dismounted.
From the worst of enemies to the best of friends these two had come, thanks to Camille some five years past.
Tall and lean and fair-haired, Rondalo cast back his cloak and unlaced the front of his breeks. As he relieved himself he said, “I think we ought to be on hand when Vicomte Chevell sails. We can help him rid Faery of the corsairs of Brados.”
“Hmph!” snorted Raseri. “You and I alone could rid the seas of that menace.”
“Oui, but taking the fortress-either by stealth or with siege engines-is a straightforward though perilous task for many men afoot, a more suitable job for Chevell’s marines than one Dragon and a lone lancer.”
“Forget not your bow, Rondalo.” Raseri then raised a forefoot and flexed its dark, saberlike claws. “I think I could gut that bastion of theirs.”
Rondalo began relacing his leathers. “Mayhap you could, though they say the stone is two or three strides thick. Still, here is my thought: we can destroy more corsairs at sea much quicker than Chevell’s entire fleet, and that, my friend, is a better charge for you and me to take on.” Yet flexing his claws, Raseri growled, but said nought.
Rondalo adjusted his cloak and said, “I think it’s time we were- Ho, what’s this?”
Within a patch of clear ice wedged in a crevice a tiny figure gestured wildly.
“An Ice Sprite,” said Rondalo. “Raseri, can you speak his tongue?”
“Elf, I am a Dragon,” replied Raseri as he slithered ’round to peer into the crevice. “I have the gift of all tongues.” Raseri made a gesture.
The Sprite replied.
Raseri made more gestures.
Again the Sprite responded, this time with a long series of gesticulations.
Raseri bellowed in rage, flame shooting out. The Sprite quailed at this blast of fire, but remained in the icy crevice.
“What is it?” asked Rondalo.
“Ready your bow, Rondalo, we must go, and now,” spat the Dragon. As the Elf strung the weapon, Raseri made another series of motions to the Sprite, and it replied with a single gesture and vanished.
Using the elbow of Raseri’s right foreleg as a mounting block, Rondalo leapt to his perch at the base of the Drake’s neck. A double row of great barbels, soft and flexible, ran from Raseri’s head to his shoulders. Rondalo grasped the pair before him and said, “Ready.”
With a roar, the Dragon sprang into the air.
Aloft, Rondalo called out, “What said the Sprite?” Raseri growled and said, “The witch Hradian has obtained a key to the Castle of Shadows, and even now might be on her way to the Black Wall of the World. King Valeray asks us to intercept her ere she can set Orbane free. That’s where we are headed.”
High across Faery did the Dragon soar, over the glacier and icy bleak mountains below and beyond a shadowlight border to come into a realm of lush jungle, with widely scattered clusters of leaf-thatched huts in clearings virtually the only thing to break the endless sea of green. Across this verdant ocean he flew to pass through another twilight marge.
O’er a land of rivers he passed, dotted here and there with lakes, to come to another tenebrous bound.
Cultivated fields passed beneath, and both Rondalo and Raseri travelled in grim silence, but for the beat of the Dragon’s tireless wings. Villages they sped over and tiny campfires, these latter seemingly nought but sparks, so high were the Drake and Elf.
The crescent moon sank below the horizon, yet onward they flew, now under stars alone. They passed a marge to come into a storm-laden sky, and Raseri soared up and up until he was above the rage, and lightning flashed below, the roar of thunder to follow.
Through looming walls of twilight they flew, Faery borders, eight, nine, more.
Yet Raseri’s wings never seemed to slow. .
. . And the night aged. .
. . And the dawnwise sky began to brighten.
Finally, Raseri said, “Just one more twilight wall, Rondalo, and then we’ll be in the realm at the far side of which there looms the Black Wall.”
“What if the witch is not there?”
“Then we wait.”
“What if she’s gone beyond and into the Great Darkness?”
“I will fly therein, and if we find her, we will slay her. If not, then we will set ward on the wall, and slay her when she comes nigh.”
“Can you see in the Great Darkness?”
“It is the one place where even the sight of Dragons is muted somewhat. Still, if she is within, she will be on a course toward the Castle of Shadows, and
Prospect
After an overnight stay at Sieur Emile’s manse in the Springwood, Avelaine set out with a small escort of her father’s retainers for the coastal city of Port Mizon in King Avelar’s realm, for she was going home to her husband-
The group rode at haste, remounts in tow, for Avelaine was now anxious to return; with the bodeful incidents of the last few days-the witch Hradian’s spying and her trickery to freely obtain the key to the Castle of Shadows to set loose the wizard Orbane-and with the threat of war looming, Avelaine on her journey from the Castle of the Seasons had come to realize just how hazardous a place Faery could be. And with her newfound comprehension, she felt the urgency to return to her truelove Chevell. It would not be erelong before he set out to lead the king’s fleet to destroy the corsairs of Brados.
It was yet early morn when she and her escort came upon Springwood Manor, and there she paused to find her brother Roel to bid him au revoir and to caution him to take care. She found the manse in a state of activity as the staff bustled here and there, preparing for the arrival of raw recruits to be trained in the art of combat and war. Too, the smiths and bow masters were hard at work to make weaponry for various members of the warband and the houseguard to take to various villages in the Springwood, where they would call the nearby men together and prepare them for battle as well.
Roel broke off from his planning and came running downstairs to the welcoming hall to greet Avelaine. “Avi, the king sent a falcon and said you were on your way. It is good to see you. Will you stay this eve?”
“No, Rollie. I must get back to my Chevell, for I’ve come to realize just how dreadfully dire many things have become.
And of a sudden I grasp that this sea venture my love embarks upon, instead of being the lark he would make of it, is hazardous in the extreme. And if war is to be visited upon Faery, then I would be at his side in the time we have left. Oh, Rollie, I’m afraid I thought with the death of the Changeling Lord and our escape from his realm, that the rest of Faery would always be charming, with wee people popping out from under bushes, and Sprites flying here and there, and Elves and Fairies and other such being nought but good.”
“Avi, Faery is indeed a marvelous place, but a perilous one as well. Yet I hope you never lose your sense of wonder at the splendid things herein. Even so, you are right: Chevell’s mission is a hazardous one, and you do need to be with him ere he sets sail. Still, can you not at least stay for a meal?”
“Non. As soon as the horses are watered and given some grain, we are off for the sunwise border.”
“Take care where you cross, little sister, else you just might fall in the ocean.”
She laughed. “I well know the place, brother of mine, to make entry into King Avelar’s realm. Unlike you, I’ll cross at leisure, rather than while running for my life; hence do I plan to stay out of the rolling waters of that sea where you and Celeste nigh went for a swim, yet, thanks to the Fates, you did not.” Now it was Roel who laughed, but then he sobered. “Speaking of the Fates, little sister, I met one on the way here.”
