Celeste did not know. Ah, me, but these twilight bounds are truly Faery struck.
She was musing thus when from a distance there came three sharp clarion calls. Ah, my handsome knight has found the arc.
Celeste turned her steed about, the packhorse following, and sundownward she rode. A league or so in this direction she found Roel waiting within an arc of oak trees, and she wondered if the circle completed itself in some distant domain.
As Celeste rode to his side, “Should we tie a rope to me and let me cross over and see if the way is safe?” asked Roel.
“ ’Twould be best if I went,” said Celeste, “for I am lighter and you are stronger. Even so, I think the map would not show this as a crossing if it were unsafe.”
“Nevertheless. .?” said Roel.
In moments they had a line cinched about Celeste’s waist, a good length in Roel’s hand. Celeste then kissed Roel and said, “Let us give it a try,” and into the twilight they strode, Celeste with her bow strung, an arrow nocked, and a quiver at her hip.
Dimmer it got the farther they went until finally they could see nought, so utter was the dark. Celeste paused and said, “Wait here and pay out the line.” Roel found her face in the blackness and kissed her again, and then he stepped back and arranged the line and finally said, “Ready?”
“Ready,” she replied.
“Then go, cherie, but be careful.”
Now Celeste stepped cautiously forward, and Roel, from the coil lying on the ground behind and with the rope over one shoulder and ’round the opposite leg as if he were rappelling, slipped the line and gave her slack and then added slack as she moved away. More he fed and more, as into the ebon wall she stepped. And of a sudden, the rope jerked taut, yanking Roel from his feet and dragging him after.
21
Memorial
Benumbed with grief, Borel and Michelle, Alain and Camille, Liaze and Luc, and King Valeray and Queen Saissa all sat in a drawing room in Springwood Manor, waiting for the mark when the service would begin.
Hierophant Georges would preside, a tall and somber man. But for the nonce they sat alone, shielded from the sorrow of all others who had come-the retinues of the Winterwood, Autumnwood, and Summerwood, and that of the king-as well as from the heartache of the Springwood staff.
They sat for long moments without speaking, each wrapped in thoughts unshared.
Finally Camille said, “Alain and I think I might be with child.”
Even this news brought nought more than a slight glimmer of gladness to the gathering.
“When will you know?” asked the queen.
“By the next full moon, I should think,” replied Camille.
But then silence fell and the glumness had returned.
The king sat with his foot propped up and in a tight wrap from toes to knee. “Damned horse,” he said, peering at it.
“How?” asked Liaze.
“Eh?”
“How did you hurt your ankle?”
“He broke it, dear,” said Saissa.
“Not I,” said Valeray. “ ’Twas the horse that fell on me, not I on him.”
“Still, how?” asked Liaze, seeking anything to take her mind from the matter at hand.
“He was trying to jump a rock wall,” said Saissa.
“Well, that’s where the stag went,” said Valeray, huffing.
“Ah,” said Liaze.
There came a light tap on the door, and tall, spare, silver-haired Vidal stepped in. “They are ready,” he said quietly.
Alain sighed and stood, offering an arm to Camille.
And so they all stood, Valeray using crutches to aid him along the way.
Out to the lawn they went, out to an arbor. And gathered in the garden before the vine-laden latticework were all retinues and staff.
When the kindred were seated, and after a short opening prayer to Mithras by Hierophant Georges, Prince Borel, eldest of the siblings, took stance behind a small lectern. And even before he began to speak, a soft weeping filled the air.
Tears ran down Borel’s face, and nearby his Wolves whined in uncertainty; they cast about, seeking the cause of the woe besetting their master but finding none.
“Friends, family, loved ones,” began Borel, “even though she was the youngest of us, my sister Celeste was the most headstrong. Always did she seek a challenge, and for that we loved her. Perhaps it was to show us that she could hold her own against Alain and Liaze and me, and hold her own she did, yet I think it was in her nature to-” A distant horn cry interrupted Borel’s words.
He frowned and looked toward the far woods.
Again sounded the horn, and bursting out from among the trees came a rider, a remount in tow. Across the sward galloped the stranger, and he wore the tabard of a king, but just which king it was-
“ ’Tis Avelar’s man,” said Valeray.
Once more sounded the horn, and up galloped the youth. He leapt from his steed and called, “A message from Vicomte Chevell.”
The lad strode forward, and his gaze swept over the gathering, for all their faces were turned toward him.
He then saw Giselle, her own face puffed and her eyes and nose red with weeping, and the youth frowned in puzzlement.
Now he saw Steward Vidal, as well as Armsmaster Anton, yet in spite of his instructions, he gave over the message to Prince Borel, whom he also recognized.
“We’re having a memorial here, son,” said Vidal quietly.
“Oh, my, I did not mean to interrupt,” replied Quint.
Just then there came a whoop from Borel. “She’s alive!” he cried, holding the letter aloft. “She and Roel did not drown after all, but landed on a ship instead!” What? cried some. Alive? cried others, but most shouted in glee.
“I’m going to wring her neck,” muttered Liaze, embracing Luc, tears of relief and joy running down her face.
22
Captive
Of a sudden the rope went slack, as if it had been snapped in two. Roel scrambled to his feet and drew in the line, only to find a frayed end. With his heart hammering in dread for Celeste, he disentangled himself and unsheathed Coeur d’Acier, and drawing the rope behind in case of need, he stepped through the ebon wall, wanting to run in haste, wanting to yell out her name, but moving carefully and silently instead.
Lighter grew the twilight, and then he was free of the bound. At his feet lay Celeste’s bow as well as a scatter of arrows.
And in the distance he saw. .
. . he saw. .
. . the back of a retreating, fur-draped Ogre, a being fully twenty-five or thirty feet tall and bearing Celeste over one shoulder.
“Celeste!” cried Roel, but she did not respond, and at the sound of the shout the Ogre sped up, now loping toward stony crags beyond.
“Celeste!” Roel cried again, but the princess lay limp, as if unconscious.
Knowing afoot he would never catch the Ogre, Roel slammed his sword into its scabbard and snatched up the bow and arrows and turned and sped back through the twilight. Quickly he ran to the horses and slipped the bow into Celeste’s saddle scabbard and the arrows into the saddle quiver, and using the retrieved line, he tethered her mount to his own pack animal. Then he leapt astride his horse and spurred forward, drawing the other steeds behind, and into the twilight he rode.
Darker it got and he passed through ebon, and then lighter it became, and he emerged from the twilight and into day. Ahead he looked, and left, and right, but the fur-clad Ogre and his prize had vanished.
Roel cantered forward, now scanning the ground for tracks, and he rode in a line toward where last he saw the monstrous being. Almost immediately he came upon great swaths of flattened grasses some eight or ten feet apart, there where the Ogre had stepped.