Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a dreadful time

Mayhap long past, ’round a campfire a gifted Keltoi began a tale, the first one the gods listened to, and it went something like this:

“Once upon a time there was a terrible Drake named Raseri, a Drake who breathed flame. And in a hard-fought duel with an Elf named Audane, Raseri slew the Elf. Yet it was Audane’s wedding night, and he had lain with his bride ere the battle, and some ten moons after the terrible death, Audane’s grieving widow, a Water Fairy named Chemine, birthed a son. And Chemine gave over unto the wee lad Audane’s silvery sword, the one with the arcane runes hammered down the length of its blade, and she said, ‘One day, my Rondalo, you will battle with vile Raseri, foul murderer of your sire.’ ” Camille fell silent, and Raseri cocked his head and said,

“Mayhap ’tis true that such did happen. Even so, where does that lead?”

“Oh, don’t you see, Raseri, ere that tale perhaps there was no before, no existence whatsoever for Faery, no existence even for you. Mayhap that’s when Faery began. Perhaps that’s when you were born full-grown. Mayhap there was no Audane, yet even if there was, if the legend of the Keltoi and the gods is true, then it is no fault of yours he was slain. Instead ’tis completely the fault of the Keltoi who told that story, the first the gods had heard, and this blood vengeance, this sword-oath Rondalo swore, should instead have been sworn ’gainst the tale-teller, or the gods who made it true, for in truth they are the ones in combination who did murder Audane.”

Raseri grunted, but otherwise did not reply, and Camille ate the remainder of her biscuit in silence, her thoughts tumbling one o’er the other.

Finally Raseri said, “If you have the truth of it, Camille, then much needs setting aright.”

“Wh-what?” said Camille, shaken from her musings.

“I said, have you the truth of it, then much needs setting aright. Even so, there is this to consider: although the Keltoi, or gods, or in combination, are responsible for much grief and rage, they gave me, they gave all of us, life as well. Without them we would not be. Hence, if the legend is true, we owe them our very existence. Those tales, though fraught with peril and desperation and fury and sorrow such as they are, without them we would not be.”

Camille nodded, somewhat abstractedly, and Raseri tilted his head to one side and said, “You seem preoccupied, Camille.

What were your thoughts that I so interrupted?” Camille glanced at Scruff and then at the Drake, then out to where Rondalo might be, and she shrugged and said, “I was just wondering whose silver tongue or golden pen is telling the tale we find ourselves in.”

Raseri’s booming laughter echoed among the peaks, but when he looked down at Camille, she wasn’t laughing at all.

. .

“. . and so you see, Simone,” said Camille, glancing at Avelaine as well. “If I am right, then each of the Firsts is the first of its kind to have been spoken of in a Keltoi bard’s tale, one whose story was made manifest.”

. .

In the armory, as Alain fell silent, Blaise said, “Did this Rondalo fellow ever fight Raseri?”

“Non,” said Alain. “After Raseri bore Camille to someone even older than he, the Dragon flew to see Chemine and told her of Camille’s conjecture. Chemine and Rondalo and Raseri made a truce, and, as it so happens, Rondalo and Raseri became the best of friends, and these days they go adventuring together.”

“Huah!” grunted Emile. “An Elf and a Dragon adventuring together. How odd.”

“Only in Faery,” said Roel.

Emile nodded and then turned to Valeray. “Well then, now that I know what a First is, tell me of this person Orbane.” Valeray said, “Orbane is one of the Firsts as well, evil wizard that he is.”

“But why would the gods do such?” asked Emile. “I mean, why would they make manifest a vile wizard who wished to rule all of Faery?”

“Because of the adventures he would spawn,” said Valeray. “Terrible as they were, it would be entertainment for the gods.”

Laurent slammed a gauntleted fist into a gauntleted palm and gritted, “Gods be damned.”

“Oh, Laurent, tempt them not,” said Roel, “else something might befall you as befell Avelaine.”

Laurent looked at his brother and wrenched off the gauntlets and flung them to the table where others lay. “Pah! That was the Lord of the Changelings and no god who stole our sister.”

“Nevertheless. .” said Roel.

Laurent took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I hear, little brother. I hear.”

Emile said, “What of this war with Orbane, Lord Valeray? I assume this monstrous mage was defeated.” Valeray nodded and said, “Many of the Firsts-Raseri the Firedrake, Jotun the Giant, Adragh the Pwca, Tisp the Sprite, and others-banded together to oppose Orbane and his conquest. Yet he was too powerful for them, and something had to be done. My friend, Duke Roulan, Michelle’s sire, came up with the seed of a scheme. You see, at the time he and I were neither duke nor king, but thieves instead. Yet we were caught up in the war against Orbane, for his minions were ruining our business. And so. .”

. .

“What we need,” said Roulan, “is a way to turn Orbane’s own power against him.”

Valeray nodded. “But how?”

“Well, Val, I know where one of his castles is located, though it is said to be warded by a witch; but surely you can get in and discover something of his own that we can use against him.”

“We. .?”

“Well, perhaps not we directly, but certainly the Firsts could.”

“I don’t know, Roully. I would think the castle well guarded, and it might-” Of a sudden, Valeray fell into thought. “Guile.

We can use guile. Though if Orbane is in residence, it’s the end for us both. But if he’s elsewhere, and the witch stands ward, well. .”

Roulan pushed out a hand of negation. “You know Orbane is off opposing the Firsts, and this castle is one of his lesser. What is it you have in mind?”

Valeray smiled and said, “Remember how we fooled the mayor, and. .”

A moon or so later, at a grey stone castle on a bald hill in the midst of a dark forest, a hag knocked for entry. From the battlements above, the Troll guard shouted down for her to go away, yet she croaked that she was a soothsayer who had private words for Lord Orbane within.

After repeated demands by the crone and threats by the Troll, disturbed by the racket without, the mistress of the castle appeared. It was a witch who announced she was in command of this holt.

“I have a dreadful message to give to the dark one, and I would see him,” called up the hag.

“Dreadful message?”

“I am a soothsayer and I have seen, and I’ll only speak with Lord Orbane.”

“Seen what?”

“Oh, Mistress, this is not for your ears, and I certainly cannot say it in front of your warders; it might dishearten them.

Besides, I am tired and need a rest, and I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea. I would have you take me to Lord Orbane.”

“He is absent,” called down the witch. “So you will have to tell it to me, and I can get word to him.”

“Tell it to you?”

The witch drew herself up to her full height. “I am Nefasi, Orbane’s acolyte, and he trusts me with his very life.”

“Ah, Mistress Nefasi, I do not know whether to tell you or not.”

“I can always force it out of you.”

“Heh. Maybe. Maybe not. Yet perhaps as Orbane’s acolyte. .

— But if I tell you, it must be in a place of protection-a place of power and transmutation-ere I will divulge the message dire.”

The crone and the witch haggled, but finally, fearing the worst for her master, the witch allowed the hag to enter the castle for the message she would tell.