were fashioned of massive dark timbers cut square, and its roof was steeply pitched. A full three storeys high, with many chimneys scattered along its considerable length, the manse spanned the entire width of the flat. All along its breadth the windows were protected with heavy-planked shutters, most of them closed as if for a blow. Even so, enough were open so that warm and yellow lanternlight shone out onto a stone courtyard cleared of snow. Atop the lofty river bluff it sat like a great aerie, not only for surveying the wide vale below but also the white world beyond.
With remounts trailing behind, the knight and his guide crossed the flat and came unto the courtyard and clattered upon the stone of the broad forecourt, where lit lanterns illuminated their way, and warmly dressed men were on hand to greet them.
Reining to a halt, from his sweat-lathered horse Laurent somewhat stiffly dismounted, and to the men who took the steeds in hand he said, “Rub them down well, and feed them extra rations, for they did run most gallantly.”
“Oui, Sieur,” said one of the men, while another asked, “Is it true the word Ice Sprites brought? Does the witch Hradian really have the means to set Orbane free?”
“Sadly, so,” said Laurent.
“Enough,” commanded one of the men, tall and spare and somber. “We must let Sieur Laurent and Edouard warm themselves and have a meal. There will be plenty of time to learn exactly what is afoot.”
The men touched their caps in obeisance and led the horses away, as Arnot, the steward of Winterwood, escorted Laurent and Edouard ’neath a sheltering portico to the great double doors, and they passed along a short corridor to come to a broad welcoming hall. And there assembled were a somber gathering of members of the mansion household-maids, servants, footmen, seamstresses, bakers, kitchen- and waitstaff, laundresses, gamekeepers, and others-men and women deeply concerned, though they managed smiles in welcome and bowed or curtseyed accordingly.
Ere Arnot could shoo them away, Laurent stepped across the heavy-planked floor to a wide marble circle inset in the wood, within which was a great hexagonal silver inlay depicting a delicate snowflake. Laurent looked at the anxious faces and said,
“The message the Sprites have brought is true: the witch Hradian does indeed have a key to the Castle of Shadows. We do not know if she has the means or the knowledge to use it, but if she does, then without doubt she will set Orbane free.” Some in the hall gasped, while others’ faces grew grim. A few shed tears.
Laurent went on: “Regardless, we must needs prepare for such an eventuality, hence able-bodied men throughout the Forests of the Seasons must stand ready, for surely Orbane will raise his own forces to become master of the whole of Faery.
“All is not bleak, for even now the word is spreading across the realms, and others will answer the call. We will have al1 lies, and powerful ones at that, one of whom is your very own prince who will be here in but a few days.
“So, let me ask that you go about your business in the knowledge that we will meet the challenge. Dark times might be coming, but brighter times lie beyond.” Then Laurent smiled and said, “Now, I wonder, could Edouard and I have a warm meal, with a soothing hot bath afterward?”
For a moment none said ought, but then a redheaded woman snapped, “Well, you heard Sieur Laurent. To my kitchen,
As the staff bustled away, Laurent turned to Arnot and said,
“Steward, I would have you join Edouard and me, for I bear messages from Prince Borel, and I would have you know all that has come to pass. Much will be afoot in the coming days, and we must make ready.”
Outside a soft snow began to fall, as if the Winterwood paid no heed to these matters of men.
. .
In the dining chamber of Autumnwood Manor, Luc set down his glass of wine and turned to Zacharie, steward of the realm.
“The princess will be here within a few days. She and the warband will start their journey as soon as the ceremonies are concluded at the faire. In the meanwhile, we need send falcons to the other manors and King Valeray’s castle as well, reporting our safe arrival.” Luc frowned and added, “And I would also tell them of Moissonneur’s strange reply.”
“Strange reply? The Reaper?” asked Zacharie, a tall, gaunt man with dark hair and pale blue eyes.
“Oui,” said Luc. “When I told him we would need all the aid we could summon, he said, ‘My lord, I will come when the time is right.’ It was as if he would be waiting for some unknown event ere joining us. Do you know what it might be?”
“Non,” replied Zacharie, “but Princess Liaze might.”
“Or even King Valeray,” said Maurice, ’round a mouthful of roast duck.
“What know you of him?” asked Luc.
“The Reaper, you mean?” said Zacharie, and at Luc’s nod, the steward went on: “Very little, I’m afraid. It seems he has always been under that oak, waiting for someone to need grain from the field below. It is only then he leaves the tree and takes that great scythe of his and with a few strokes-
the yield is ready to be sheaved.”
“And otherwise he never goes away from the oak?”
“Non, my lord, at least not to my knowledge.”
“Then what does he eat and drink, and how does he obtain it?”
Zacharie turned up his hands. “I know not, my lord.”
“Did he participate in the last war against Orbane?”
“I think not, my lord,” said Zacharie. “Some say there is an old Keltoi legend that the Reaper waits for some event, just as you have surmised.”
“Hmm. .” mused Luc. Then he took a deep breath and dug into the green beans.
. .
In the bathing house of Summerwood Manor, with their bellies full, Blaise and Jerome and Regar luxuriated in hot water, soaking the soreness of the long, swift ride from their bones.
On the tub’s edge sat tiny Flic, with Buzzer adoze on a soft towel nearby. At hand stood grey-haired Lanval, steward of this demesne. Also close by sat a young man at a small table, with quill and inkpot and parchment ready. “And what would you have in this message, Sieur Blaise?” asked Lanval.
“Ah,” replied the knight. “We need to tell all the others just what it is that Lady Verdandi said, for perhaps they can unravel the riddle. Now let me see, how does it go? Ah, oui:
. .
The steward nodded at the young man, and the youth began scribbling, pausing now and again for clarification from Blaise.
Flic frowned and asked, “I say, will all of that writing fit on a falcon-borne message, or will the bird have to walk all the way under the load?”
The men laughed, and Lanval said, “Fear not for the falcon, Sieur Flic, for the message will be transcribed in diminutive script on the thin strip of tissue the birds customarily bear in their message capsules.”
“Are all four missives to be the same?” asked the youth.
“Oui, Randin,” said Blaise. “-Oh, and add that we arrived safely.”
“Won’t they deduce that from the mere fact that you dispatched a message?” asked Flic.
“Oh, right,” said Blaise. “Scratch that, Randin.”
“You might add,” said Regar, “that Flic, Fleurette, Buzzer, and I are pushing on for the halls of the Fairy King.”
“When?” asked the youth.
