Once upon a Spring morn

Burcet,

“are we not going to ask for volunteers from among the crew-ourselves included-to aid the princess and chevalier on their quest?”

Chevell shook his head. “Non, Burcet. I offered, but Roel says that two alone can go where a full warband cannot. Too, he reminded me that our duty lies in another direction: not in a venture into the Changeling realm to recover his sister and brothers, but instead to return the map to King Avelar. Besides, he reminded me of my very own words: that few if any ever return from the Lord of the Changelings’ demesne.”

“Ah, I see,” said Burcet.

Chevell patted his breast pocket. “The princess has given me a letter to be delivered to Springwood Manor, and I shall arrange to do so as soon as we arrive in Port Mizon. The staff and family will no doubt be pleased to know she and Sieur Roel are in good health, but I suspect they will not be pleased to read that they plan on going into the Changeling realm alone.” Burcet nodded and said, “I shall miss them.”

“I believe we’ll see them over the next three eves,” said Chevell, “for they have much to do ere setting forth.”

“When we do,” said Burcet, “I shall drink to their health.” He leaned over the rail and waved to Celeste and Roel in the dinghy now pulling away from the Sea Eagle.

In their rooms at the Tasse d’Or, Celeste, wrapped in a towel but still damp, and briskly toweling off her wet hair, padded into the bedchamber. “Ah, Mithras, how splendid it is to once again have a hot bath.”

“And in freshwater,” said Roel, “not salt.” Celeste paused. “Do I smell witch hazel?”

“Oui,” said Roel, leaning close. “A dash the barber patted on.”

Celeste grinned and ran a hand across his clean-shaven cheek. “Ah, then, you are trying to bewitch me?” Roel took the towel from her hands, as well as the one from ’round her slim form. “The question, my lady, is who is bewitching whom?”

He wrapped his arms about her and kissed her deeply, and when they broke at last, Celeste whispered,

“I ween ’tis you wielding magic, my love, for my breath is completely taken away.”

“Then let us see what we can do to restore it,” said Roel, and he scooped her up in his arms and stepped to the waiting bed.

Over the next three days, Roel and Celeste purchased rations and utensils and cooking gear for the trail, and Celeste visited a fletcher and ordered two sheaves of arrows fitted to her draw and quivers to bear them in, while Roel purchased a light crossbow and a sheaf of quarrels and a quiver. They spent much time at various stables talking to the hostlers and examining steeds. It was as Roel had said: there were no horses trained for war. Regardless, they finally selected two feisty mares for riding and two placid geldings for bearing their goods, saddles and harnesses included, as well as a kit for dealing with thrown horseshoes and another for repairing tack. Roel engaged a smith to have a spear-lance made, as well as sought out a leatherworker for a slinglike saddle scabbard to bear the spear. Celeste, too, had a saddle scabbard made for her bow and quivers, but she also asked the worker to make an over-the-shoulder sling for the bow as well.

At a clothier’s, they purchased pants and shirts and undergarments to avoid having to constantly wear their leathers. And since they knew not what they might face in the realm of the Changeling Lord, at still other stores they purchased rope and grapnels and climbing gear. Rucksacks they bought, and lanterns and oil and candles, as well as flint and steel and tinderboxes and medicks and gut and needle and bandages, and other such paraphernalia as they might need.

Not all of their time was spent in acquiring goods for the journey, for in the evenings they sang and ate and drank and joshed with the crew of the Sea Eagle, and Celeste showed the sailors how to dance the reel, and they showed her how to clog. Sea chanteys the crew sang and Celeste sang ballades, and Roel added war songs to the mix, and with a shrug of an apology to the princess he also sang tales of willing women and randy men, and Celeste laughed right along with the crew and clapped her hands in appreciation.

And their nighttimes were spent speaking of many things as well as making sweet love.

Just after dawn on the fourth morning since dropping anchor, Captain Chevell bade, “Au revoir!” and the Sea Eagle sailed away on the ebb of the morning tide. Most of the crew stood adeck and shouted their farewells, not only to Celeste and Roel, but also to a goodly number of ladies of leisure who had come to the dock to bid their own adieu. And when the ship was gone from sight

’round the shoulder of the headland, Celeste and Roel returned to the Golden Cup to break their fast.

That eve the fletcher and smith and leather worker delivered the last of the ordered goods.

The very next dawn, Celeste and Roel saddled their horses and laded their pack animals with gear and, map in hand, rode out from the town of Port Cient and toward the Changeling realm.

There remained but eighteen days ere the dark of the moon would fall, just eighteen days until Roel’s sister would be bound forever to the Changeling Lord.

18

Missive

A cross the deeps sped the Sea Eagle, bearing a cargo of recovered wealth along with a treasured map, bearing as well a letter written by Princess Celeste to be dispatched to Springwood Manor telling everyone that she and Roel had survived and were even then on the way to the Changeling realm.

On the deck paced Vicomte Chevell, captain of this three-masted, full-rigged craft, and he eyed the sails and asked Destin if they were making the best of the wind.

“Oui,” replied the bosun. “We’re flying all canvas and the wind is on our beam, and nought better can she do.” And so the craft sliced through the waves with all due haste, the Eagle bound for Port Mizon.

On the third day after setting out from Port Cient,

“Land ho!” cried Thome, lookout on the foremast above.

“Mizon dead ahead.”

“Steady as she goes,” said Chevell.

“Aye, aye, My Lord Captain,” replied Gervaise, the helmsman.

A candlemark later, Chevell debarked from a swift gig and sprang into the saddle of a waiting horse. In haste he rode to the palace, but e’en ere seeing King Avelar, he stepped to the stable where the king’s messengers stood by. “Quint!” he called, and a lithe lad sprang down from the loft, his pants unbuttoned and his shirttail out, and there came a giggle from above.

“My lord?” he said, grinning, while stuffing in his shirt and buttoning his breeks and buckling his belt.

Chevell handed the lad a letter. “Quint, grab a remount and take your fleetest steed. Be as swift in delivering this as you are with the ladies.”

“Where be I going, my lord?”

“To Springwood Manor. Know you the way?”

“Oui, my lord. ’Tis where Giselle lives.”

“Ha! My boy, have you a doxy in every port?”

“Well, my lord, I would not call them doxies, but, oui, I know many a femme. ” Quint grinned. “Such is the life of a king’s messenger that he spends much time in households away.”

“Then be on your way, lad.” Chevell handed the youth a golden coin. “Take care, and see this gets into the hands of the steward himself, or if not him, then give it over to the armsmaster.”

“Someone in charge, my lord,” said Quint, leading a saddled and provisioned horse out from its stall, and then another to tether to that mount.

Moments later, away galloped the lad, Chevell watching him go.

Then the vicomte turned, and he made his way across the yard toward the palace, for there was much to tell the king.