Winterwood. For therein at times is a breathtaking silence, and running free through the snow is a joy I had not thought would ever be rivaled-that is, until I found you.
“And so, on the day of my coming of age, at the gala thrown I announced my decision, and I have never regretted my choice, nor has the pack.
“Ah, what a wonderful day that was: we danced and ate and drank, and gifts were exchanged and songs were sung; games were played, and favors given, and promises made and kept.
“Oh, Chelle, the day I attained my majority is one I will never forget.”
They sat in silence for a moment, and then Borel reached out and took Chelle’s hand and kissed her fingers. Then he looked into her face, her eyes yet concealed behind a shadowy band. “What of your day of majority, Cherie? Was there dancing and joy?”
“Oh, indeed,” replied Chelle. “It was just today, you know. All of us were gathered-my pere and mere, our guests, my friends, and the staff-and the music soared, and we danced and sang and played at croquet and archery and quoits and games of blind tag and the like. My sire had invited some special friends, those who had aided in a struggle long past. Feylike they were, and they came to me and said that I had attained all they had wished for in a daughter of such a brave man-beauty and grace and joy and other such things, they claimed, though I am but an ordinary girl.
“And, oh, the party was gay and bright-”
Of a sudden, Borel found they were back in the shadowy stone turret.
“-and then Rhensibe came.”
Chelle began to weep, and even as Borel stepped toward her, the walls began to waver, and — he awakened in a grassy field with dawn upon the land and the waning, slightly gibbous moon yet above.
In the Winterwood, Wolves startled awake, and Slate sprang to his feet and howled, and the others stood and joined him, all muzzles raised to the sky.
In his chamber, Arnot, steward of Winterwood Manor, awakened and leapt from his bed and rushed to his window. He threw open the sash, and looked out to see the Wolves milling about and calling, as if seeking someone lost.
To Arnot’s right another window was flung wide, and Gerard, valet to Prince Borel, looked out upon the same scene.
And in that very moment, with Slate in the lead, and Dark and Render and Shank and Trot and Loll and Blue- eye following, off in the direction of the Springwood they sped, with clots of snow arcing high into the air from their flying feet.
Gerard looked at Arnot, his unspoken question unanswered, for neither man knew what had gotten into the pack, although they feared the worst, for the Wolves had returned five days past without the prince, and none at the manor knew ought of what had occurred.
As to the prince himself, he had gone on a mission to find someone he had dreamt was in peril, and whether or no he was yet on that quest and had merely sent the Wolves back… well, again none could say. Gerard and Arnot both thought it unlikely that Borel would leave the pack behind unless he had no other choice.
And so, they had assembled an armed search party, and it had marched away just two days gone-first to Hradian’s cote, and then to the dream-seer Vadun beyond-and no word had yet come from them.
And even as steward and valet closed their windows, onward sped the pack, Wolves running through snow and toward the Springwood and a particular wildflower-laden glade, for surely the prince and his lady were there. After all, the pack entire had just moments before been at that place… or so to them it seemed.
22
“Rhensibe again?”
“Oui. Rhensibe again, Flic. And even as Chelle said the name, the dream began to fade, and there was nought I could do to stop it.”
Flic frowned and looked up at Borel. “And she gave you no hint as to what or who this Rhensibe might be?”
“Non.” Borel took another bite of cold marmot meat.
Buzzer landed next to Flic and began a waggle dance. After a moment, the bee stepped to the jar lid and began lapping honey. Flic dipped a finger into the sweetness and licked it off.
“Well?” said Borel around a mouthful of marmot.
“You are to be congratulated, my prince,” said Flic. “Buzzer says we are not too far off the line. How you managed to hew to the course while wading through the swamp with nought but the light of stars to illume the way, well, that was quite a feat.”
Borel laughed. “Flic, my lad, I used those same stars to guide my feet.-And speaking of swamps, is there a stream nearby where I can wash this putrid blackstool slime and the other foul leavings of that wretched mire from me?”
Flic shoved two fingers of honey into his mouth and then said, “I’ll look.” Up he flew to a great height, and then arrowed off on an angle to the twilight wall behind. Buzzer continued lapping sweetness from the jar lid, though it seemed to Borel that Buzzer’s eye facets remained locked upon him.
Just as Borel finished the last of the marmot meat, and Buzzer the last of the honey in the lid, Flic circled down. “There is a small thicket in a low spot yon, a mere therein. I believe it’s large enough to be a bath for you, my lord.”
“Ah, good.” Borel capped the honey jar and packed away their meager belongings into the tiny, Gnome-given rucksack, which he then belted by rope to his waist. He strung his bow and took up his quiver and said, “Let us away.”
And with both Buzzer and Flic riding the tricorn, off toward the thicket Borel marched, Flic pointing the way.
“We still do not know whether this Rhensibe is friend or foe,” said Flic, as Borel strode through the hip-high grass, some stalks of which were topped with tiny blue flowers.
“Given Chelle’s fright, I think Rhensibe is a foe,” said Borel.
“Mayhap not, my lord,” said Flic. “Rhensibe could merely be a bearer of ill tidings, and one should not blame the messenger for the message. But then again, perhaps you are right and Rhensibe is a foe, or a dreadful beast, a savage monster, or even a dumb brute.”
Borel shook his head. “Not a dumb brute, Flic. Recall, Chelle said it was Rhensibe who told her there was but a moon left. So, no matter what or who this Rhensibe might be, he or she or it can speak.-Heed, my tiny one, we can speculate all day and still be no closer to the pith of it. When we reach Roulan’s estate, then will we learn the truth.”
“Perhaps so, my lord. Perhaps so.-Ah, there is the thicket.”
With himself bathed and his leathers wiped off as best he could, Borel made ready to go. As the prince stepped from the thicket, Buzzer flew up and sighted on the sun and then shot away. Borel sighted along the beeline Buzzer took, and in the distance afar, he could see foothills rising up into the flanks of a low range of mountains, their sides green with foliage in the midmorn sunlight. Borel’s heart beat a bit faster, for he seemed to recall that such forest-clad slopes lay behind Roulan’s lands.
Taking up the Wolftrot he could sustain all day, he started toward a particular mountain peak along his line of sight.
Flic, jouncing but a bit on the tricorn prow, said, “Can you talk while you run, my prince?”
“Oui. It is how my pere taught me to gauge my rate. ‘Trot at a pace at which you can just carry on a running conversation, ’ he said, ‘and then you will know you are at nigh the fastest clip you can keep to nearly all day.’ ”
“Ah, good,” said Flic, “for I would ask you this: what is this ‘majority’ you spoke of?”
“It is a holdover from when humans lived only in the mortal world,” said Borel, “and concerns the status of
