too late. Non, Flic had the right of it when he said Sprites are the swiftest of messengers. We Humans would simply slow them down.”
“But the crows. . ” said Liaze.
“We can fly at night,” said Flic, “when the crows are not likely to be awake.”
“My lord,” said Alain. “You say we are to raise armies, and that I am most willing to do, yet, though we have been in skirmishes, I have no experience in warcraft and neither does my armsmaster-battle, oui, but warcraft, non. Celeste has Roel and Liaze Luc, both war-trained and knights bold. I would ask that Blaise be my war commander.”
“And I Laurent,” said Borel.
“But who will organize the army of the Castle of the Seasons?” asked Saissa.
“Sieur Emile,” said Luc. “He has fought in many a campaign, I hear.” Laurent and Blaise and Roel all nodded.
“He can command the combined army as well,” said Luc.
“Let it be so,” said Valeray.
. .
Dinner was called, and to the gold room they went, where they were joined by Sieur Emile and Lady Simone and Vicomtesse Avelaine. Valeray took a moment to introduce Regar and Flic to them and to tell of the calamity that had come to pass.
Upon hearing the ill news, Michelle turned to Regar and said, “In addition to the Fairy King and his army, we need enlist the aid of the distaff side-the good Fairies themselves-for they are most wise in the ways of magic.” Even as Regar nodded, Valeray shook his head and said, “For some reason those so-named good Fairies refused to use their powers in the last war.”
“What of the rumor that Orbane has some Fairy blood flowing in his veins?” asked Saissa.
Valeray shrugged. “ ’Tis but a rumor.”
“Still, I will ask for their help,” said Regar.
“What of magekind?” asked Camille. “Will they not rally round?”
Again Valeray shook his head. “As to the mages, all of those who opposed Orbane were slain in that dreadful war. I think they will refuse.”
A pall fell upon the gathering, and they sat quietly throughout the meal, but afterward their spirits seemed to recover, and once again they took up the task of how to deal with Orbane, should he be set free of his prison.
And the planning continued deep into the night. .
. . As did the revelry outside the walls, where gaiety and laughter and singing and games and trysts lasted through much of the darktide as well, the minstrels and jugglers and stilt-walkers and vendors and faire-goers and lovers and others completely unaware of the doom about to fall.
Entrails
Across bound after bound flew Hradian through the dark.
The fingernail-thin sliver of a moon had long set, and only the glittering stars illumined the night in those realms where the sky was clear. But in one, rain hammered at her mercilessly and she cursed the gods above, and in another she raged through blinding snow, and in still another she hacked and coughed as she veered among sulphurous fumes spewed from mountains of fire. Muttering maledictions, she hurtled across clear but frigid air above snowy peaks, only to shout, “It’s about time!” as she sped beyond another marge to come into warm summer.
Yet soon, above chill desert sands she flew, ranting because the heat of the day had fled in the darkness. And so it was as onward she went o’er realm after realm, moaning, cursing, raving, screaming, or laughing in glee at her very own cleverness.
But at last in the silvery light of dawn she passed through a final marge to come into the odiferous reek of the great mire.
In the bogland below, bubbles slowly rose to the slime-laden surface to plop and eject their hoards of miasma; things slithered and wriggled and splashed, some with sinewy bodies and grasping claws, others with no legs or hard shells and great jaws, still others with slimy skins and long tongues. Black willows spread clenching and avaricious roots through the reeking muck and dangled long whiplike branches down, and dark cypress wrenched up out from the sump and ooze to spread gray-lichen-wattled branches wide. Mossy fallen logs decayed in the quag to add heat to the rot of the swamp bottom, with dead creatures putrefying alongside until something happened by to rip and rend at the rancid flesh.
And above this foetid morass flew Hradian, heading for the center of the vast mire, where her cottage lay.
Weary, at last she spiralled down to alight upon the flet of her cote, where a great bloated toad squatted.
“I have it, Crapaud-the key! The key!” cried Hradian, dancing about in spite of her fatigue. “Oh, Crapaud, we were so clever, so very clever, and our potion worked to perfection. We
And after I rest, we, you and I, Crapaud, we will discover just how this amulet can be used to free our master Orbane.” Then Hradian squatted and stared the toad in one of its gummy eyes. “What say you to that, my fine familiar?” Seeming to realize that something was expected of him, Crapaud swelled the sac of his throat and emitted a gaseous croak, rather much like a great noxious belch, filling the air with the stench of his utterance.
“Exactly so,” cried Hradian, and she leapt to her feet and strode into the hut, where she flung off her clothes and fell into her cot. Moments later she was sound asleep.
Crapaud waddled to the entry and peered inside and emitted a plaintive rasp, but Hradian did not stir from her slumber.
After a second throaty grate went unanswered, the toad hitched about and lurched to the edge of the flet and fell into the water.
After all, he was quite hungry, and whether or no the witch gave him leave to hunt, still he had to eat. Awkwardly stroking, legs askew, down into the slime he struggled to finally disappear.
. .
The day came and went, and even as twilight faded and night drew on, a squashy splop awakened Hradian, and in the dimness she could just make out the distended form of a dripping Crapaud waddling past the doorway, with long, mucuslike tendrils of bog ordure clinging to the toad’s warty hide and trailing behind to drag over the dark and reeking swamp-bottom footprints he left in his wake.
Hradian slapped a hand to her chest to find at her throat the amulet upon its chain. “Ah, my love, the talisman is indeed here. We thought it might have been a magnificent dream, but instead it is a glorious fact. We did indeed fetch the key for ourselves, we did. Oh, clever us. Our sisters could not have done what we did, now could they? Ah, no need to answer, for we know it is true.”
Hradian swung her feet over the edge of the cot and stood, the amulet the only thing on her person. After squatting at the edge of the flet and above the swamp water to relieve herself, she stepped to the fireplace and swung a kettle over the hearth.
In moments she had a fire ablaze. She opened a cabinet and took up an herb jar and spooned some black leaves into a pot.
Then she fetched a strip of dark jerky and stood at the window and chewed the stringy meat. A crescent moon hung low on the horizon, and she watched as it sank among the black willow and dark cypress, the grey moss dangling down from the branches diffusing the already dim light.
“As soon as it disappears, my love, then we set about finding the key to the amulet. -No, no. Wait! We set about finding the key to the key.” Hradian cackled at her own bon mot. “We are so clever, we are.”
