filled with the sound of looms weaving.

As Regar stepped back in surprise, “Lady Verdandi,” said Flic, even as Blaise knelt and said, “Lady Lot.” Following Blaise’s action, Regar knelt as well.

“Blaise, Regar, Flic, Fleurette, Buzzer,” said Verdandi, smiling.

“So much for Fey sight,” said Fleurette.

Verdandi laughed. “Not even Fey sight can pierce the disguises my sisters and I wear.” Blaise said, “My Lady Who Sees the Everlasting Now, have you come to give us a rede?”

“Oui, I have, and, since you have helped me, I can do so, but only if you answer a riddle.”

Flic groaned, but otherwise didn’t speak.

“A riddle?” asked Regar.

“By the rules my sisters and I follow, you must do so ere any of us can render aid.”

Blaise sighed in resignation, but then he seemed to brace himself. He looked up at her. “Say on, Lady Lot.” Verdandi nodded and took a deep breath. And as the sound of weaving intensified, she said: