The next morning, at Jester’s alert, they wakened to find the distilled golden elixir in the brandy side, with the pips and stem and floret lying on the bottom of the cider side. Gwyd pulled the bridge and capped the decanters and wrapped all in cloth.
This morning as well, Liaze’s fingers were healed and she left off her bandages.
The next two days they spent wending through the mountains, and in early afternoon of the third day they crossed into hill country, and rain fell from the sky.
“Mithras, it rained all throughout the time when we crossed this realm before,” said Twk. “Is it going to do so again?”
“It hae been this way ev’ry time I hae come through,” said Gwyd.
Liaze groaned and pulled her cloak tight around and cast her hood over her head, and, as she had done before, she covered the Pixie and chicken with the weatherproof cloth.
On they pressed, and even though they had no light in the overcast nights, still they rode onward, going slowly much of the eve, but eventually stopping to set a sodden camp.
Two nights they spent in that drenched land, splashing across streams, fording rivers, riding through dripping woodlands, but in the late morning of the third day, again they crossed a twilight marge to come into sunlight gracing wide, rolling plains.
On they pressed, and they reveled in the warmth of the day, and in the distance they saw one of the great herds of the shaggy beasts, but this day they did not have to pass around the animals, for the dark grazers were well off their path.
Cantering, galloping, trotting, they came to the next twilight border late in the night and crossed into high moorland.
The next day at noon they passed at last into the realm where lay the inn Gwyd had once served, and they stopped in a town and had a warm meal, the first one in a fortnight.
But soon they pushed on, for they could not afford to tarry.
The next day, at noon, they reached the ramshackle inn.
“We cannot rest,” said Liaze, she and her companions weary beyond compare, “for the black mountain is far, and in four nights comes the dark of the moon.”
And so on they pressed, anxiety gnawing at Liaze.
Following the track of the landmarks she had committed to memory, toward that distant dark peak she aimed, while the sun sank through the sky, night to fall at last.
There was no moon and wouldn’t be until the wee hours, but, guided by the stars, still Liaze drove onward, the animals feeling the strain.
The next day at the remembered lake they crossed a border to come in among a jumble of boulders.
“Are we on track?” called Twk.
“Oui,” said Liaze, and grimly they pushed on.
Two days after, late in the eve and some four leagues beyond a modest town, they came unto the shadowlight border across which lay the bleak plain wherein the black mountain stood, that dark pinnacle more than a full day’s ride. It was at this border that one of the geldings, though now lightly loaded, went lame.
“Oh, no,” said Twk, as the packhorse stumbled to a halt beneath him and his rooster.
After a swift inspection, “I hae some lameweed wi’ me,” said Gwyd, fumbling at a pocket in his belt, “but it will take three days f’r the animal t’be sound ag’in.”
“We cannot spare the time to take him back to the town,” said Liaze. She peered about. “There is grazing here and water nearby.” She sighed and said, “Treat him; I will set him free.”
As Gwyd stirred a powder into a cup, and then poured the solution into a feedbag with a small bit of oats, Liaze transferred Twk and Jester to another pack animal, and then unladed the lame horse and examined the goods, and set most of it beneath a nearby tree, and placed the rest upon the sound geldings.
Gwyd, who had not been watching, said, “Ye kept the hammer and nails and shoes, eh, Princess? We might need them should a beastie throw one.”
“Yes, Gwyd.”
“Good,” said the Brownie, and, while Liaze rearranged the tethers, he fastened the feedbag over the nose of the animal. “He’ll be done in a nonce, then we can push on.”
Moments later, Gwyd removed the bag from the lame horse, and set it with the abandoned cargo.
Liaze boosted the Brownie into the saddle of Pied Agile, and she mounted Nightshade, and through the border she rode, the mare and three geldings in tow.
Into this cold, bleak, dark land they moved at a swift trot, for the mountain lay nearly two days distant, yet this was the last night before the night of the dark of the moon.
Darkness fell, and, once again setting her course by the stars, on Liaze rode through the chill. Just after mid of night they stopped for a rest, for the horses were weary, as were the riders thereon. Liaze rubbed the animals down, for she would not have their lathered sweat turn to ice against their hides.
Yet some two hours later, they pushed on through the dark, starlight alone illumining the way. And Liaze prayed that none of the horses would go lame or throw a shoe or step into a hole and break a leg or founder.
Daylight saw them still moving forward, though now at a walk, Liaze and Gwyd pacing alongside Pied Agile, the mare now in the lead, Twk on Jester trotting at hand.
“This is the final day, Gwyd,” said Liaze. “Tonight is the dark of the moon.”
“Till what candlemark do we have, my lady?” asked Twk.
“I do not know, but mid of night it reaches full depth.”
“Aye,” said Gwyd.
“How much farther?” asked Twk.
Liaze shook her head. “I am not certain. Riding high in the sky with Lord Fear as I was, I found it rather difficult to judge ground distances from the back of a spectral steed.”
“Would that we had one o’ those spectral steeds now,” said Gwyd.
Liaze nodded. “It would have made short work of our journey.”
“If we had Asphodel, the Fairy King’s horse, that, too, would make the journey short,” said Twk.
“My brother Borel rode that steed,” said Liaze.
“He did?” asked Twk.
“Oui. He won the ride when he defeated the Fairy King in a game of echecs.”
“Oh, my,” said Twk. “Then your brother must be a wonderful player indeed, for I hear the Fairy King cannot be bested in that game.”
“In this instance he was, and my brother managed to ride the steed and find his ladylove,” said Liaze.
“Weel,” said Gwyd, “let us hope that ye can find y’r own true love wi’out needin the Fairy steed.”
Grimly, Liaze nodded and said, “Time to ride.”
Soon they were agallop across the icy-cold plain, and as of yet the black mountain was not in sight.
It was in the noontide that Liaze espied the truncated tip of the dark peak, and on they rode, the mountain slowly coming up o’er the horizon ahead.
Even so, it seemed to Liaze that they would not reach the mountain in time, yet she could not press the flagging steeds any faster, and on they rode.
It was as the sun set and twilight came creeping o’er this bleak and forbidding realm that Liaze saw up ahead a small girl sitting on a rock and weeping.
She drew Nightshade to a halt beside the fille, and she and Gwyd leapt down, Twk on Jester following.
“Child, what are you doing out here all alone?” asked Liaze, kneeling and embracing the girl, who was no more than seven or eight summers old. The thin youngling shivered uncontrollably. “Oh, child, you are freezing,” said Liaze, and she whipped off her cloak and wrapped it about the little girl.
Snubbing and snukking, the girl looked through nearly black, tear-filled eyes at Liaze and said, “Thank you for the cloak, madame, but I am crying for I know not the answer to a riddle.”
“A riddle?” said Liaze.
The child pulled Liaze’s head close and murmured in her ear: “Feed me and I live; give me a drink and I die.”