“I don’t know,” said Flic. “However, my prince, it seems to me that Lady Skuld did tell you something of worth.”
“Oui, she did. She spoke of finding the Endless Sands, whatever and wherever they are, yet she did not say what might be there.”
“Whatever it is, my lord,” said Flic, “it surely will help in the quest.”
Borel frowned. “Endless Sands… they’re in many a childhood tale, but I know not where they are. Do you?”
Flic shook his head. “Non.”
“What about Buzzer?”
“I’ll ask.”
After a moment, Flic said, “She has flown over sands, but they were not endless. Besides, I think that something called the Endless Sands would not have flowers abloom.”
“Well, then,” said Borel, “we’ll seek another way.”
“My lord,” said Flic, “Lady Skuld did tell you what must be done to find them: you must triumph o’er a cunning, wicked, and most deadly steed. Hmm… perhaps you are to slay some terrible monster.”
“I think not, Flic, else she would not have called it a steed. I think I am meant to ride it, perhaps to tame it and even ride it to those Endless Sands, wherever they are.”
“That could be,” said Flic. “Tell me: do you know how to ride?”
Borel sighed and nodded and said, “Not as well as my brother Alain, but I have spent time ahorse in saddle.”
“I think you are not likely to have a saddle on a cunning, wicked, and most deadly steed. And it might not be a horse at all, but, rather, as I said, some terrible monster, a fell beast of some sort-a Gryphon or Wyvern or even a Dragon.”
Borel took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “You might be right, Flic. But come, get Buzzer and let us be off and discover what we can in the town. It could be that someone there knows of the Endless Sands or can otherwise aid us with Lady Wyrd’s rede. As for you and me, we can ponder as we trek.”
And so, with Flic and Buzzer riding the tricorn, Borel set out along the meandering river, heading for the community lying upstream a league or two off.
As Borel strode townward, Flic said, “What about that verse she spoke. How did it go?”
Borel intoned: “Long is the journey lying ahead.
Give comfort to those in dire need,
And aid you will find along the way,
Yet hazard as well, but this I say:
Neither awake nor in a dark dream
Are perilous blades just as they seem.”
“Well,” said Flic, “we’ve already journeyed far and no doubt have farther to go. And you’ve given comfort and found aid, and I am sure that will continue. And there has been hazard along the way, and, as things are going, there will likely be more. As to the blades-”
“I think Lady Wyrd was referring to the daggers surrounding the turret,” said Borel.
“Oui,” agreed Flic. “I believe she has simply verified what we suspected all along-that the daggers aren’t daggers at all but rather represent some other peril, such as terrible guardians or even an army. We won’t know what they really are until we find the turret.”
“Oui, Flic. But here is the true riddle as I see it: just why did Lady Wyrd speak the verse at all?”
“Your meaning, my lord?” asked Flic.
“Why did she utter those particular words, when all it told us was how we already act and what we already know or suspect?”
Flic frowned and shrugged a shoulder. “That is certainly a riddle, my prince, yet who can comprehend the ways of the Fates?”
Even as they passed dwellings on the outskirts of town, Flic said, “You know, at first I thought I should have seen that the crone was not what she seemed, and that I should have detected the glamour. But after she revealed her true self, I realized that her bewitchments would always utterly defeat my Fey sight.”
“Fey sight?” asked Borel.
“Oui. I can at times see when something is not what it seems. Oh, if the glamour is strong enough, it defies my vision. Or, if the being is powerful enough, again I am helpless to see… as was the case with the invisible monster in the swamp.”
“But you can see through some glamours?”
“Oh, yes. But not all. And sometimes when I do not see what I expect to be there, then I think an enchantment might be involved-either a spell so strong that my sight cannot penetrate it, or that it is truly gone. In the case of Lord Roulan’s dell, I did not see what I thought should be there, yet when you walked its length, I knew it wasn’t merely hidden. Then I thought that during the day it might be absent, but at night moonlight might make it materialize, yet I was wrong.” Flic shook his head and said, “Pah! Most of the time having Fey sight is not an advantage this way or that.”
Borel smiled and said, “I would think in the case of Lady Wyrd, she can deceive the best of any vision, Fey sight or no.”
Flic laughed and said, “Indeed, my lord, indeed.”
Using a bit of the Gnomes’ coinage, Borel took a room in the Running Stag, the best of the three inns in Riverbend, a rather modest and sleepy town. As Borel signed the register, the clerk eyed the Sprite and then the bumblebee, both of them beside Borel’s hat on the counter. The clerk turned to Borel and said, “Are you certain, Sieur, the bee is well behaved?”
As Flic huffed, Borel said, “Indeed, she is. Of course, should someone try to swat her, then she will not be bound by manners.”
“Oh, perhaps I’d better warn our other three guests as well as the staff, then.”
“I should say so,” said Flic, drawing himself up to his full naked two-inch height. “Else they’ll have to deal with me.”
“I would add,” said Borel, “that the bee is quite protective of her charge.”
“Her charge?” said the clerk.
“Me,” said Flic, grinning. “Swat me at your peril, Sieur.”
“Oh, my goodness,” said the clerk, holding out a key to Borel. “I’ll be certain to warn all.”
As Borel took the key he said, “And your baths are…? -Oh, and I will need my leathers cleaned, and a robe.”
“Indeed, Sieur.”
“This, too,” said Borel. “Have you a jeweller in town, and a weapons shop? And a place where I can get a good rucksack and supplies?”
“No jeweller as such, Sieur,” said the clerk, “though there are a few brooches and rings and other like items over at the milliner’s. Jewellers, you see, arrive in the spring, peddling their wares; the milliner, she always takes extra on consignment. As for weapons, our blacksmith has a few knives and such; if he has not what you wish, he can easily make it. The dry-goods store is two streets over.”
“Ah, yes, milliner,” said Borel, looking at Flic. “Perfect, for she will have pins and needles. Which way the milliner? Blacksmith, too?”
The clerk gave directions, and then told Borel the baths at the inn were out back.
Even as Borel turned to go, a town crier stepped into the lobby and loudly called out, “Another man drowned! Another man drowned! A crofter from a stead beyond the White Rapids found floating under the red bridge by a passing goose girl.” The townsman then hurried back out to the street to herald the latest news.
“Oh, Mithras,” said the clerk, “three drownings in the last three weeks, and that’s the second one this week alone. Will those farmers never learn to respect the river?”
“Three altogether have died by drowning?” asked Borel.
“Oui, Sieur,” replied the clerk. “As I said, three in the last three weeks.”
“Has anyone investigated?”
“The constable. He went up there to the White Rapids and looked about.”
“These rapids are…?”
“Terrible,” said the clerk. “They lie some two or three leagues upriver. I mean, on a quiet night, like most nights around here, you can sit on the veranda and hear them roar. They’re not anything like the rest of the Meander.”
“So the constable went up there?” said Flic.
“Oui. It was after the second death, but he found no sign of foul play.”
“Still, three in three weeks sounds somewhat suspicious,” said Borel.
The clerk shrugged. “Nevertheless, the constable, he said there just wasn’t anything to see.”