Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a dreadful time

“What of his armies? Can you use your numinous powers against them?”

Auberon’s shoulders sagged. “Not while they protect Orbane. The queen’s love for her only child has tied our hands, and our magic cannot oppose him. . nor aid him, for that matter. No Fey magic whatsoever can be used.”

“But you can fight his armies with sword and spear and such?”

“Oui, though we cannot bring them to bear against Orbane himself. As I said, the queen has tied our hands.” Regar frowned in puzzlement. “But, if Elven magic cannot be used against Orbane, then how is it in times gone that Lisane, an Elfmaiden, was able to see his downfall? And of recent she has read the taroc and again sees looming a great struggle, though this time not how it will end.”

“Her magic is not in direct opposition, for it only speaks of possible outcomes and not sureties.”

“I see,” said Regar. They sat in silence for a moment, but then Regar took a deep breath. “My lord, would you stop someone who is neither Elf nor Fairy from taking your son’s life?” A tear slowly slid down Auberon’s face, and he tried to speak, but could not. He looked at Regar in agony, and finally turned his face away.

“You would not oppose?”

At last Auberon found his voice enough to choke out, “I would not.”

He would let others slay his son, though they can be neither Fairies nor Elves. And given the geas of Gloriana, I wonder if I, with Auberon’s blood flowing in my veins, though dilute, can raise my sword or loose an arrow against their only son, my oncle, evil though he is. And if not I, then who, I wonder, will dare do the deed and reap the wrath of the Fairy Queen?

“My lady?” A lithe handmaiden bearing a glass-chimneyed candle crossed the chamber to come to the side of the bed.

Michelle struggled up from the tangle of blankets. “Oui, Amelie.”

“My lady, Steward Anton and Sieur Laurent stand at the door.”

Michelle swung her feet out from under the covers and caught up her robe. “Light candles, Amelie, and give me a moment, then let them in.” Shock registered on Amelie’s face. “Into your boudoir, my lady?”

“Oui, Amelie, into my boudoir.”

The princess stepped into her private bathing chamber and relieved herself, then splashed water upon her face to drive out the last dregs of sleep and took up a towel and blotted dry. When she stepped back into the bedchamber, Amelie stood by the door, and, at a signal from Michelle, the demure handmaiden, with blood rising to her face, summoned the two men in.

“Princess,” said Anton, bowing, Laurent at his side bowing as well.

“We would not have disturbed you,” said the steward, “but the Ice Sprites bring ill news.”

“Ill news?”

“Oui. It seems a great army of Trolls is on the march.”

“Where?”

“In the Chaine Malefique.”

Michelle nodded, for the Baleful Range was well entwined within the lore of Faery. “Whence are they bound?”

“Ah, my lady, that we cannot say, for with the twilight marges, a minor shift in where they cross could lead them somewhere altogether different.”

“The Sprites say they move dawnwise through the mountains,” said Laurent.

“Even so,” said Anton, “we know not their goal, nor the best way to intercept them, should we wish our army to do so.”

“No doubt they go to rendezvous with Orbane,” said Laurent. He clenched his jaw in frustration, and then spat, “By damn, I am discovering fighting a war in Faery is nearly impossible, not knowing where anything goes. I say this: give me a good map and knowledge of the terrain, and the particulars on the numbers and composition of the enemy, and a well-trained army to lead, and I can take on any foe. Yet even though we have Winterwood fighters at our beck and good scouts as well, we have no maps of any consequence to even know where to go. Bah! Faery! Herein things are all entangled in a maze of twilight borders, where a trivial adjustment can throw one leagues upon leagues away from where one would like to be.”

“We must depend upon the Sprites to guide us, Laurent,” said Michelle softly. “Still, our aim is not to engage a Troll army, but to keep Orbane from realizing whatever goal he has in mind.”

“Stop his armies and we stop him,” replied Laurent.

“Perhaps,” said Anton. “Even so, Princess Michelle is correct: we must not go haring off to engage a Troll brigade. Instead we must try to find Orbane and do him in.”

“There is an old adage,” said Michelle, “one my father often cited: cut off the head of the snake, and the body dies.”

“I agree, my lady,” said Laurent, “yet how do we find this particular snake?”

Michelle turned up her hands. “The Trolls will lead us to him, yet they are not the whole of Orbane’s might, for, as reported by Chevell, the Changelings are allied with the wizard, too, and together they will be formidable.”

“Forget not the Redcaps and the Bogles,” said Anton. “In the last war they sided with Orbane as well.” As Michelle nodded, Laurent said, “I suppose we’ll have to wait for more Sprites to report movements of others of Orbane’s allies, then perhaps we can deduce where the muster will be.

Still, I detest waiting until the whole of the enemy is assembled, for in numbers they gain strength.”

“Oui,” said Anton.

Laurent then added, “Had we our own armies gathered-

those of the Forests of the Seasons, as well the one at the Castle of the Seasons-we could take on Orbane’s separate legions one at a time, rather than when they are all together. Given the reports of the previous war with the wizard, I’m afraid we’ll be rather thin to face the whole of his might.”

“What of our allies from other realms?” asked Anton. “Surely they will add to our strength can we link up with them.”

“The Sprites will guide them to us,” said Michelle, “just as soon as we know where we need be.”

Clearly agitated, Laurent blew out a great breath of air.

“Damn the gods for making such a puzzle place as is Faery.”

“Mithras!” exclaimed Amelie, who had been standing quietly by the door. “Oh, Sieur Laurent, do not tempt the gods to take retribution.”

Laurent sighed and his shoulders slumped, but he said nought.

Michelle stood a moment in thought. “Anton, at dawn send falcons to the others, and tell them what the Ice Sprites have seen. Say unto them that until we know where Orbane is, we simply must wait.”

Michelle then turned to Laurent. “Sieur, we are all of us frustrated by unfolding events and our inability to head things off, yet have faith, for surely evil will not win in the end. Now I say let us regain our beds and try to get some sleep.”

“Oui, my lady,” said Laurent, and he and Anton bowed and withdrew.

Amelie extinguished all candles but one at the bedside and the one in her hand and then withdrew as well. Michelle blew out the remaining light and took to her bower, yet she did not sleep again that night.

. .

By midmorning, falcons spiralled down from the skies above the other manors and the castle. And in those realms, Luc, Blaise, Roel, and Emile read the grim news.

It was on the practice field in the Autumnwood where warriors drilled at spears that Luc sat with Remy in the stands and mulled over the falcon-brought message. And the armsmaster said, “Lady Michelle is right: we need a way of finding where Orbane doffs his cloak, for he is the head of the snake, a head we must lop off.”

The prince nodded. “Finding Orbane is-” Of a sudden, Luc’s voice jerked to a halt, and the elusive thought that had been skating on the fringes of his mind for nigh on a fortnight suddenly burst clear. He slapped himself in the forehead and leapt to his feet. “Remy, Remy, what an utter fool am I. We have no way of directly finding Orbane, but Hradian is another matter altogether.” Luc spun on his heel and headed for the manor, the armsmaster hard after.