stone.
On into the cavern strode Orbane, with a floating globe of arcane light preceding him and Hradian scurrying after. Twisting and turning, they followed the way as it wrenched deeper into the darkness. But at last they came to a torchlit hall, a number of Trolls therein, the stench nearly unbearable. And on an upraised dais and in a massive chair of stone sat one larger than the rest.
“Bolock!” called Orbane.
The Troll’s yellow eyes flew wide in astonishment. “Lord Orbane?”
Orbane laughed. “Indeed, my old ally. And I have come to tell you that this time we will not fail.” Bolock turned to the other Trolls and snarled, “Down, fools!
Can you not see Lord Orbane has returned?” As Trolls groveled on the stone cavern floor, Orbane stepped to the dais.
Bolock grinned, his great tusks a dingy green in the yellow torchlight, and he said, “But I thought you were trapped in the-”
“I was, but I escaped.”
Behind Orbane, Hradian’s shoulders sagged, for it was she who had got her lord free, and yet he gave her no credit. Still, she understood that if the minions thought he had escaped on his own, then they would think him even greater than anyone could imagine. Nevertheless, she desired the praise that would come with recognition.
“I have a new plan, Bolock,” said Orbane, “one that your throng will share in, and the rewards you and your like will reap will be unimaginable. . ”
. .
Over the next fortnight, Hradian ferried Orbane thither and yon throughout portions of Faery, where he exhorted his allies of old to gather from far and near. They went to the great grasslands to enlist the Serpentines and their scaled, cloven-hoofed steeds; to the hills to gather up the Goblins; to the swamps to command the Bogles to heed the call; and to other domains as well. Most immediately joined Orbane’s cause; some delayed their decisions; still others refused him outright, those who were powerful enough to tell him no. The congress of Wyverns were among those who rejected Orbane’s demand, their flames smoldering as a warning to the wizard that if he tried to use his powers they would incinerate him; although Orbane could have immobilized them, still he would not make enemies of these powerful creatures, and so he left in a rage of frustration.
Orbane did not approach some beings, for he knew they would not ally themselves with him, such as Lord Dread, who was the leader of the Wild Hunt. Neither did Orbane speak to such creatures as the Pooka, or Corpse- candles, or the Spriggans, and other such. For although some of those were deadly, still he needed an army for his plan, and they simply would not do, for some were wild, others stubborn, some cowardly, and still others independent with agendas of their own, hence would not yield to his command.
And after each meeting, as the witch flew the wizard toward the next goal, Orbane laughed at what fools these dolts were, expecting he would reward them. “No, no, Acolyte, my plan will rain chaos not only over all of Faery, but the mortal world as well. And as both the wise and the unwise alike flounder about in such madness, I will become master of all.” And so, from many parts of Faery, long marches began, dreadful allies all heading for a rendezvous with their lord and master. Bearing flails and cudgels and barbed spears and other such brutish weaponry, they came. And in the beginning, each croft and hamlet and village and town they encountered they pillaged and raped and slaughtered and burned. In their wake they left nought but ruins, and men slain and women murdered and half-eaten corpses of children torn asunder. Soon every dwelling or
Even so, the deserted steads and towns did not survive.
And in the temperate lands, from the screening foliage of nearby woodland trees and bushes and from the concealing stalks of field grasses, tiny beings followed the dreadful progress and noted the lines of the march, and soon wee Sprites went winging toward distant goals, while in the frozen realms, Ice Sprites watched long moments and then flashed away.
Geas
When her silver mirror went black, Gloriana staggered and fell weak, nearly swooning, and Auberon scooped her up in his arms and bore her to her bed, all the while calling for her ladies-in-waiting. He knelt at the bedside and took her hand in his and chafed her wrist and whispered to her, but what he said, Regar knew not. First one and then another and then two more Fairy maidens came rushing in. “My king,” said the first,
“we will attend her now.” After a hesitant moment, Auberon kissed the queen’s fingers and stood and motioned to Regar, and together they stepped from the room.
“I’m afraid it came as a great shock to her, to us both,” said Auberon as they walked down the corridor. “We each thought him safe, locked away as he was, in the Castle of Shadows.”
“My lord,” said Regar as they entered another chamber, “the Wizard Orbane is your son?”
Glumly, Auberon nodded. “Blood of my loins, as is your mother.”
“And yet you raised your armies against him in the last war.”
“Oui. He had to be stopped, and without my aid it could not have been done. . or rather, it could not have been done in time. I and the others delayed him until a solution could be found. Little did we know that two thieves would provide the key to defeating my son.”
“Two thieves?”
“Valeray and Roulan.”
“Valeray? Of Le Coeur de les Saisons?”
At Auberon’s nod, Regar said, “But he is now a king.”
“Oui, and Roulan is now a duke. ’Twas their rewards for the part they played in the war, for they are the ones who stole the amulets that brought Orbane down. My son’s own magic did him in, just as foreseen by Lisane.”
“Lisane? You know Lisane?”
“Oui. A lovely Elfmaiden she is.”
Regar’s eyes flew wide in startlement. “Elfmaiden? Lisane is an Elf?”
Auberon frowned. “You know Lisane?”
Regar’s gaze softened. “She is my truelove.”
“And yet you did not recognize her as an Elf?”
“I have not had dealings with Elves,” said Regar.
Auberon laughed. “Ah, my petit-fils, did you not see her faint golden hue, much the same as yours?”
“But my own mere had a hint of
Auberon smiled and said, “ ’Tis the glimmer of both Fairies and Elves, for we are much the same.”
The intimate room they had entered was lit with soft light.
A sofa and two comfortable chairs centered about a low table formed a conversation pit, and on a sideboard sat glasses and a crystal decanter filled with a deep ruby-red wine. At Auberon’s gesture, Regar took one of the chairs, while the Fairy King poured a bit of the liquid into each of two goblets. He handed one to Regar and kept the other for himself and sat in the chair opposite.
“Fear not, Grandson,” said Auberon, with a smile. “I have not magicked the liqueur. Besides, I am not certain it would work against you, Fairy-blooded as you are. You may safely drink.”
Regar hesitated but a fraction, and then took a sip. A warm glow slid down his throat and into his chest.
“It is made from bluebells and blackberries,” said Auberon, sipping his own. “An old family recipe, very old. Someday I’ll tell you how ’tis done.”
An amiable silence fell between them, one that could not last, for dreadful events were afoot. Finally Regar said, “Well then, Grand-pere, your only son, my mother’s half-brother, my own
