Once upon a dreadful time

death cries of men, and the very last hisses of Serpentines.

While on the main battlefield crossbow quarrels now spitted Trolls and arrows felled Bogles, but then the two sides crashed together, and blood and grume flew wide as swords hacked flesh and cudgels smashed bone and flails ripped through armor and body alike.

And the greater numbers of the throng sought to surround the allies, yet swift warriors moved to interpose their shields and long spears before the flanking enemy.

And the knights charged into the Trolls again and again, and for once the chevaliers outnumbered the monstrous foe. Even so, knights were felled by the terrible beings, and both Laurent and Blaise were wounded in the melee, Laurent for the second time.

And standing with Galion at her side, and surrounded by Wolves, Michelle calmly loosed arrow after arrow, felling Bogle after Bogle. .

But then the Sickness flowed across the combatants, and the men and Fey withdrew, the knights and cavalry fighting a rear-guard action, while the bulk of the warriors retreated, taking their wounded with them, but leaving their dead behind.

. .

Long did the colts of Asphodel course upon the vast sea, while Raseri flew above. Through numerous twilight borders they went, passing from calm to roiling waters, from warm oceans to cold, from a sea as smooth as glass to one raging with storms.

And as they ran and flew, the sun rode up into the sky. And somewhere during this passage, Duran fell quite asleep.

And then up ahead they sighted a sheer cliff, and when the racing mounts came to the vertical rise, up the face of the stone they ran, leaping from ledge to ledge, their gait so smooth even sleeping Duran did not waken.

Across a wide plain they sped, and then up the slopes of low mountains the Fairy horses coursed, and they leapt o’er vast chasms hidden by the jagged rocks.

Over the range they passed and through another twilight marge to race across a vast bog, the steeds running so lightly they left not a track therein.

And still the sun rode through the sky, rising toward the zenith.

. .

Time after time the allies engaged the foe, and time after time they were driven away by the dreadful miasma.

And they retreated and retreated, but at last Auberon turned them up the slopes of the valley, for this was the place where Orbane would cross over to come unto the headwaters of the River of Time.

They fought a battle on the slope itself, attacking from the high ground, and they wrought devastation upon the enemy, yet devastation was also wrought upon them.

Finally, they withdrew to the vale through which the river itself flowed, and they marched down into the dale toward the linn over which Time plunged.

Those in the lead could see in the distance a cascade plummeting down a precipice, and a long, silvery ribbon of water-if indeed it were water and not Time itself-flowing away sunwise. Yet it seemed right at the falls the spill had no origin, either that or it sprang directly from a misty cloud hovering above, the silvery vapor glimmering as of a gleaming within.

“This is it,” said Auberon. “Here is where all time originates. And it runs from the future through the present to the past. Where the river ends, none I know has said, though, as you tell me, Princess Camille believes it flows out from Faery to spread over the mortal world. It is also told that the Fates themselves live along the banks of this numinous stream, yet I myself cannot say. You see, we Fey avoid this place, for we would not suffer the ravages of time. We believe that’s for mortals to do. Yet here we must make a stand, for Orbane has forced it to be. Would that we could win this day, but I think it’s not in the cards to do so.”

Regar looked at the falls and the river flowing out beyond, and he said, “Grand-pere, Lisane, my own truelove, has read those very cards, and she says the outcome is in doubt, and so she thinks we have a chance.”

“As do the Fates,” said Blaise, “whose redes have given us hope.”

“May their sight be such that they see victory for us,” said Auberon.

And there near the precipice of the cascade in the valley of the River of Time, the allies arrayed themselves for one final stand.

. .

The colts emerged through another bound and came to a fiery land, with the ground arumble and mountains spewing flame, but they dodged and darted through the peril, as Raseri above flew onward.

Past that land, across a great plain they ran, while the sun continued to edge toward the zenith. Another border they breached, and another and another, and Camille had lost all count, as over snow they raced and lakes and ponds and ice and through the streets of towns and cities and within tall, vine-laden trees so closely bunched as to seem impossible to pass, yet the colts somehow managed. And finally they came to a long and wide and vast barren track completely desolate of all life, and along that scar the colts did turn, Raseri above veering that way as well.

. .

Again and again the throng hammered into the allies and pressed them back and back. But then from the slope on the foe’s right flank, a white steed with a pearlescent horn charged into the enemy. And a small brown man with a tiny bow stood on a jumble of boulders and flew wee crookedy missile after crookedy missile into the ranks of the throng. They were Thale the Unicorn and Adragh the Pwca, and high on the slopes above, Lisane winged shafts into the mass. Tisp the Sprite flew overhead, and she called all the Sprites to her, for just as were Lisane and Thale and Adragh, Tisp herself was a First. She gave a command to the Sprites, and they flew into the surround and gathered thorns and burrs and dropped them down on the enemy. Even as they did this, down the slope strode a huge man bearing an enormous bronze battleaxe-’twas Big Jack bearing Lady Bronze; another First had come-and he waded in, swinging Lady Bronze, leaving a bloody swath in his wake.

And darting among the Skrikers and Dunters and Long-Armed Wights veered wildcats with foot-tall, leather- clad, tattooed men astride; Lord Kelmont and the Lynx Riders had come with their fatal arrows dealing death, even as more of the Firsts arrived and joined the fight. Yet the throng pushed them back and back, and soon the battle reached the linn, where the knights had gathered to make a stand.

But in that moment there came riding on a lark a tiny Twig Man. “One side, one side,” squeaked the inch-tall being, “I will stomp them to death.”

“Thank Mithras, ’tis Jotun,” cried Auberon, “come at last.”

“But how can he be of any significant help?” shouted Laurent.

“Just watch,” Auberon replied.

The Twig Man leapt free of the lark, and then he whispered a word. There came a great whoosh ing outpush of air, icy cold, as if all the heat, all the power, had been sucked from it. Laurent gasped, for looming up toward the lightning-filled black roiling sky itself stood a giant of a man. Fully two hundred feet or more he towered upward, and he was dressed all in green and had brown hair. The Giant looked down upon the shrieking foe and lifted a foot and stomped. The world seemed to shudder, there at the headwaters of the River of Time, and a hundred or more Goblins were squashed. And he lifted his foot again, and Lynx Riders darted out from the fray as Goblins and Bogles and Trolls fled screaming.

And in the midst of the Sickness, Orbane hissed in rage, for he knew the corruption would not affect Jotun, for it would but swirl ankle-high on the Giant. Yet there was a way to stop the colossal being, in fact a way to stop them all-all the Firsts, all the humans, all the Fey-though it meant his great plan would be slowed to a crawl. And he raised his voice and shouted an arcane word, and Jotun and Big Jack and Thale and Adragh and the rest of the Firsts were frozen in place, as were Auberon and Luc and Roel and the remaining allies. All humans, all Fey, all Firsts, all Wolves, as well as all members of the throng, all were frozen in place by Orbane’s dread power. And down from the skies drifted Sprites, their wings outstretched in uncontrolled glides, like maple seeds whirling down.

And at the linn the knights and others stood and watched and waited, for they could not move, not even a finger.