Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a dreadful time

Now!”

. .

Given the dark of the overcast, night came on uncertain feet.

Yet at the point when the blackness was complete but for the lightning above, Michelle and Slate and Dark and Render, Shank, Trot, Loll, and Blue-eye slipped up the rise and over and down and headed toward the plain below. The Sprite Trit rode in the prow of her tricorn.

Down they went and down, the Wolves raising their muzzles and taking in the air, taking in scent, and by the stutter of lightning they could see the way ahead.

They came to the edge of the flat, and there Michelle paused, and under the violent coruscations of the churning skies they could see the dark beginnings of the vast swamp to the fore.

“Oh, my,” said Trit in dismay, in between thunderous booms. “What a dreadful place that is.”

“Dreadful? Why so?”

“Princess, at the bottom of every swamp lies great sickness, a sickness whose very vapors can cause the ague and boils and other such horrible manifestations of its terrible strength, and even a short exposure to this ghastly effluence is deadly to Sprites and lethal to humans if either remain too long in its grasp.”

“What of its effects upon Goblins and Bogles and Trolls and other such beings?”

“Oh, my lady, it harms them not, for Goblins and Trolls are akin to Bogles, who themselves live in swamps.”

“And the Serpentines?”

“The Serpentines and their mounts are more snake than people and steeds, and such corruption harms them not.”

“Well then, Trit, if we can choose our battleground, let it be on this plain and not in the midst of the mire.”

“But only if the soil is firm,” said Trit, “or so Sieur Emile said.”

“Let us test it,” said Michelle, and she gave a soft growl, and Slate led the Wolves onto the plain, Michelle following after and probing with a slender, sharp staff.

. .

Among the roars of thunder, “Bolok, you are the cham of my armies,” said Orbane, looking down at the great Troll standing waist-deep in the water at the edge of the flet. “I would have you lead them against these humans. By no means let the humans enter the swamp until my spell casting is done. Then it won’t matter.”

“Humans?”

“Oui. There is an army of them on the dawnwise marge of the swamp. Ten thousand or so.”

Bolok laughed. “Ten thousand? Why, my Trolls alone could slaughter them all.”

“Non, Bolok, for I need make certain that you protect me on my way to the goal. Hence you will use all under my command to do this ragtag army in.”

“All, my lord? All forty thousand?”

“Oui, all forty thousand. And heed me, more are on the way; if they arrive in time, then throw them into the battle as well, for you must keep the ragtags from disturbing me as I maintain the darkness above and cast the second great spell.”

“As you will, my lord,” said Bolok.

“Then go, and go now, and destroy them all or, at a minimum, keep them at bay.” Bolok laughed and turned and waded through the scum-laden waters to round up the throngs and give them their orders.

. .

In the hollow hills, Regar and Auberon waited as the Fey army came together, Fairies riding from all directions upon their splendid mounts. They wore silver-chased bronze armor polished to a high sheen, and their weapons were bows and arrows as well as long spears, pointed at both ends, one tip for lancing, the other for stabbing down upon a foe. Girted at their waists were finely honed sabers, and strapped to their thighs were keen long-knives.

“My lord,” said Regar, “are we not ready to ride?”

“Nearly,” said Auberon.

Regar stopped his pacing. “Do you know where we should go?”

“When we looked through the queen’s silver mirror, I recognized a witch named Hradian, and behind her and my son I could see what appeared to be a swamp, and that’s where the witch has an abode. Too, I believe I know the goal of my son, and there is a pass he must fare through to get from the swamp to his target. It is in that pass where we’ll make our stand.”

“Well and good,” said Regar. “I will be glad when this day is come to an end and the army is ready to hie, for I am in haste to ride.”

“As am I,” said the Fairy King, “and this day is nearly done.”

“Hai!” exclaimed Regar, eager to be off, for somewhere Blaise and the others were waiting, yet what Regar had temporarily forgotten was that time steps at a different pace in the Halls of the Fairy King.

. .

Michelle looked across the assembly of leaders, and raised her voice to be heard. And in a lull in the thunderous skies she said,

“Until you are nigh upon the swamp itself, the plain is firm, Sieur Emile.”

“Good. Did you”-Emile waited as the heavens roared-“or the Wolves see or sense any foe?”

“Non. All was quiet but for the storm above, though there yet falls no rain.”

“I have not seen skies like this ere now,” said Roel.

The others chimed their agreement.

All commanders and armsmasters and warband leaders were gathered to plan the morrow, assuming they could draw Orbane’s forces out onto the plain.

After giving her report, Michelle withdrew, for with no scouting to be done, or at least no scouting that she and the Wolves might accomplish, she felt her role would be that of one of the archers. Laurent would tell her where to be in the fight to come.

And even as the planners sat in council, Chelle and the Wolves went back to the crest of the slope, and they watched as lightning flared to illuminate the land below. Finally, Michelle turned to go back into the encampment, yet a flow of movement caught the corner of her eye. At the next lightning flare she saw a great blot of darkness moving down the starwise slopes toward the swamp. Again lightning stuttered across the sky, and this time she could see that it was a great throng of Goblins, perhaps as many as ten or twelve thousand. And then the leading edge of the swarm reached the swamp and slowly the mire engulfed them.

She and another of the warders standing atop the ridge took this news to Sieur Emile and his commanders. Emile sighed and said, “It’s just more we have to face.”

“Pah!” snorted Laurent. “Goblins? We’ll make short shrift of them.”

Luc looked at the eldest of Emile’s get and slowly shook his head.

And the planning went on, and they argued on how best to draw Orbane’s forces out.

Little did they know that even then Bolok and an army forty thousand strong, soon to be fifty thousand, force-marched for the edge of the swamp to do battle with them.

During the flashes in the night the allied warders discerned movement against the black wall of swamp lying some two leagues away, yet what this stirring might portend, they could not clearly see. They notified Sieur Emile, and he in turn sounded the alert and called the brigade commanders to him. And as the army stood armed and armored and ready, they met to consider what to do. And none did note when Michelle and the Wolves slipped away from the encampment, not even the sentries on duty, so stealthy were she and the pack. Nor did they note when Michelle and the Wolves returned, slipping unseen through the line. They made their way to the war council and reported what they had seen, and the commanders, after a moment of disconcertment that she had done such a foolhardy thing, then did pay close heed.

“I drew nigh enough to see by the lightning that Goblins and Bogles and Trolls and Serpentines are gathering on the edge of the mire. Thousands upon thousands of them; I did not get an accurate count.”

“Did it seem they were preparing to mount an attack in the dark?” asked Bailen.

“I think not,” said Michelle, “for many lay down to rest or to sleep.”