Celeste laughed and said, “I question as to who will be the ravisher and who the ravishee.” The next morning, just after dawn, the warband saddled horses and laded pack animals and donned armor and arms, all readying for the trek ahead.
Many in the band were excited, for not oft did a venture come their way, while the veterans of skirmishes and other such went grimly about their tasks.
Roel, too, slipped into his brass-plated leather jacket and strapped on his long-knife and buckled on Coeur d’Acier. He checked his crossbow and bolts, making certain the newly oiled mechanism was fit and the quarrels well sharp. Gerard hovered nearby, tears brimming, for he was not a member of the warband, nor had he any training with weapons, yet he swore to Roel that a valet de chambre would be needed on the quest. Nevertheless, Roel denied him permission to come along.
Henriette stood sniveling, not only because Celeste was leaving, but also because Marlon would be riding away. Marlon was a young man of the warband, whom Henriette had within the week taken as a lover- spurred on, as she was, by the heat of listening to the sounds coming from Celeste’s and Roel’s quarters.
Vidal was at hand, along with Amelie. Theon and the houseguard were there as well. Marielle, Theon’s wife, comforted sobbing Darci, for her husband, Captain Anton, was leaving. So, too, were others weeping, wives and lovers and loyal staff.
Altogether some two candlemarks passed before all was ready-horses and men and supplies and gear-
and Celeste gave the signal to mount. Now the weeping intensified, and Henriette swooned, caught by Roche, who happened to be at her side.
And even as Celeste raised a hand to start the trek,
“My lady,” cried Leroux, the hawk master, “a falcon comes winging.” Celeste commanded the warband to stand by, and Leroux ran for the mews.
Down spiraled the falcon, descending toward the cote, finally to land on the platform and stalk inside. Moments later, Leroux came running, the falcon now hooded.
“ ’Tis a bird from the Autumnwood,” he said, and he handed the small message canister up to his mistress.
Celeste opened the tube and fetched out the tissue within. She unrolled it and read the words thereon. A smile broke across her face and she announced, “It is from Steward Zacharie of Autumnwood Manor. Sprites have come flying bearing the news that Princess Liaze and her betrothed, Luc, along with an armed escort, have entered the Autumnwood. She is safe and should be home in a threeday.”
A cheer rose up from the Springwood Manor staff.
Celeste read on, a frown on her features. Then she said, “Zacharie also reports that the witch Iniqui has been slain by Liaze, and warns us to be wary, for two of Orbane’s unholy acolytes yet remain-Hradian and Nefasi.”
A hushed murmur rippled through the gathering, but Celeste smiled and said, “Iniqui has joined her sister Rhensibe in death, and Liaze and Luc are safe; I think that calls for a celebration. Vidal, hold a feast this eve, for though we will be gone, this news deserves a fete.”
“As you wish, my lady,” said the steward.
Another cheer rose up from the staff.
Celeste called Theon to her, and leaned down and said in a low voice, “Keep the houseguard alert, Captain, for the remaining two witches, living foe that they are, might choose to attack Springwood Manor.”
“Fear not, my lady, for we will keep the mansion secure.”
Celeste motioned Vidal to her and said, “Four days from now, when Liaze is safely home, send falcons to my siblings and my parents with word as to what has happened here and the quest we now follow. Tell them of my betrothal, and say that when this quest is done, we will notify a king-my sire-and post the banns and plan the wedding. Give each of them my love as well.”
“As you will, my lady,” said the steward.
Theon and Vidal stepped back, and Celeste straightened in the saddle and gave the order to ride. New sobs erupted as forward the cavalcade moved; once again Henriette swooned, once again caught by Roche. Theon and the houseguard managed a respectable, thrice-shouted Hip-hip-hooray!
And with Celeste and Roel in the lead, warband and packhorses trailing, across the lawn they fared and into the forest beyond.
8
Riddles and Redes
They passed into the woodland through a grove of flowering dogwoods at the edge of the lawn, did Celeste and Roel and the warband. Scattered cheers from some members of the staff followed them within, but soon faded to silence in the quietness of the ever-awakening trees. And the only sounds were those of shod hooves on soft soil and the creak of leather and the quiet conversation among the riders.
But then Anton called, “Verill, ride point. Garron, Deverel, one to each flank. Merlion, assume rear.” As those riders swung away from the cavalcade to take up their assigned positions, Celeste said, “Are you expecting more brigands, Anton?”
“My lady, with the news of another of the witches being slain, this one by your sister, we need ward against revenge. Hradian or Nefasi most likely were responsible for those brigands who attacked you, and who knows what they might do next?”
Roel nodded. “My love, Anton is most likely correct, for did you not say the leader spoke of his mistress wanting to see you dead or alive? And did not the crow itself cry out for revenge? And if not these witches, who else comes to mind as someone who might wish you ill?”
Celeste shrugged. “No one else I know of.”
“How powerful are these witches?”
Again Celeste shrugged. “That I cannot say, though if indeed the crow was bewitched or- Oh, my, I wonder if the crow was actually one of the remaining sisters.”
“Changed her shape? Transformed herself into a bird?” asked Roel.
“Oui.”
“Is that even possible?”
“We are in Faery, my love,” said Celeste, as if that explained all.
Roel’s hand went to the hilt of his sword and he said,
“Strange are the ways herein, and I can only hope Coeur d’Acier will ward us against any ills that might beset us.” Anton shook his head and said, “I’m afraid, Sieur Roel, sharp edges are no guarantee against sorcery.”
“Anton is correct,” said Celeste. “Many are the tales of witches and mages and sorcerers and the like overwhelming knights and warriors and paladins and others who solely rely upon weaponry.”
“Oui,” said Anton, “but there are just as many tales of warriors and their weapons overcoming such foe.” Celeste laughed and said, “My sire, King Valeray, says no matter the foe, stealth and guile are better weapons than force of arms. Of course, he started out in life as a thief.”
Roel’s eyes flew wide in astonishment. “Your father was a thief and is now a king?”
Celeste smiled and nodded.
“There is a tale here for the telling,” said Roel, “and I would hear it one day.”
“I will tell it one day,” said Celeste.
Roel grinned. “From thief to king is quite a leap, my love. -Regardless, as to stealth and guile, my father says the same thing. Yet he also cautions there are instances when there is no time to bring them into play, and one must fall back on force of arms. . either that or a rapid retreat.”
“You mean run away?” asked Anton, cocking an eyebrow.
“Perhaps,” said Roel. “It all depends on the situation.
Let me give you an example. . ”
They continued to ride throughout the morning, Roel and Anton and Celeste discussing strategy and tactics and the choices one might make, given the foe, his numbers, the terrain, and the numbers of allies one might have at hand to go up against the enemy. They discussed when it might be better to fall back to a new position, when it is better to create diversions, flanking attacks, ambushes, and when it is better to charge head-on, and other such choices of combat.
During these discussions it became clear to both Celeste and Anton that Roel was a master of strategy and tactics as well as being a knight of surpassing skills. They marveled at his grasp of battle, whether it involved armies or a handful of warriors or single combat, though he seemed unaware of the admiration in their eyes, so focused was he on the exchange of ideas, though in truth he did most of the talking.