“I think I will be able to see a marking in the sand itself. And with your huge feet, my lord, you should be able to shuffle about and leave tracks deep enough for me to espy.”
Borel laughed, then sobered. “Though the sand is quite loose and some likely to spill back in, still there is no wind, and so a mark might last long enough for us to search. Hence, with my very huge feet I’ll scrape out a deep number in the sand at each crossing- un, deux, trois, and so on-so that we’ll know if somehow the twilight borders have managed to circle us ’round.”
“Circle us ’round?”
“Yes, Flic. You see, I think if we have so-called Endless Sands, then perhaps somewhere within will be margins such that when one steps through he comes to the opposite side of the sands and so they merely seem endless rather than truly being so.”
“I do not understand,” said Flic, taking up another finger of honey and licking it clean.
“Think of it this way, Flic: say you are in a room filled with sand, but there are two dark arches on opposite sides of the room. And when you step out through one arch, you come in through the other, thus entering the very same roomful of sand. Time after time you walk across the room and go out the far arch, only to enter the near one, and thereby enter the same room of sand. Now I ask you, wouldn’t the sand seem endless?”
“Oui, my lord.”
“Yet had you left a special marker in the sand-an object, a particular track, or the like-you would pass it again and again, and thereby know the sand is not truly endless, but only seems so.”
Flic clapped his hands. “How clever you are, my lord.”
Borel frowned. “Had I been clever, then perhaps I would know what Lady Lot meant when she said I had already missed one chance to find the sands.”
“Ah, those Fates: what do they know?”
“Everything,” said Borel. “At least everything in its due time.”
“Pish,” said Flic, snorting. “I mean, look, you answered their riddles right off.”
“Ah, Flic, they posed me riddles the answers to which I already knew,” said Borel. “And what’s more, they knew that I knew, or knew I would cipher it out. I think they are simply bound by some unwritten law or higher power or unbreakable edict to require a service, pose a riddle, and then render aid with another riddle.”
“Well, my lord, that’s easy for you to say. As for me, I would have failed to answer the one about me falling behind and then passing the Sprite in second place. I mean, not that I would ever fall behind”-Flic growled-“and certainly not twice as the Fates would have it.”
Borel smiled and said, “That may be, Flic, but again I say, the riddles were simple. The true test was in bearing them across the water.”
They ate in silence for a while, but then Flic said, “Oh, my goodness.”
“What?” asked Borel.
“Just this, my prince: if somehow someone were dropped into the room of sand where there were but two dark arches, and if there were no other way out, then he would be trapped forever.”
“How extraordinary, Flic. Ha! And you say I’m clever?”
They ate a moment more, and then Borel’s eyes widened in revelation. “I say, Flic, mayhap that’s the way of the Castle of Shadows beyond the Black Wall of the World.”
“My lord?”
“It would explain why Orbane is trapped, why he cannot get out.”
“See?” said Flic, “I told you you were clever.”
“Which way, my lord,” said Flic, “right or left?”
They had finished breaking their fast, and now they stood facing the twilight border.
“In,” said Borel.
“No, my lord, I mean after we come back out. Which way, then?”
“Ah,” said Borel, “I suppose one way is as good as another.”
“Not if we choose the wrong way,” said Flic.
“Indeed,” said Borel, frowning. “We’ll let Dame Fortune decide.” He spit in his palm and slapped two fingers into the gob. “Dextral,” he said, for the spit flew rightward.
In through the twilight border they went, and Flic and Buzzer flew up beyond seeing, while Borel shuffled a long, deeply trenched 1 in the sand.
He had just finished when Buzzer and Flic came flying back. “Nought, my lord.”
Out through the twilight border they went, and Borel said, “I will trot five hundred paces, and then we’ll go back in.” And off he loped, Flic and Buzzer atop his hat resting.
Once more they penetrated the twilight marge, and as Borel trenched out a 2, Flic and Buzzer flew high and then returned. “Ne rien,” said Flic.
“Nothing at all?” said Borel.
“Oh, I did see the un you made in the sand,” said Flic, and I think it might be a bit farther away than you ran on the woodland side of the bound, though I am not certain.”
Borel turned up a hand and said, “Farther or not, if it stays that way, we’ll cover more ground by running on good firm ground than trying to run through loose sand.”
Off they went once more, and again, and again, and again…
They searched all day, twice having to backtrack because they had gone beyond being able to see the trenched number. They had only stopped for a short midday meal, and then had continued. But their search was futile, and now the nearly full moon had risen and the sun was setting.
“One day,” gritted Borel. “One day is all that is left.”
Flic nodded and said, “Though Buzzer cannot aid, still we can search by the light of the nearly full moon, my lord.”
Borel growled and said, “We don’t even know whether we are going the right way, Flic.”
“Nevertheless, my lord, we cannot stop.”
“Oh, I do not intend to stop,” said Borel, “yet I wonder whether we should have gone leftward instead of rightward. -Regardless, let us press on.”
With Flic and Buzzer back on the hat, again Borel trotted, and Flic said, “Uh-oh. Ahead, my lord.”
“I see her,” said Borel.
In the fore, on the far side of a wide stream, a lovely demoiselle sat in the gathering twilight.
“It might be one of those Fey, my prince.”
“Indeed,” said Borel, “for there is but one of the Fates we have yet to meet.”
“But what if it’s not her?” said Flic. “What if instead it’s a deadly creature of some sort?”
“ ’Tis a chance I must take,” replied Borel.
“Then Buzzer and I will get off at that tree this side, my lord,” said Flic, “for I would not tempt Fate by getting too close. But if it is a trap, Argent and I will be ready.”
Even as the Sprite and the bee flew to a limb, Borel splashed across the stream and then bowed. “My lady, need you assistance?”
The black-haired, black-eyed, slender, and stunningly beautiful demoiselle sighed and said, “My slippers and hose will get wet should I cross in them. And should I remove them, my delicate feet will be bruised. Will you bear me over, my most handsome sieur?”
“Oh, indeed, Demoiselle.”
Borel turned his back and said, “Hop on, my lady, and we shall hie.”
Her silvery laugh answered him. “Sieur, most handsome sieur, you are no horse, and I am no rider. I would have you bear me across held ever so securely in your strong arms.”
Borel turned about. “You are not afraid I will fall?”
“Oh, la!” she said, placing a delicate hand on his wrist and looking up into his ice-blue eyes with her own eyes of black depths so deep one could surely drown in them. “With you so devilishly handsome and debonair? I saw how well you carry yourself; your swagger speaks of duels fought and never lost. You move as would a Wolf, and they are never off their nimble feet, except of course when they rest beside a mate. But since you have no mate, per se, you should take your ease by lying with a lover, n’est-il pas ainsi? ”
“Perhaps,” said Borel, grinning, and he swept the demoiselle up in his arms.
As he turned to wade across the stream, her heady perfume, almost a musk, filled him with desire. And even
