Once upon a dreadful time

some honey.

Shortly, though, once again they took up the trek, and the sun slowly slid down the sky. As eve drew on, Buzzer flew back to the tricorn and landed. Flic said, “Time to find a good place to camp, for with night coming, Buzzer will soon be asleep.”

“How about under that great willow up ahead and off to the left,” said Fleurette.

“If it has a stream, well and good,” said Regar.

And so they rode toward the massive tree, the willow fully 192 / DENNIS L. MCKIERNAN

a hundred feet tall, its long swaying branches hanging down all

’round, highlighted by the red light of the setting sun. Beyond the dangling branches they could see the massive girth of the bole, perhaps fifteen or twenty human strides across, and some three times that around.

“Oh, look!” cried Fleurette. “A door and windows. Oh, my, what a place of wonder.”

There was indeed a door into the trunk, and it of a pale yellow hue; two windows on either side looked out on the world.

Willow-bark shutters, standing wide, graced both windows and the door.

Regar stopped just outside the long limbs, and dismounted.

Even as he did so, the door opened, and therein stood a lithe, redheaded woman. Her face was narrow, her eyes emerald green and aslant, her skin alabaster, tinged with gold.

“Bon soir,” she said. “I have been expecting you.” Regar stepped ’round from the opposite side of the horse to greet her, and at one and the same time, both he and she drew in sharp breaths.

Never had he seen someone so beautiful.

Never had she seen someone so handsome.

“Demoiselle,” he said, bowing, “I am Regar.”

“Prince Regar,” added Flic.

The demoiselle didn’t even seem to hear the Sprite, so entranced was she by the man. “Sieur,” she said, curtseying,

“many know me as the Lady of the Bower, yet my name is Lisane.”

“Oh, look, a Unicorn, “ breathed Fleurette, awe in her voice, for even in Faery, they were rare.

At the far side of the clearing a splendid white creature stood. Horselike, it was, but smaller and with cloven hooves and a pearlescent horn jutting from its forehead, a thin spiral groove running up from its base to its very sharp tip. Of a sudden it snorted and retreated into the forest beyond.

Momentarily, Lisane’s face fell, but she managed a smile and said, “ ’Tis Thale. He senses. .” Lisane did not finish the spoken thought, yet she knew that Thale had read her heart at that very moment. Then Lisane brightened and said, “Sprites. I have not seen Sprites for many a day.”

“Then, my lady, you do not know?” asked Regar.

“Know what?”

. .

“So that’s what the cards meant,” said Lisane. “It wasn’t a spurious reading after all.”

“Spurious reading?” asked Fleurette.

“I am a seer,” said Lisane. “I divine the future through taroc.”

“Ah,” said Regar, “so that’s what you meant when you said you were expecting us.”

A blush rose to Lisane’s cheeks, and she cast her gaze down and aside. “Oui, Prince Regar. I saw you in the cards.” Regar swirled his cup and studiously watched the motion of the tea, for every time he looked at Lisane she took his breath away.

Fleurette nudged Flic and quietly giggled. Flic frowned at her in puzzlement and shrugged as if to say, What?

They were gathered in Lisane’s tiny kitchen: Regar and Lisane sitting in the only two chairs; Flic and Fleurette seated atop the plank table; Buzzer quite asleep on Regar’s tricorn set off to one side.

“Then, my lady,” said Regar, “can you divine the meaning of Lady Verdandi’s rede?”

“It seems to mean that war is on the way.”

“Then you think Orbane is free?”

Lisane took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “This morn I was jolted awake by something unknown. Mayhap it was Orbane’s escape. The cards would seem to say so.”

“The cards again?” said Fleurette.

Lisane nodded. “Let me show you what I saw. . ”

Regar frowned. “And I am this Naif and you the Hierophant?”

Again Lisane blushed. “Oui.”

“What about us?” asked Flic, standing and peering at the wheels of cards.

Fleurette elbowed Flic. “We’re not important.” Lisane shook her head. “Ah, do not be too quick to judge, Fleurette, for the six of cups signifies friends, and that’s where I think you are. Still, that might not be, yet the cards do not see all.”

“Even so, they seem to spell doom,” said Regar.

“Things are dire, that I admit,” said Lisane. “Yet the taroc speaks not to what will be, but rather what might be, and then only if the reader has interpreted wisely and true, and only if the acts portrayed are not contravened by actions unshown.” They sat in silence for long moments, but then Regar said,

“Do you believe the four Knights in opposition to the Magician are Luc, Roel, Blaise, and Laurent?”

Lisane shrugged. “Mayhap, but then again the knights might simply indicate armies in opposition to those of the Mage, if indeed armies become involved.”

“Well, it’s all quite beyond me,” said Flic, stretching and yawning. “Oh, my, but I must sleep.”

“I’ll fix a pillow by the hearth,” said Lisane.

Fleurette smiled and said, “There is no need. We can find a place up in the branches of your tree.”

“It is certainly no bother, Fleurette. Besides, I think it safer inside.”

Regar stood. “I will sleep out beneath the fronds of your willow, my lady.” Lisane seemed as if she had something to say, yet she remained silent.

. .

As mid of night approached, and the waxing crescent moon sank low, Regar lay awake, his face toward the stars wheeling above and glinting down through the long strands of willow.

Yet he saw not the leaves nor the celestial display, for his mind was filled with the features of Lisane, his heart quite stolen away.

He heard a soft step, and turned to see Lisane, the moonlight shining through her filmy negligee.

With his pulse pounding in his ears, Regar raised up on his elbows. “My lady, I-”

She knelt and put a finger to his lips. “My prince, I did not tell all I saw in the cards, for early this morn, long ere you arrived, I dealt out what might happen this day, and it seems it has come true.”

“My lady?”

Lisane took him by the hands and raised him up. “Come with me. I will show you.” And she led him into her bower.

Putrescence

With the twigs of her besom smoking and threatening to burst into flame, down Hradian spiralled toward the town, while the wizard Orbane laughed in glee and crowed,

“Not only have I escaped the Great Darkness, I sent a fearsome enemy into that dreadful void.”

“My lord,” gasped Hradian, “I am too weary to go onward, and my broom needs new willow twigs, else it will fly like nought more than a stick.”

“Very well, Acolyte, come to rest in the village, for I would have food and drink and entertainment. Too, I