Once more clouds slid across the moon, and in the dimness Borel said, “Bear?”
“The one who is taking me to Lord Alain, Prince of the Summerwood.”
“Ah. That Bear. And just why is he taking you to the Summerwood?”
The light brightened and Camille said, “I am to be Alain’s wife.”
“Ah, then, you are the one,” Borel said, and he frankly eyed her face and form, appraising. And at last he said, “Now I can see why he was so smitten.”
“How know you this?”
“He is my brother,” replied Borel, “for I am the Prince of the Winterwood.”
“Brother and prince you may be, Good Sir, yet again I ask, will you give aid to my Bear?”
Borel looked about. “Where-?”
“He is with a monstrous Troll-”
“The one we’ve been tracking,” gritted Borel. He gestured at the slain Goblins and added, “Along with his Redcap band.” Borel glanced up at the riven sky. “A storm is coming, yet we may have a chance. Where is this Troll now?”
“He was on a ridge yon,” said Camille, pointing through the dead trees toward the cloud-covered moon. “He has my Bear, and I fear-”
But even as she spoke, there came a crashing from the direction of the ridge. Hackles raised, all the Wolves turned to face this menace, and Borel nocked arrow and stepped between Camille and the oncoming threat and drew the weapon to the full, aiming toward the sound of shattering wood. And then the Bear burst forth from the tangle, a thunderous roar bellowing. But upon seeing the Wolves and the man, he skidded to a stop, the roar dying in mid-bellow. Grunting, he sat down.
The Wolves relaxed, their hackles falling, and one or two of the animals set their tails to wagging. “Ah,” said Borel, “you are safe.” And he eased his bowstring even as Camille rushed ’round and forward.
Camille flung her arms about the Bear’s neck. “Oh, Bear, I thought you imperilled.”
The Bear merely grunted in reply.
Releasing him, Camille said, “Bear, I would have you meet Prince Borel, brother to Prince Alain.”
“We’ve met,” said Borel, slipping the arrow back into his quiver. “For as I said, Alain is my brother, and-”
The Bear growled low, as if in warning.
Borel pushed a palm out to allay the Bear and murmured, “As you wish.”
Stepping to the arrow-slain Goblin and leaning his bow against the tree, Borel said, “Now about that Troll, has he any more Redcaps in his train?”
“I think not,” replied Camille, looking about at the slaughter and shuddering. “My Bear slew ten of them, and you and your Wolves killed the rest. As far as I know, the Troll is now alone, but perhaps for some unknown man I saw standing with him on the ridge.”
The Bear huffed.
Borel grunted as he jerked the arrow free from the skull of the dead Redcap, then began scouring it with snow to scrub away the dark grume. “I would be rid of this Troll who has invaded my demesne.”
Camille looked about at the tangle. “My lord, ’tis a drear and dread realm you rule.”
Borel glanced up from where he knelt. “The Winterwood is not all like this cursed sector, my lady, for herein not even the Ice Sprites dwell. Elsewhere, my principality is the most beautiful of the four.”
“Four?”
“Aye. Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter: four seasons and four forests, ruled by four siblings: Celeste, Alain, Liaze, and me.”
“You four rule all of Faery?”
“Oh, no, Camille,” said Borel, rising, sliding the now clean arrow in among the others. “There is much more to Faery than just the Forests of the Seasons.”
Taking up his bow, Borel turned to the Bear. “Just as did you come running this way at the sound of my Wolves slaying the Redcaps, this Troll, he ran the other way when he heard?”
“ Whuff. ”
Borel nodded, then said, “I suggest you travel on with your lady, for the Troll may double back to this place, and he is a formidable foe. Yet whether or no he does, we will be close behind, unless the oncoming storm does thwart.”
“ Whuff. ”
Borel then faced Camille and bowed. “My lady.”
With a curtsey, she replied, “My lord,” as darkness fell once more.
In the dimness he laughed, and then, with an utterance somewhat between that of a word and a growl, he called to the pack. And off they sped, loping back along the track of the Bear and toward the ridge where last was seen the Troll. Moments later there came a long howl; the Wolves were on the trail.
The Bear nuzzled the bedroll and the harness with its bundles, and soon Camille had all packed and loaded. And once again she mounted up as the chill wind blew and foreboding clouds thickened above. And thus did the Bear and Camille set forth in the lees of the night, leaving behind a slaughter ground-twenty-two Redcap Goblins lying dead in blood-laden snow.
Given the blackness of the sky, Camille was uncertain as to whether dawn had yet come unto the Winterwood when spinning white flakes began to swirl down. She pulled her cloak and hood tighter about as the blustery wind strengthened into a frigid blow. More snow fell, and more, as the storm intensified, the wind did scream and hurtle stinging snow across Camille and the Bear. On they went and on, the blizzard worsening with every stride, until Camille could no longer make out the tangle and crags right at hand, as into the brutal blast they did fare. Across that howling morn did the storm savagely rave, as if trying to halt their flight from this frozen, drear realm. Finally the Bear paused, for he sensed Camille’s violent shivering; and, groaning and hissing through chattering teeth, she dropped down. As the Bear shielded her from the direct blow, Camille struggled to fetch a blanket from one of the bundles, her fingers numb and perverse. Freeing the cover at last, with effort, she remounted. As she fought against the wind to wrap the flapping mantle ’round, she called above the yawl, “Oh, B- bear, g-go on, go on, for I would be r-rid of this d-dreadful Winterwood.” And so onward he pressed, stride upon stride, as the storm strove to steal their heat away and leave them dead and frozen in that most appalling place. Yet stubbornly the Bear forged into the teeth of the shrieking gale, and Camille lost all track of time and place in the hurling white, and it seemed as if they went on forever. But as Camille thought to give up all hope of ever escaping this dire storm and dreadful wood, ahead a great dark wall loomed, and of a sudden they came to a twilight border. The Bear did not pause, but quickly passed through the tenebrous marge, to step into an extravagantly bedecked forest with a nip in the air and gloaming all about. And though a blizzard yet raged directly behind, it came not into this twilit place.
Surrounded by autumn and free of the storm, Camille shed tears of exhausted relief as the Bear moved away from the bound and deeper into the color-splashed woodland.
7
Leaving the Winterwood marge behind, the Bear went onward, and he passed into a forest adorned in scarlet and crimson, and in amber and yellow, bronze, and gold, and in russet and umber and roan. The gloam diminished as he went, until a high blue sky shone o’erhead, with sunlight angling down through the brightly festooned branches above. At last he stopped in a small glade surrounded by great oaks with leaves all vermilion and saffron. Groaning and but half-aware, Camille slid from his back and slumped to the loam; chilled to the bone as she was, she had not the strength to do aught else. She lay back on the yellowed sward, and as the day edged toward midafternoon, slowly, slowly the cold seeped from her, sun-warmth taking its place.
She slept for a while-how long she could not say, but when she awoke evening was drawing down, and she sat up and looked ’round for her Bear, to find him sitting nigh, no longer white, but a grizzled reddish brown instead.
