Once upon a dreadful time

And there upon the entire battlefield it was as if all were nought but game pieces upon a board played by the gods, and the whole stood still, waiting for the moves to come. And though the churning black skies above roared with the claps of riven air, still in the brief silences between the cracks of lightning and the booms of thunder, there came to the ear what seemed to be the faint sound of looms weaving.

Long moments passed, and dimly at first but then more clearly, two figures could be seen moving forward through the miasma.

Yet, from above there came a skreigh! while at the same time down the slopes of the vale seven white Fairy horses ran. To the linn they galloped, there among the unmoving men and Fey.

And Valeray and Saissa, Celeste and Liaze, Camille and Duran and Scruff, and Borel and Alain, all leapt from their mounts, even as Raseri and Rondalo came to land nearby.

“Roel, cheri,” cried Celeste, as did Liaze call out to Luc, and Borel rushed to Michelle, his love yet surrounded by Wolves, all of them unmoving.

“What is this?” muttered Valeray, as he stepped among the men.

And emerging from the miasma came Orbane, Hradian closely following. “How did they escape?” asked the witch, her hand touching the amulet at her throat, the silver token set with a blue gem, to see if it was still there.

And then she reached for the other token at her throat- a clay seal on a leather thong-to send these fools back into prison. But in that moment Orbane said, “Acolyte, lend me your power.”

“Yes, my lord,” she replied, her hand falling away.

Back at the linn, Celeste’s eyes widened, and she snatched at her bow, and nocked an arrow, for she had seen the pair. Yet ere she could draw and loose, Orbane, using borrowed power, spoke again the arcane word, and Valeray and the others, including Duran and wee Scruff, were frozen in place, as were Raseri and Rondalo and the colts of Asphodel.

And Orbane, sneering in triumph, strode forward to come unto them, Hradian following after.

Reckoning

Orbane strutted among those trapped at the linn, and he stopped before Auberon and smirked. “Well, Pere, tried to stop me again, did you? You fool. Neither you nor your allies nor anyone else can prevent me from taking the throne you so haughtily denied to me, your very own son, your rightful heir.

But I will not simply be the new Fey Lord to merely rule Under the Hill, for when I am done I will command not only all of Faery but the whole of the mortal world as well.” Standing motionless beside Auberon, Roel raged and tried with all of his will and heart and spirit and grit to raise his sword and cut down this arrogant being, but the prince could not twitch even the slightest of muscles. Although he could not move, still he could hear, and there came to his ears the faint sound of looms weaving, and of a sudden he realized that this very instant had been foretold, for had not Urd said-?

“ ’Pon the precipice will ye be held, As surely as can be,

Yet can ye but touch the deadly arcane, The least shall set ye free.”

Roel’s mind raced. Surely this is the precipice of that conundrum as well as the moment of time. Yet did she not also say, “If you do not solve this rede, Roel, then all as we now know it to be will come to a horrible end”? And here we are held on the linn where Time begins. But what did she mean, “touch the deadly arcane”?

Orbane widely gestured toward the cascade and the silvery flow beyond, and then back to his pustulant cloud. “See, Papa, what I bring? The corruption, the contagion, the Sickness, and with it I will pollute the River of Time. Then will it overflow its banks to run this way and that without reason, and orderly Time, heretofore so tightly confined in Faery, will be free to flow helter-skelter without bound and foster nought but Chaos itself. And as you know, Pere, I am not only the Master of the Winds, but the Master of Chaos as well.”

Roel now paid no heed to Orbane’s crowing, but frantically sought a solution to Urd’s rede. Clearly this is the place and the time, but what is it I am to do? Oh, Mithras, help me understand.

Orbane stepped to the precipice of the linn, and he cried out,

“Now is my time come, for henceforth the whole of the two worlds will be mine to rule.”

Roel tried to calm his mind, and even as he did so, the solution came unto him, yet he could not move any part of himself, much less his hand, and so he despaired.

Orbane turned toward the Sickness, and he gestured for it to come, yet it moved not. Again Orbane gestured, and his face grimaced and sweat beaded on his forehead with the effort, for he not only had to move the cloud, but he also had to control the black roiling skies, while at the same time holding motionless the allies and Raseri and Rondalo and the other Firsts and Valeray’s kith and the colts of Asphodel, as well as his very own throng. And it was at this moment he realized that had he not included his horde in the spell, he would have more than enough power to move the contagion. Yet he could not release the throng without releasing the others. And Luc and Roel and Blaise and Laurent and all the other knights at the linn had weapons in hand. And even though Orbane commanded the pustulation to come, the bilious cloud neither moved forward nor backward nor sideways.

“Acolyte, I need more of your power.”

“My lord, without Crapaud, I have no more to give.” Hissing in ire, Orbane slightly relaxed his hold as well as his link to Hradian to focus a bit more of his own power into fetching the Sickness, and oh so slowly the corruption began to drift toward the linn.

Roel, yet straining to control his hand found he could now move a single digit, though barely. Will it be enough?

Forward flowed the cloud even as downward inched the index finger on Roel’s right hand.

Orbane’s face twisted with the effort of trying to hasten the pollution unto the linn.

Down crept Roel’s finger, over the cross guard of his sword. .

“Ha!” said Orbane, relaxing, for now the pustulation drifted under its own power.

. . and that was the moment Roel managed to touch the deadly arcane-the silver-flashed rune-marked blade of Coeur d’Acier, a steel sword in the heart of Faery in the hand of a spellbound man. And Roel felt the blade grow warm, yet he despaired, for he still could not move, and it seemed all were yet frozen in place. But then he heard wee Scruff peep. The sparrow speaks! Perhaps he has been set free, yet how can he possibly be of any-

Scruff struggled out from Camille’s shoulder pocket, and he flew into Hradian’s face, chirping angrily and clawing and pecking, and she fell back in startlement-

— and the rune-weakened link between wizard and witch was completely broken-

— Raseri roared-

— darkness swept over Alain-

— Liaze and Valeray and Borel drew long-knives-

— Celeste pulled her nocked arrow to the full-

— Saissa scooped up Duran-

— and Camille shoved Orbane in the back, the wizard to plummet screaming down the cascade and plunge into the River of Time.

And Roel staggered, as if a grip of powers warring through him had suddenly been released, and Coeur d’Aciere instantly cooled to his touch.

Hradian frantically reached for the clay amulet at her throat, the last of the Seals of Orbane, but Scruff stabbed at her eyes, and the Bear stepped forth from the darkness and, with a terrible roar and a swipe of a paw, eviscerated the witch. A look of astonishment crossed her face, and then she fell dead. Yet tiny Scruff kept pecking away and did not stop until he had pierced her eyes.

And down in the current of the River of Time, Orbane screamed and began to rapidly age, his hair falling out, his eyes becoming dim, as the ravages of Time came upon him.

The throng was freed, yet so were the allies, and Jotun began to stomp. Raseri took to the air, his fire