When they stopped to feed and water the horses and to take a meal of their own, Celeste said, “Roel, I have often heard my sire and brothers speak of war and combat, but never so clearly have I understood all that is entailed.”
“Oh, my lady, we have not covered even a small fraction of everything involved,” said Roel. For a moment he paused, his gaze unfocused, as if he was lost in memory. But then he took a deep breath and said, “A grim business is war and combat and not to be undertaken lightly, but when it is unavoidable, one should fight to win, and that means turning every weakness of the foe into an advantage, while preventing him from doing the same.”
They sat in silence for a while, eating bread and cheese and drinking hot tea that one of the warband had brewed. Finally Roel said, “Your brothers: are they knights as well as being princes?”
“Non,” replied Celeste. “Although there are many knights in Faery, seldom do we fight great wars. I think the Keltoi never told long sagas of such.” Roel frowned. “The Keltoi?”
“Legendary bards,” said Celeste.
“What would their stories have to do with, there not being wars in Faery?”
“Ah. Well, this is the way of it, or so Camille thinks-
and I happen to agree. You see, it is said that before there ever was a Faery, the Keltoi told such marvelous tales that they entranced the gods themselves. And the gods in turn made Faery manifest and populated it with all the many kinds of folk the Keltoi told of, be they human or Elves, Dwarves or Fairies, Trolls or Goblins, Sprites or Pixies, or whatever other kind you wish to name. And now we ourselves must be entertaining the gods, for the Keltoi seem to have gone to a green island somewhere beyond the rim of the world.” Roel frowned and said, “And these Keltoi never spoke of war?”
“For the most part, only in passing, my love. They told tales of knights going off to war, or returning from war, or of the folk left behind, but seldom of the war itself.
Instead they spoke of the heroism of those who were on their way home from war, or of the hardships of those left at home, or of the terrible deeds done in the absence of the warriors.
“Oh, not to say that the Keltoi never told of battle, for some of their tales did speak of the great deeds done by heroes in combat or by heroic armies. Usually though, most of their tales of war spoke of a king and his army riding off to meet the army of a neighboring kingdom, or of war occurring in a realm far away. Where this so-called ‘neighboring kingdom’ might exist, I haven’t any idea, nor do I know where the faraway realm lies.
“But for the most part these gifted bards told of heroic deeds done in pursuit of villains, or in the rescuing of maidens, or the doing in of Dragons, or of the slaying of Giants, and such: great deeds all, but by single men or single women, or by a mere handful of doughty people, and not by vast armies clashing.
“And so, you see, if it is true that the Keltoi did cause the gods to make Faery manifest, that’s why war is seldom fought in Faery, or if it is, then it happens someplace away.” Celeste fell silent and took another sip of tea.
“Hmm. .,” mused Roel, “would that were true in the mortal world as well.”
Again a quietness descended between them, but Celeste finally said, “It occurs to me that you and I and the warband are caught up in a heroic tale much like those told by the Keltoi, for you seek your sister to rescue her from the Lord of the Changelings, and we ride at your side to deal with whatever the Fates decree. If that doesn’t become a saga to be told, well. .” Roel sighed and said, “It is not a tale much to my liking, though within it I have found my truelove, and that I would not trade for ought.”
Celeste smiled, her eyes bright, and she squeezed Roel’s hand, and in that moment Anton came to the two and said, “My lady, the horses are full watered and fed, the men as well.”
“Then let us be on our way,” said Celeste.
Roel leapt to his feet and handed her up, and in a trice all mounted and fared onward.
And as they rode they passed through a forest ever caught in the moment of spring, and in places snow yet lay on the ground and the air was chill and trees were barely abud, while elsewhere warm breezes wafted and forest and flowers and grass were full leafed and full bloomed and full green. Throughout the entire swing of the season did they ride, coming upon early here and late there and intermediate elsewhere. And limb runners chattered and scolded; birds sang melodies with words unknown; deer bounded away with tails like flags held high in warning; a black bear waddled downslope toward a raging creek to move out of the line of the ride; and just within the edge of a briar thicket, a heavy boar bristled and snorted and turned and lumbered deeper in among the thorns. Partridges burst away in a thunder of flight, and hummingbirds darted among the flowers, though Roel now and again thought he espied among them tiny beings with iridescent wings flitting thither and yon. And he was certain that he had seen a wee man sitting in the knothole of a tree and smoking a pipe and watching the cavalcade ride past, even as small brown things-were they people, too? — ducked away on two legs.
They rode through a flurry of snowfall, which turned to rain, and then to hail, and they took shelter under the trees, even as the wind whipped at them. But the hail turned to a light spring shower and within a league they rode in sunshine.
“Your demesne is full of marvel, Celeste,” said Roel,
“caught as it is at the edge of winter on the one hand and at the verge of summer on the other; you have both the best and the worst of the season. I think it is fitting that a woman rules herein, for it is stormy and mild and cold and warm, pleasant and cruel.”
Celeste cocked an eyebrow. “Are you saying it is fickle like a woman?”
“Non, my love,” said Roel, grinning. “Challenging instead.”
Celeste laughed. “Ah, Silvertongue, are you certain that you have no Keltoi ancestry?”
Roel shook his head. “If I have such blood, I know it not. Instead all I am saying is that I love this place, with its rushing streams, wildflowers, spring berries, its plentitude of game. . as well as its wondrous tiny people.”
“Not all are tiny, Roel, for some are great lumbering things, such as the Woodwose all covered in hair, or the Hommes Verts all covered in leaves. For the most part, they are shy, and rarely come to the manor, and then simply to show respect.”
“When do they do this? Come to the manor, I mean.”
“In the Springwood, usually it is on the vernal equinox, though sometimes not. In Liaze’s realm they mostly come at the autumnal equinox. In Alain’s demesne it is at the summer solstice, whereas at Borel’s it is at the winter solstice, though his Hommes Verts are covered in evergreen needles.”
“Ah, I see,” said Roel, “each in its own season.” Celeste nodded and said, “Indeed, most of their visits are governed by the sun. Often, though, some come at other times, usually to settle a dispute, but not always.
Some simply come at their own hest to visit their liege and swear fealty.”
“I would be at your side next equinox,” said Roel,
“for I am struck by the wonder of it all.” Celeste smiled and said, “And I would have you at my side on that day of balance.”
They made camp that eve nigh a stream swollen with chill melt, and men began unlading gear. Horses were gathered in a simple rope pen, and Anton assigned several members of the warband to see to their care. A full day they had ridden, some twelve leagues in all. “At this rate,” said the princess, “we’ll be at the border shortly after the noontide two days hence.”