welcome you,” and both he and Maurice mounted up.
Luc then saluted the Reaper, and the huge man bowed in acknowledgment and watched as the two galloped away.
Then the Reaper sat down with his back to the great oak and positioned his huge scythe across his knees and smiled unto himself.
Warnings
After Laurent and Edouard galloped away, the Ice Sprite they had enlisted flashed from his icicle to the frozen mere where many of his kindred played, and he relayed the message to all. They in turn spread throughout the Winterwood, alerting their kindred as to the dreadful news. And as they went from icicle to frozen stream to ice- clad trees and boulders, unlike their winged kindred, they did not seem to cross through the intervening space at all; instead they were here, and then they were there. Hence, the word spread much more swiftly throughout this realm than through the other Forests of the Season, for it seemed as if an Ice Sprite could cross enormous distances in the blink of an eye.
And winged Sprites briefly came from the Springwood and Autumnwood and Summerwood, and they paused just long enough to tell of the plans for dealing with the crows ere fleeing back to their more hospitable domains.
And as in the other realms, the Ice Sprites spread the word from hamlet to hunter, from cottage to fortress, from snowy vale to icy mountaintop, and to all beings wherever they found them, as long as ice was at hand.
And they, too, alerted the Root Dwellers, and they spied upon the crows massed along a section of the starwise border, waiting for winged Sprites to come flying through.
And the Root Dwellers harvested long, slender thorns, and they plotted and planned among themselves.
And while that was in progress, Ice Sprites went through the twilight borders along particular sectors of the Winterwood, to cross into other frozen realms, and they alerted their kindred, and the reindeer herders, and the seal hunters, and the woodsmen hewing trees, and other such hardy beings, and these folk, too, were dismayed to hear of the appalling news. Yet they clenched their jaws and straightened their backs and promised they would be ready.
And as the Ice Sprites bore the warning onward they also sought Raseri the Dragon and Rondalo the Elf, but this day it was in vain.
Conundrums
Down into a fog-laden vale plunged Roel and Devereau.
Their passage caused swirls in the clinging vapor, as of ghosts flying through the mist. But soon up a long slope they surged, and back into the sunlight of the Springwood they ran, the air among newly leafed-out foliage bearing the scent of the forest, fresh and full of promise. Yet old were these trees, some of them, their roots reaching deep, their great girths moss-covered, their branches spread wide and interlacing with others overhead. Oak there was, proud and majestic, and groves of birch, silver and white; maple and elm stood tall, with dogwood and wild cherry blossoms filling the air with their delicate scents. And down among the roots running across the soil, crocuses bloomed, as did small mossy flowers, yellow and lavender and white. Even though much of the woodland seemed aged, here and there stood new growth-thickets of saplings and lone seedlings and solitary treelets, all reaching upward in the search for light, their hues more vivid than those of their ancient kindred. Birds flitted among the verdant leaves, their songs claiming territory and calling for mates. The hum of bees sounded as they moved from blossom to blossom, and elsewhere beetles clambered along greening vines and stems. Overhead, scampering limb-runners chattered, and down among the grass and thatch, voles and other small living things rustled.
And streams burbled and splashed among stones, as if singing and dancing on their way to some collective goal. Bright and dark and twilight were these woods, and full of wakened life, and Roel, though he had lived herein for some four years in all, was filled with the marvel of this splendid place.
But unlike other times and other days, he did not stop to revel in the glory, but pressed his mount onward toward the distant goal.
Now and then across Roel’s vision a winged Sprite would flash, much like a hummingbird in its swiftness, bearing the warning through some part of the realm. And occasionally, Root Dwellers and other such elfin folk would try to keep pace with them, but swift were the steeds and their riders, and shortly the small beings would be left far behind.
Even though their mission was urgent, of necessity Roel and Devereau paused to relieve the horses, to water them and feed them a bit of grain and allow them some respite. And at these stops, they would change tack to fresher mounts and shortly take up the ride again, the horses pounding through the soft loam and the detritus of the forest floor.
One of these halts occurred nigh the noontide in the hamlet of Auberville, where the Sprite-borne warning had already come, and an assembly of folk looked unto the chevalier for answers. While the horses rested, Roel replied to their queries as best he could, but at last he and Devereau mounted up to push on. Yet ere leaving, Roel wheeled his horse toward the gathering and said, “At this time, we are doing all we can to meet the threat of Orbane. Yet whether or no he gets free, in but a few days men will arrive to begin training those who are able- bodied, for there might come a time when battle cannot be avoided, and we must be ready. Thereafter, if the call to assemble is sounded, all fighters will then report to wherever the muster is to be held. Even so, some must remain behind, not only to protect the realm, but also to provide for the oldsters and youngsters and the sick and lame and enfeebled, for, though you might be eager to join the fight, we cannot abandon those herein who will need your aid.”
And with that, Roel and Devereau spurred away.
Across flowered glades hammered the mounts, spring melt trickling from the shadowy feet of trees, where snow yet huddled out of the rays of the sun.
And the sun itself slid through the sky and across and down as the day crept toward the eve. And as the orb set and dusk drew down on the land, Devereau called out, “But a league or so and we’ll be at the manse.”
“Oui, Devereau, I know,” answered Roel, for he was quite familiar with the route between Springwood Manor and the Castle of the Seasons, having travelled it a number of times.
Yet he was glad of Devereau’s company, for the flaxen-haired youth was of good spirit. Besides, should they meet up with trouble along the way, the youth, a member of the Springwood warband, was quite handy with a bow.
And as they galloped down a dark gallery of trees, in the near distance ahead something small and white stood upon the way.
“Rein back, Devereau, rein back,” called Roel. “We know not what this might be.”
“Think you it is a trick of the witch?” called the youth, even as he and Roel slowed their mounts to a walk, the horses breathing heavily, lather running down their flanks.
“I know not,” answered Roel, and he drew Coeur d’Acier, its silvery blade rune-marked.
Devereau strung his bow and nocked an arrow, and slowly they pressed forward, both scanning the surround for waiting foe, yet in the light of dusk they saw none.
Now Roel gazed ahead at the creature in the trail. “Devereau, methinks ’tis a goat.”
“Indeed, Sieur, but something or someone small lies on the ground at its feet.”
“I see,” said Roel, frowning, then urging his mount onward.
“Perhaps a new kid or a small child. Even so, keep a sharp eye.” And as they neared, they could see it was a youngster, a femme lying facedown. When they came unto her, Roel sheathed his sword and reined to a stop and leapt from his horse. The goat bleated and sidled but did not flee, and Roel turned the child over and cradled her head and shoulders. She was breathing but unconscious and looked to be no more than eight or nine summers
