It was on the practice field in the Autumnwood where warriors drilled at spears that Luc sat with Remy in the stands and mulled over the falcon-brought message. And the armsmaster said, “Lady Michelle is right: we need a way of finding where Orbane doffs his cloak, for he is the head of the snake, a head we must lop off.”
The prince nodded. “Finding Orbane is-” Of a sudden, Luc’s voice jerked to a halt, and the elusive thought that had been skating on the fringes of his mind for nigh on a fortnight suddenly burst clear. He slapped himself in the forehead and leapt to his feet. “Remy, Remy, what an utter fool am I. We have no way of directly finding Orbane, but Hradian is another matter altogether.” Luc spun on his heel and headed for the manor, the armsmaster hard after.
“My lord?”
“Ah, Remy, we need to fetch the seer back here, madman though he is.”
“Malgan, my lord?”
“Oui, Malgan and all his invisible companions.”
“But, my lord, why?”
“I think I have something that will tell us where she is.”
“My lord?”
“Come with me, Remy, and pray that I didn’t lose it, or that some servant hasn’t cast it away.”
They rushed into the manse and up the stairs and into the prince’s quarters and to the large closet-chamber therein, Luc calling out, “Daimbert, Daimbert, where are you?” The valet stepped out from the adjoining bathing room and looked about in puzzlement, for he did not see the prince. “Oui, my lord? Oui?”
Luc stuck his head from the closet. “Daimbert, hurry, I need to find my red waistcoat.”
The valet bustled to the chamber and inside, where rack upon rack of fine garments hung. “Which red waistcoat, my lord?”
“The one I took with me to the faire. Surely it came back with the baggage train.”
“Mais oui, my lord,” said Daimbert. He stepped past several racks and to one with many different waistcoats. He fetched a red satin vest from among them and held it out. “Here it is, my prince.”
Luc reached into the right-hand pocket and frowned, and then into the left-hand one. “Nothing! Daimbert, where is the vial I had in one of the pockets?”
“Vial, my lord?”
Luc’s face fell, and he glanced at Remy, despair in the prince’s eyes. “Oui. A small vial, about so big.” Luc gapped his right thumb and forefinger some three inches apart. “It had residue of an ocherous hue.”
“Ah, my lord, I remember it now.” Daimbert turned and stepped to a chest of drawers. “I did not know what it was, but even so, I put it here.” He turned and in his hand was the vial Alain had found at the faire at the side of Luc’s pavilion.
“Oui!” Luc carefully took the small container from the valet. “Remy, if Alain was right, this held a potion crafted by Hradian. If so, it might lead us to her, and the key to the Castle of Shadows. Not only that, but where Hradian is, I’ll wager we’ll also find Orbane.”
Now Remy’s eyes lit up. “Indeed, Prince.”
“Fly like the wind, Remy, and fetch Malgan, for I would have him use this to point the way.”
. .
In late afternoon of the following day, Remy and a string of remounts returned with Malgan, the seer somewhat disgruntled at having to ride in haste, for his horsemanship was not the best, and, at the pace set and the sharp veerings through the woodland, he had nearly fallen from the saddle several times.
Even so, amid his twitchings and flinchings and mutterings and hissings, and his asides to his invisible coterie, he said,
“This vial indeed was used to change someone into someone else, and the ocherous residue seems still to hold the essence of someone, for among many other things, it has merde and urine and
“Point the way? Oh, no.”
“You mean you cannot find her?”
Malgan snapped his head ’round leftward and shouted, “No!
Stay out of this!” Then he said to Luc, “Oh, I can tell you where she is at this moment, though to do so I will have to destroy the vial. If you want it to point the-I said I would handle this! — if you want to point the way, Prince Luc, you will have to fetch Mage Caldor.”
Luc frowned. “Caldor?”
“The one Prince Alain calls a charlatan,” said Remy.
“Oh no,” said Malgan, “he is not a charlatan.” Malgan turned aside toward an invisible companion, if indeed there was one standing where Malgan looked, and asked, “What, what? Ah, I see.” He turned back to Luc. “Prince Alain calls Caldor a charlatan because Caldor could not lift the curse laid upon him by one of the Seals of Orbane- Yes, I know! I know! Now be quiet!
I am the one telling this! — but none of us could lift that dreadful curse, for Orbane’s magic was simply too strong.”
“Well, charlatan or no, Malgan, think you this Mage Caldor can use this vial to aid us in finding the woman whose residue of fluids reside herein?”
“Oui, I do, we do. He might be able to fashion a compass that will point to this femme. Otherwise I’ll-All right! All right! I’m getting to it! — otherwise I can only tell you where she is at the moment I break it.”
Luc sighed and turned to the armsmaster. “Remy, where is this Caldor to be found?”
“In the Springwood, my lord.”
“Then send a falcon to Roel, and have him get Caldor here as swift as he can.”
“Oh, no. Oh, no, we are not going,” hissed Malgan to someone unseen. “Yes, you are right: we did nearly fall off several times. No more fast rides. No more.”
. .
The following day a falcon came to Luc from Roel with the message that Garron, a member of the Springwood warband, had been dispatched with a string of remounts to locate Mage Caldor and hie him to Autumnwood Manor.
In the afternoon of that same day, winged Sprites came flying to Springwood, Summerwood, and Autumnwood Manors bearing the news that armies of Goblins were on the march from their holes in the hills- Redcaps and Dunters and Skrikers alike. Too, vast numbers of Bogles as well as Long-Armed Wights were moving ’cross land from swamp to swamp, and the Serpentines were riding in bands out from their grasslands.
Also, Trolls had emerged from their icy mountains and were tramping across more temperate realms, and the Changelings were moving toward Port Cient. And these dread forces were slaughtering and burning as they went. Surely they were all headed for a rendezvous with Orbane. But where? None but the marchers knew.
For that day and the next, falcons flew back and forth as well as to the Castle of the Seasons, and Sieur Emile ordered the gathering of the five armies under his overall command.
They would start out a three-day hence and rendezvous in the Autumnwood, for there the food was plentiful, the harvest ever for the taking.
. .
In Port Mizon, Chevell embraced Avelaine, and they kissed one another. He then stepped into a tender, and a crew rowed him out to his flagship-the
And as the
