in precipitating those crises from which you all were rescued.”
. .
The escargot was followed by a creamy bisque of trout, along with another of Liaze’s white wines, this a vibrant gold, one that would stand up to the richness of the soup.
The talk turned to that of the tourney, and of the games and jongleurs that would surround the gala events- an echecs tournament, lawn bowling, croquet, ladies’ archery, minstrels, jugglers, stilt walkers, and the like, and it was during this happy converse that Avelaine announced she was with child.
“Is it true, Avi?” asked Roel.
“Oui,” replied Avelaine. “A little new vicomte or vicomtesse is on the way.” Laurent and Blaise and Roel leapt up from their seats and rushed to Avelaine’s side and handed her up from her chair and, somewhat cautiously, embraced her. Emile, too, hugged his daughter, and Simone wiped tears of happiness from her own eyes.
“I suppose Chevell is strutting about like a peacock,” said Roel.
Avelaine laughed and said, “He will be when I tell him.”
“Ah, little sister, he does not know?” asked Laurent.
“Non, Laurent. I only became certain this past sevenday or so.”
“Ah, then, he will be so jealous that he wasn’t here at this time,” said Blaise.
Valeray made a toast, and all echoed his words:
. .
Amid joyous talk, the bisque was followed by venison in a light splash of a white cream sauce, with a sauteed medley of green beans and small onions and peas, all accompanied by a hearty red wine well aged in a cool cellar.
In addition, the servers brought out a wide platter of baked pheasants basted in honey, and still another of the white wines, this one light saffron in color. Accompanying the entree was a bowl of sauteed mushrooms and a sauteed medley of carrots and parsnips and red beets.
“Ah, my favorite,” said Borel, as the venison was brought to the board. “Merci, Maman,” he added, looking down the long table to where his mother sat at the far end.
Saissa smiled and signaled that she would have pheasant instead.
Yet even as they settled into the main meal, eventually the talk took a more serious turn as once again they spoke of the mysterious and malignant intrusion of something or someone upon their daily activities:
“And you think this acolyte, this Hradian, is at the root of it?” asked Emile.
“Oui,” replied Borel. “After all, my sire and his get are the ones she would hold responsible for the downfall of their plans: imprisonment of Orbane, the ruination of her schemes against my sire and dam and her plans for the Summerwood, and the deaths of her three sisters-Rhensibe, Iniqui, and Nefasi, in that order.”
“First was Rhensibe,” said Michelle. “Torn to shreds by Borel’s Wolves.”
“Then came Iniqui,” said Liaze, “kicked into everlasting fire by Deadly Nightshade, Luc’s warhorse.”
“Finally, Nefasi,” said Celeste, “slain by a god-made arrow.”
“And you three are responsible?” asked Simone.
“No more so than those three acolytes,” said Borel.
“In each case, Simone,” said Saissa, “the witches themselves had done terrible deeds and were about to do more: Hradian had changed one of my sons into a Bear and would mate him with a Troll; Rhensibe was about to slay Michelle and Borel with her very own poisonous claws; Iniqui would have drawn Celeste into the fire and would have let Luc die of exposure on a dark mountain afar; likewise was Nefasi set to kill your son Roel and would have slain Celeste, and the Lord of the Changelings would have left Laurent and Blaise as statues and used Avelaine as a brood mare. It was only because of these brave souls sitting here that none of that came to pass. It was Valeray’s deed that led to Orbane’s downfall, and it was Camille who upset Hradian’s schemes. And as far as the three slain acolytes, it was Borel who had called his Wolves, and Liaze who commanded Deadly Nightshade to attack, and Celeste who loosed the gray arrow, and these things spelled the end of Rhensibe and Iniqui and Nefasi. So is it any wonder that Hradian would seek vengeance?”
“Oh, non, Lady Saissa,
“Oh, Maman,” said Avelaine, “had it not come to pass, then I would never have met Chevell, and you would not have a grandchild on the way. And of course, we could not let that happen, now, could we?”
“Ah, young love and young mothers to be,” said Valeray, beaming at Avelaine, and then at Alain and Camille, at Borel and Michelle, at Liaze and Luc, at Celeste and Roel, and finally at his own Saissa. But then he sobered and raised his glass to them all and grimly said, “As declared apast by the Three Sisters, dreadful events lie ahead. Perhaps these ominous sensings the women feel are signs that those events are nigh upon us. Regardless and as I said once before, here’s to interesting times.”
Glamours
“Now, where is that other gown?” snapped Hradian, searching among the musty clothes in the meager loft. “No, no, not that one, nor this one. Ah, here is the one. The same as I wore to Summerwood Manor five and some years agone. Such pretty danglers and lace, like smoke streaming. But it won’t do to wear it again as it is. No, I’ll have to cast a glamour over it, something to match-”
A deep-throated plaintive croak sounded.
Hradian turned and looked down at the doorway. “What is it, Crapaud?”
Another croak, this one with a needy edge.
“Oui, you may seek your breakfast, but return quickly; I have a duty for you.”
The monstrous toad-nearly the size of a bushel basket-
hitched about and waddled to the verge of the flet and toppled off to plop into the scum-laden water.
Hradian swung her attention back to the garment and sniffed the cloth. She didn’t smell ought, for her nose was completely inured to the reek of swamp bottom, and if the same malodor clung to the gown, it would escape her notice. “Bah,” she growled, “whether or no, it’ll air out on my flight, especially if I ride low o’er the desert.”
Down the wall-ladder she clambered, the gown over her shoulder. When she reached the floor, she slipped into the black dress and covered her nakedness. For perhaps the third time in her life she wished she had a mirror to admire herself, but mirrors are tricky things, and open to someone spying in upon her. Of course the surface could be covered with the right kind of impenetrable cloth, or the mirror could be turned to face the wall, or kept in a tight closet by itself for occasional and limited viewing; but still if a mage were powerful enough, he could launch an attack through the speculum itself whether or no the device was hidden, or covered, or in use. No, no mirror had she nor would she ever, except for a bowl filled with inky liquid, and that but a temporary tool to spy upon her enemies.
Instead she had to be content with looking down at herself only to see-“This won’t do”-that her grimy toes peeked out from the hem. “Shoes, yes shoes.” Hradian found her cracked leather slippers and tied the laces and hissed, “One day, and soon, my love, you’ll have nought but the finest soft footwear, of fur and satin and cloth and suede and whatever else you wish.” Hradian then scrabbled through her belongings and finally found what she wanted: a small pouch on a thong. She slipped the potion vial into it and secured the top and hung it about her neck.
Then, because the journey would be a lengthy one, she shoved a wedge of cheese and a loaf of bread into a small rucksack and looped the strap over her head and shoulder. Looking about and deciding she needed to carry nothing else, she took up her besom.
“Crapaud! Crapaud! Where are you?”
There came a squashy splop out on the flet, and the bloated toad, dripping water, waddled to the doorway. Part of something wiggling and slimy-the hindquarters and tail of a large newt?
a lizard? something else altogether? — dangled from the corner of Crapaud’s wide mouth, the toad trying to gulp it down, while the partly swallowed thing fought to extract itself.
