Leaving a pool of slime in the road, up the way they splashed, and now they had to slow, for the road was steep and running with water, and the horses labored.
Lightning flared and thunder roared and rain fell down in sheets. .
. . And time fled. .
Now and again at twists and turns in the road, high above silhouetted by lightning against the raging sky, they could see a tall tower standing.
And another candlemark burned.
Yet at last they came to a flat, and before them stood a stone wall, an archway leading under and into a passage where torches in sconces shed a flickering, ruddy, sorcerous light, for though the flambeaus burned, they were not consumed. Beyond the wall as lightning glared they could see the roofs of buildings all attached to one another, and looming above all in the riven air stood a tall dark tower.
And with less than a candlemark remaining ere Avelaine’s doom would fall, into the archway they rode.
43
Failure
The warband paused at a crossroads to feed and water the animals and to take food and drink themselves. Borel looked at the stars and sighed and said, “ ’Tis the mid of night of the dark of the moon.
We can no longer save Avelaine. In that, we have failed.”
“ ’Twas the bloody swamp,” growled Chevell. “Had it not delayed us. .”
“Avelaine is not the only sister needing aid,” said Alain. “If Celeste is a captive, we can still rescue her, as well as Roel and his brothers.”
“How far?” asked Luc.
Borel unfolded the vellum. “Two borders remain; at the second one we will enter the Changeling realm. As to where therein we need to go, I cannot say, other than we must reach wherever our sister might be. After that, we can deal with finding Roel and his brothers.”
“If she is a prisoner,” said Luc, “I would think the Changeling Lord’s palace is the most likely place he would hold her.”
“Or manor or tower or wherever it is that he lives,” said Chevell.
“We have spoken of this all along the way,” said Alain, “and I say we must ask those living therein as to where their lord dwells.”
“What makes you think that by asking Changelings they will tell the truth?” asked Chevell.
“What else would you suggest, Vicomte?” coldly asked Alain.
“Mayhap holding a sword to their throat,” shot back Chevell.
“Peace,” growled Borel. “We are weary, and there is no need to squabble among ourselves.” Luc grunted his agreement. He glanced about and saw that the horses and men were done. “Let us ride.” And so, worn down and testy and somewhat dispirited, they all mounted up and galloped onward, midnight of the dark of the moon now gone.
44
Perils
Into the flickering torchlight way they went, Roel in the lead, Celeste following, and behind them lightning flared and thunder crashed, and the corridor flashed bright in the strike. And revealed by the glare, at the far end stood a tall figure in black, his cloak limned in red.
“You!” cried Roel, and he spurred forward, but an axe came flying the length of the passage to bite deeply into Roel’s shield. A second axe flew out from the wavering shadows, and a third, and they struck and slashed at Roel, wielded by no hands at all. And horses snorted and blew and recoiled and jerked this way and that in the clanging din as axes met shield and Roel fended with Coeur d’Acier. Yet a fourth axe joined the fray, and a fifth, and Roel was hard-pressed as the blades flew about and slashed at him.
Behind Roel, Celeste’s mount flinched and stutter-stepped, yet in spite of its frantic dancing the princess drew her arrow to the full and aimed and loosed. Even as the shaft hurtled through the fluttering light, the figure at the far end whirled and vanished, and the arrow hissed through where he had been and shattered against stone.
And the axes fell to the pave of the corridor, no longer under sorcerous control.
His breath coming in gasps, Roel said, “ ’Twas the Changeling Lord.”
Yet even as he said it, at the far end a huge knight in black armor and bearing a battle-axe with flames running along its blade rode out from a side archway on a horselike steed; but no horse was this mount, with its serpent scales and flaring yellow eyes and a forked tongue and cloven hooves.
And with a howl, the black knight charged down the corridor, his flaming axe raised for a killing blow.
Roel spurred his mount forward to meet the onslaught, Coeur d’Acier’s edge gleaming argent in the flickering torchlight.
Even as they closed, an arrow hissed past Roel to-
thuck! — pierce the serpent horse and plunge deep into its breast. A skreigh split the air, but still the creature thundered on.
Down swung the black knight’s fire-edged battle-axe, and with a mighty crash, it shivered Roel’s shield in twain, yet at the same time, Roel’s silver-chased, rune-marked blade swept under the black knight’s own shield and ripped open his gut. Roel spun his horse, and with a second blow, he sheared through the knight’s neck to take off his head, even as another arrow flashed along the corridor, this one to pierce the serpent horse’s left eye, and that creature shrilled and crashed to the stone. The black knight’s body smashed down beside his monstrous horse, and his head yet encased in his helm clanged to the pave just behind, his axe blanging down nearby, its flames now extinguished.
Celeste quickly nocked another arrow, but the grotesque knight and his hideous beast began to pool into slime. And a horrific stench filled the passage.
With their horses snorting and blowing in the malodor and trying to jerk back and away from the sickening smell, gagging in the reek, both Roel and Celeste prevailed and spurred past the now-runny sludge and on down the corridor.
To the right and through the archway whence the black knight had come, they found an extensive, torchlit stable.
“Mid of night is drawing upon us,” said Roel as he and Celeste rode halfway down the row of stalls and dismounted. “We must find Avelaine ere then.”
“Hsst!” cautioned Celeste. “Roel, at the far end, something or someone moves.”
Down to the far extent they crept, to find several horses in stalls. “Celeste, there is Imperial, Laurent’s horse, and Vaillant, Blaise’s. They are here; my brothers are here. But, if that’s true, then why haven’t they-?
Oh, are they prisoners?”
Mayhap dead, thought Celeste. No, wait, Lady Doom showed us their images in her farseeing mirror. Surely they yet live; else why show us them?
Quickly they tied their horses to stall posts, and then wrenched down two of the sorcerous flambeaus, and up a flight of stone stairs they went, to find themselves in a courtyard, the rain yet sheeting down.
As they crossed, lightning flared, and Roel gasped.
“Celeste, it is Laurent and Blaise.”
“Where?”
“Yon.”
In that moment another flash brightened the courtyard, and near a gaping entryway stood two figures.
“Take care, Roel, for the Changelings are shapeshifters, and this could be a trap.”
“Laurent, Blaise!” called Roel, and, sword in hand, he and Celeste ran through the rain to where they had seen the two, slowing as they neared.
Another flare.
The figures had not moved.
Stepping closer and raising their torches on high, they found two life-sized statues.
Celeste recognized both from the image in Lady Urd’s dark basin. And just as they had seen at the crossroads some nine days past, both Laurent and Blaise stood with their hands on the hilts of their swords, the weapons partially drawn or mayhap partly sheathed.
And their faces reflected either smiles or grimaces.