But Flic took to wing, and up he flew and scouted among the myriad green knolls, and a quarter candlemark later, as dusk came on, he darted back to Borel.
“My lord, yon,” he cried, pointing. “A light glows, just as Arle said. Therein should be the halls of the King Under the Hill.”
Flic led Borel to a great grassy mound, atop which sat a dolmen, with three upright, twice-man-tall megaliths equidistant from one another, and a great flat capstone atop. And within that triangular setting a large hole yawned, with stairs and a wagon ramp leading down and in.
Flic said, “My lord, if you will, I shall stay here with Buzzer, for the Lord of the Fey is quite capricious, and if I go in he is likely to assign me some onerous and lengthy task, and I would much rather stay at your side until we have your lady free.”
Borel nodded and removed his tricorn with the bee aboard and said, “Very well, Flic, I leave Buzzer with you.” And he set his hat to the ground nigh one megalith of the dolmen.
Then Borel shed his rucksack and laid it beside the hat.
He uncapped the honey jar and put it down, saying, “In case dawn comes ere I return.” He then unstrapped the long-knife scabbard and set it there as well and said, “Even though the blade within is nought but rust, I would not take iron in any form within the High Lord’s demesne.”
“Remember, my prince,” said Flic, “eat no food and drink no wine nor take any other form of refreshment from them… not even water. And remember Lady Verdandi’s words, even though I cannot fathom what they might mean.”
As Borel checked his bow and quiver and waterskin, all yet borne by him, Flic added, “And may Fortune’s beaming face be turned your way.”
Borel smiled grimly and said, “May it be so.” Then he spun on his heel and strode under the capstone and into the light below.
43
Down the steps alongside the wagon ramp went Borel, both stairs and road sweeping in wide and shallow spiral turns as into the hollow hills they went. At last Borel came to the bottom, and there to one side were stables with magnificent steeds- For Fairy rades, no doubt — and opposite the stables and up three steps was a long corridor leading toward light and music beyond.
Into the passageway went Borel, and he came into a great banquet hall, and therein gracefully danced men and women of exotic beauty, their faces long and narrow, their ears tipped, their eyes aslant, their forms lithe and lissome.
And as Borel entered the chamber, some turned to see this human who had come uninvited into the hall, while others simply continued their elegant dance and paid him little or no heed.
Yet from the throne on which he sat, one looked up and smiled in welcome. “Prince Borel of the Forests of the Seasons, hail and well met.”
A corridor opened up among the dancers, and Borel walked through and to the foot of the dais, where he bowed low and said, “Your Highness.”
Beside the redheaded, green-eyed king sat a woman of incredible loveliness, her hair raven-black, her eyes sapphire blue, her flawless skin tinged with just a hint of gold, a tint held by all the Folk within the hall but Borel.
Again Borel bowed and said, “My lady.”
Both the King Under the Hill and his queen tilted their heads in acknowledgement, and the High Lord signalled for silence, and the music stopped, as did the dancers. When quiet fell, he smiled and said, “Won’t you join us in banquet and ball? Let me get you a glass of wine.”
As the king turned to signal a page, Borel said, “I must decline, my lord, for I am on an urgent mission, and I beg a boon.”
The High Lord frowned. “A mission? A boon? Then tell me, what mission, what boon brings the Prince of the Winterwood unto my demesne?”
“My lord, I would find the Endless Sands.”
“Ah, then, and you think I would know where these Endless Sands lie?”
“I have it on good authority that you do,” said Borel.
The king frowned again and looked first at his queen and then among the dancers. Yet none volunteered that he or she had given the prince any guidance. “And who might that be?” he asked Borel.
“A Pooka,” replied the prince.
“A Pooka? And just how did you get a Pooka to tell you that?”
“I rode him to submission,” said Borel.
A gasp went up among the gathered Fey, for, even though they were Fairies all, none there had the courage to do the same.
“Ah, then, you must be quite a sportsman,” said the Fairy King.
“Not really, for he almost did me in,” said Borel.
“Yet in the end you triumphed?” asked the queen, her voice melodious and entrancing.
“Barely,” replied Borel, grinning ruefully.
She turned to the king and said, “You must help this brave prince, my lord.”
“But he has asked for a boon, and you know what that entails.”
The queen nodded. She turned to Borel and said, “You must best my husband at a game ere he can aid you. Yet heed: he will try his utmost to get the better of you, for otherwise ’tis but a sham.”
“A game?” said Borel.
“Yes,” said the king. “A contest. And should you lose, you must dine with me and my queen. Do you agree?”
But if I dine with them, then I might suffer a fate similar to that of others who have paused to make merry with the Fairies, and a millennium might pass, and Chelle will be lost forever. And that is the terrible penalty if I lose.
Yet with her words Verdandi indicated I must play, and if I win..
“Lord, might I name the stakes if I win?”
“Indeed,” said the King of the Fairies.
“Then this is what I would have: that you not only tell me where lie the Endless Sands, but you also loan me your very own favorite horse to get there.”
“My favorite horse?”
“Oui.”
The Fairy King looked at his queen and then said, “Very well, I agree.”
“As do I,” said Borel. “What is the game?”
“I offer you five,” said the king, “for since I name the weapons, you will choose the play.”
Borel canted his head in assent.
“These are the five,” said the Fairy King. “Taroc, echecs, quoits, archery, dames.”
Ah, just as Verdandi had said: “The king will offer five different games,
Play the one you played with your dame.
Remember true and remember well
The guiding words of your love Michelle.”
Two of these games I played with Chelle: archery and echecs. Which to choose? Oh, but wait, ‘Remember true and remember well/ The guiding words of your love Michelle.’ Did she give me guiding words? Borel frowned in thought. I remember none whatsoever. Guiding words… guiding words… What guiding words?
Borel unslung his bow and drew an arrow, and as he looked at the shaft, the Fairy King smiled and said, “It is archery, then?” He turned to signal an Elfin page.
