All the rest of that day and into the night rode the two, for, no longer needing the guide who went dormant in the dark, they could press on. And the nearly full moon rose and lighted the way before them.
The land was extraordinarily still, with no wind whatsoever, and through the quiet they rode, the only sound that of the horses and the creak of leather. But then from far off there came the hoot of an owl, and Borel answered in kind. And for a mile or so, these two kept up a running conversation, and closer to one another they came, and then a silent shape swooped through the air and across and up; a snowy owl it was.
“Oh, how beautiful,” said Chelle, watching the flight as the owl rose and briefly silhouetted itself against the moon, ere it vanished among the stars.
On they rode, and as the moon passed through the zenith they came to a pine grove standing dark in the night.
“Here we will stay the eve, my love,” said Borel, leading the way inward.
Midst the evergreens stood a cabin, unlit and unoccupied. They dismounted and unladed the horses and rubbed them down. Borel stepped into the tiny lodge and returned bearing blankets with which he covered the steeds.
Then he and Chelle carried their goods inside, where Borel poured oats from the grain they carried into nose bags to feed the horses, while Chelle readied a fire. When Borel returned, she had a small blaze going, and Borel fetched ice in buckets and set them on the irons above the fire.
“Water for the horses,” said Chelle, her statement not a question.
Borel then broke out biscuits and jerky and the remains of a block of cheese they had gotten in Arens, and he and Chelle ate.
After watering the steeds, they went to bed, and Borel lay with Chelle, holding her close, and they fell asleep that way.
All the next day they rode, and Ice-Sprites ran before and behind and around them, the wee ice-dwelling creatures grinning and dancing in glee within the frozen surfaces. And Chelle laughed joyfully at their antics, while Borel looked for the Sprite that had accompanied him to Hradian’s cote, but he saw it not.
And over snowy ridges and down through silent valleys they fared, some atrickle with meltwater, others with dashing streams. And Chelle was all eyes and curiosity, and she pointed out the subtle colors amid the blacks and whites and greys.
That night they stayed in another lodge, this cabin in a hollow along a fold of land.
Yet accompanied by dancing and racing Ice-Sprites-vanishing here, popping up there, always within the ice itself-Borel and Chelle rode through a wintry but low mountain range, to emerge in snow-covered vales beyond.
And the sun rode through the skies, up and across and down, and alongside a small river they passed, the water swift under the ice, air bubbles trapped in the run, though now and again there were stretches of open water; and the flow sang and danced on its way toward a distant sea. And as the sun set and winter twilight graced the land, and with the full moon just now peeking above the horizon, they came into the vale overlooked by Winterwood Manor.
Borel halted and dismounted, Chelle dismounting as well. And with Sprites peering out through clear windows on the ice-clad trees and rocks, of a sudden Borel cupped his hands ’round his mouth and gave a long howl. The sound echoed and reverberated throughout the valley, and joyous calls answered, the echoes of many joining those of the one.
Chelle laughed, and as the cries died out she said, “That was your pack?”
Borel chuckled and said, “Oui.”
“I remember the dream,” said Chelle. “We were in the Springwood, and they came, and you introduced them to me, and me to them: Slate, Dark, Render, Shank, Trot, Loll, and Blue-eye.”
“You remember their names,” said Borel, his eyes widening in admiration.
“I could not forget them,” said Chelle.
Borel threw an arm about her, and in the light of the half-risen full moon he pointed across the vale and up. “There is your mansion, my love, there atop the far bluff.”
“Oh, how lovely,” said Chelle, “and it sits like a great aerie atop its widespread cliff.” She giggled. “My lord, with eagle eyes we will perch high above and-”
“Sstt!” hissed Borel and pointed, and Chelle could see Sprites fleeing within the ice, scattering, fear on their tiny faces.
Borel released the keepers on his long-knife and sword and whipped them from their sheaths, and in that moment the air before them began to waver, to ripple, as of heat rising from the ground, yet this ground was cold, icy, such heat not present. And then stepping through the undulance as if passing through a door, with her ebon cloak swirling about her came a tall, stark woman, her eyes dark, her hair black, her features haughty, imperious.
“Rhensibe!” sissed Chelle.
And even as Borel started to raise his sword, with a casual wave of her onyx-nailed hand Rhensibe cast a spell, and neither Chelle nor Borel could move.
“I have come to set matters straight,” she said, a sneer in her voice. “You thought you could escape your just doom, my pretty and oh-so-blessed Michelle, yet you see I am here to make certain you do not, for I and my sisters-Hradian, Nefasi, and Iniqui-we four acolytes of Orbane, we each have sworn that all those who conspired to prevent my master from executing his grand plan shall suffer as have we. And among our many vows, not only will I and my sisters ultimately set Orbane free, we have pledged that Valeray and his get will agonize dreadfully.
“In the matter of you, Michelle, an oracle foretold that you would bring joy unto one of Valeray’s sons, and so we took it upon ourselves not only to prevent that but to destroy Roulan, Valeray’s ally.
“And so, though it is a full moon later than planned, I have come to slay you, and as an added windfall, I will let you watch as I kill this fool of a prince.”
Rhensibe looked at the black nails on her hands-sharp as talons-and she smirked at Chelle and said, “All it will take is a slight prick from my beautiful, ebon, and quite venomous clutch, and he will die a most satisfying and agonizing death.” And laughing in her wickedness, she reached forth with her left hand and stepped toward Borel.
Chelle tried to scream, but could not.
And sweat broke out on Borel’s brow as he tried to raise his sword, yet all was in vain.
Rhensibe sneered at their futile efforts and flexed her black claws and brought them up to Borel’s throat and — running full speed, Slate slammed into the witch, smashing her sideways and down, and racing Wolves followed and leapt upon her and their snarling and rending and tearing drowned out her terrified shrieks. Blood flew wide to stain white snow, and Rhensibe’s shrill screams chopped short as Render tore out her throat, and the rest of the pack ripped her apart-hands, arms, legs, feet, viscera, her face, her head. And Borel, the paralysis long lifted, made no move whatsoever to save her, but looked on coldly instead, while Chelle turned aside and only glanced now and then.
Finally, Borel growled a word, and the pack stepped back, all but Blue-eye, who yet stood-hackles raised, fangs exposed-over the remains.
And Borel looked at the moon, just then standing full on the horizon. He took Chelle in his arms and said, “She would have killed you at the rise of the full moon; it is only fitting that she die in its light.”
Chelle nodded but said nought, and Borel softly said, “Let us go.”
And they mounted up and rode away, the pack trotting alongside, and they left Rhensibe’s remains lying in the snow for the scavengers to find.
51
Borel and Chelle rode down the slope of the vale, their escort of Wolves ranging to left and right and fore and aft. Across the way and atop the great bluff, men bearing lanterns and arms came running from the manor and
