Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a dreadful time

Orbane smiled. “Ah, and these mortal virgins, you plow them yourself and sow your seed?”

Effroi jerked a nod.

“Why not merely take the cloak from the queen?”

“Her magic is too powerful, and she insists that we woo these mortal women instead of taking what is rightfully ours in our traditional manner.”

Orbane nodded. “By force, you mean.” Again his words were not a question.

Effroi nodded once more.

“As it should be,” said Orbane. “Tell me, have you tried to fetch the cloak by way of a spell before?” Effroi sighed. “Oui, but I have failed each time. Did I not say her magic is strong?”

A small flash of ire crossed Orbane’s face, but he managed to quell his rage at being questioned. “I heard you the first time. . boy.”

Effroi looked at Orbane. “My lord, they say your magic, too, is mighty. Think you that you can overcome the power of the Queen of the Changelings?”

Again rage briefly flashed upon Orbane’s features, but he said, “Effroi, do the Changelings once commanded by your sire now acknowledge you as their liege?”

“Oui.”

“Then, my lord,” said Orbane, “I have a proposition to make, one that will restore the cloak to you and give you all the mortal virgins you desire. And all it requires is that you and your minions join me in a minor venture.”

Effroi’s face lighted with the expectation of promises fulfilled. “Say on, my lord, say on.”

. .

“They start their march on the morrow, Acolyte, and gather strength of numbers as they go. All I had to do was promise Effroi I would retrieve his father’s cloak and give it to him. The fool! As if I would actually yield up that splendid mantle. Why, with it I will be able to instantly transport myself to wherever it is I desire. Black it is, and limned in scarlet-how fitting that I shall be the one to own it.”

Hradian did not respond. Instead she ground her teeth in frustration, for what she had sought, the corpse of her sister had not had. There had been no thong about Nefasi’s neck with a clay amulet dangling. Instead, it seems she had not had any of the Seals of Orbane, or if she had, they had not been on her person when she had been slain by that whore Celeste. Yet gritting her teeth, Hradian bore down on her besom to urge more speed from it, as toward the Isle of Brados they raced and the corsair stronghold thereon.

“There it is, at the top of that tall mound,” cried Flic as Regar crested a hill and stopped, the horses lathered and blowing.

Across the expanse of green rolling downs, Regar could see a great grassy mound on which sat a dolmen, with three upright, twice-man-tall megaliths equidistant from one another and a great flat capstone atop.

Two days earlier in the dawn they had left Lisane’s great willow tree abode. She had wept, and Regar had embraced her dearly, his own eyes filled with sadness. Yet both knew he could not remain, for momentous events were afoot. And so, following Buzzer, Regar had ridden away, Lisane’s sweet kiss yet lingering on his lips. “ Au revoir , Lady of the Bower,” had cried Flic. “I am certain we shall see you again.” And off they had galloped, and, even as they went apace, Fleurette had drawn in a gasp of wonder, and quickly she wiped away her own tears of parting, for trotting across the sward had come a Unicorn to comfort weeping Lisane.

But that had been two days past, and they had ridden far and had crossed many a twilight marge. And not but a few moments ago they had emerged from the final crepuscular bound to come into these verdant downs.

“Oh, Flic,” said Fleurette, peering at the dolmen, “should we go near? As you once said, the Fey Lord Gwynn is quite capricious and might give us some onerous task to perform.”

“Fear not, my sweetling, for the sun is o’erhead and the passage will not open until the eventide, by which time we can be at a distance, and Gwynn will not know we are nigh.”

“You name him Gwynn?” asked Regar.

“Oui,” said Flic.

“My grandmother called him Auberon, for that was the name he gave her.”

“Ah, he is known by many names, depending on who is speaking, Gwynn and Auberon being just two.”

“His queen has many names as well,” said Fleurette, “Mab, Titania, and Gloriana being but three.”

“My grandmother called her Gloriana,” said Regar.

“By any name, she is the Fairy Queen, just as he is the Fey King.”

“Well and good,” said Regar, “but let us tarry no longer.” Regar spurred his mount and galloped down the far side of the hill, the remounts and the pack horse in tow. Across the swale below and then up to the dolmen they went, where Buzzer awaited atop the capstone, her task as guide now done.

“My lord,” said Flic, “you’ll have to wait until the coming of dusk, for none can enter ere then. It’s shut, you see.” But as Regar dismounted, the moment his foot touched the sod, a great hole yawned open ’neath the dolmen, revealing stairs and a wagon ramp leading down and in, a dim glow seeping upward.

“Oh, my!” exclaimed Flic. “I wonder what-?”

“Perhaps it’s my blood,” said Regar.

Flic frowned. “Your blood?”

“Oh, love,” said Fleurette, “he is , after all, the grandson of the Fairy King.”

“Ah,” said Flic, enlightened.

Regar stepped under the capstone and looked into the gape.

“You tell me that time strides at a different pace therein?” Flic nodded, though on the tricorn as he was, the Prince could not see his assent. At an elbow from Fleurette, Flic added,

“Oui, my lord. When last Buzzer and I were here with Prince Borel and he had gone within, we waited for him for a full fortnight, and yet to him but a few candlemarks had passed ere he emerged once more.”

Regar stepped back out from under and looked about, and both Sprites flew to alight upon the edge of the capstone.

“Tell me, my tiny comrades, can you keep the horses from running away?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Flic.

Fleurette giggled and added, “We oft play tricks on crofters’

steeds, and the farmers find them far afield.”

“How so, Little Flower?” asked Regar.

“Well, they are trained, you see, and so we merely light in the animal’s ear and command them with a gee and a haw and a hup and a whoa, and they go where we wish.” Regar broke into laughter, and then he began unlading the cargo from the pack horse and removing the tack from the one he had ridden and the tethered halters from the remounts. After he had rubbed them down, he said, “There’s good grazing at hand, and I see a stream in the distance. So while you’ll watch over the steeds, I will go see my grandsire.”

“Ah, good,” said Flic. “That way you can tell the Fey Lord that we are down by the stream and tending a task, and he won’t think of something for us to do.”

“But please, Prince Regar,” said Fleurette, “leave a honey jar open for us to sup upon should you be a long while returning.”

“Mais oui,” said Regar, fetching out one of the small stone crocks and uncapping it and setting it in the shade of the dolmen.

“Speaking of dining, my prince,” said Flic, “remember to eat no food and drink no wine nor take any other form of refreshment from them. . not even water. For if you do, ’tis said that you might forget all.”

Fleurette frowned and said, “I’m not certain of that, my love.”

“Oh?”

“Oui. He has the blood of the Fairy King in his veins.”

“Ah, I see,” said Flic. He turned to Regar and said, “But still if I were you I’d be cautious.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Regar. Then he looked from Flic to Fleurette to Buzzer. “Well, now, there’s nothing for it but for me to go.” And he stepped under the capstone and down into the gaping hole.