“But why Pied Agile?” asked Twk. “Why not put the silver on Nightshade’s hooves? I mean, he’s bigger and stronger.”
“Aye, but we canna waste the time. Anyway, Pied Agile’s name in the old tongue means Nimble Foot in the new. She’ll reach th’top, I ween.”
Liaze, tears of frustration on her face, came riding back to the Brownie and Pixie. “I can’t make it up,” she said.
“Dona be certain, lass,” said Gwyd, finishing the last of Nimble Foot’s hooves. “Y’see, I ken what the words ‘precious steps’ mean in Lady Doom’s rede. I ween ye’ll get up this glass mountain yet. Pied Agile now be shod in silver, a metal more precious than shoes o’ bronze.”
Moments later and full of new hope, Liaze mounted Pied Agile, the elixir in the mare’s saddlebags. Off she set, Pied Agile at a trot, and onto the obsidian slopes.
But even as she did so, Gwyd was nailing gold coins to Nightshade’s hooves. “Gold be e’en a softer metal than bronze or silver. Mayhap it will cling t’the glass better should the princess need another try.”
Up the glass mountain fared Liaze on Nimble Foot, black glass chips scattering in the mare’s wake, and soon she passed the mark set by the stallion.
“Oh, Mithras,” cried Twk, “I believe she’s going to make it.”
Still Gwyd hammered hard bronze nails through malleable gold and into Nightshade’s hooves.
“She’s nearly two thirds of the way there,” cried Twk. “And still she-Oh, no! No! Oh, Mithras, no! Gwyd, Gwyd, she’s stopped, and Pied Agile is sliding hindward.”
Gwyd finished with Nightshade’s last hoof. “Well, Twk, the black now be ready for another go. Bronze we tried, and silver-the moon metal-and now we try wi’ e’en more precious gold-the metal o’ the sun. If this doesna work, I ween we be defeated. Pray t’Mithras that the third time be the charm.”
Liaze managed to turn Pied Agile, and back down the glass mountain she rode.
“Nightshade be shod wi’ gold, Princess,” cried Gwyd when she rode into earshot.
Frustrated once more, “What makes you think it will be any better than silver?” asked Liaze.
“It be a softer metal, and Nightshade be a heavier horse than Pied Agile. I ween wi’ his weight and the softness o’ the coinage, it’ll cling better than both bronze and silver.”
“Mithras, let it be so, for there is scant time left ere the full dark of the moon,” said Liaze, dismounting and transferring the elixir to Nightshade and swinging up into the saddle.
Once again the princess rode onto the slopes, while Gwyd and Twk watched, their hearts pounding in anxiety, their breaths bated in fear. And they gasped at every perceived slip, whether or not Nightshade had done so.
Up rode the princess, now on precious steps of gold, the metal conforming to the arced ripples of obsidian, the shiny surface like glass.
Up she rode and up, up past the place where Nightshade had faltered before, up past the place where Pied Agile had slipped, and on up.
And Liaze’s heart soared as Nightshade’s steps of gold fared onward.
Yet just ere the white-blowing stallion reached the truncated top of the glass mountain, there came a steepening of the slant: no more than twenty feet all told.
“Hai!” cried the princess, kicking Nightshade in the flanks and leaning into the saddle, and the stallion leapt forward, and though his hooves were slipping the final few steps, up and onto the flat he clattered.
Liaze’s eyes brimmed with the release of tension, and she wiped away the tears and sprang to the hard glass surface.
And by her lantern she could see her Luc lying motionless upon an icy bed ’neath the open-sided pavilion.
Oh, Luc, please, my love, be alive.
Liaze snatched the elixir from the saddlebag, and she stepped to the black slab and knelt beside Luc.
Mithras, he is not breathing.
She placed her ear against his chest and listened for his heartbeat. Nought!
Quickly, she stood and uncapped the decanter and opened Luc’s lips, and slowly, drop by drop- Oh, please, please, Mithras, let Lady Verdandi be right when she said a golden draught will surely save — Liaze dripped the elixir into his mouth.
Drop by drop.
But nought seemed to be occurring.
Drop by drop.
Tears welled in Liaze’s eyes. Oh, Mithras, am I too late in this dark of the moon? Is he dead? Oh, my love, my love.
Drop by drop.
But he lay cold and unmoving.
Liaze wiped her free hand across her eyes and looked at the rune-marked crystal. Fully a quarter of the elixir was gone, and still he lay unmoving.
Oh, please, my love, let this not be.
Liaze burst into tears and leaned over and kissed Luc’s cold lipsPlease, my love, oh please — and, distraught, she sank down beside him and lay her head on his chest… in that moment he drew in a long, shuddering breath.
“Oh, Luc, Luc,” Liaze cried, leaping to her feet. And she spun about, her arms spread wide, her face raised to the heavens, and she called out, “Oh, thank you, Mithras, thank you!”
— But her joyful cry was lost ’neath a shrill scream, and of a sudden, Liaze could not move. And down and down and riding a besom spiraled a woman in black.
It was a witch, and fury filled her face.
37
Gwyd and Twk, at the foot of the mountain, heard a distant shriek, and, by the dim light cast upward by the lantern Liaze had carried above, they saw something or someone spiral down out of the ebon sky.
“Oh, Gwyd, what might it be?” cried Twk.
Gwyd moaned and said, “Ah, laddie, I think it must be the witch what carried Luc away. She’s come at the dark o’ the moon t’see the result o’ her evil handiwork.”
“Oh, Gwyd, Gwyd, what can we do?”
“Nought, Twk, nought, f’r the mountain be enchanted, and we canna set foot thereon, else we’d die by fire, and that would be nae good t’anyone, much less the princess. We canna go up the mountain.”
“But there must be something we can do,” cried Twk.
“What, Twk, what? And e’en if there were, we canna defeat a witch.”
“Well I-Oh, Gwyd, I don’t know, I don’t know.” Twk was nearly in tears. “But we can’t just stand here and do nothing.” Of a sudden the Pixie’s eyes flew wide in revelation. “Gwyd, listen, listen, here’s what we can do…”
Down spiraled the witch on her besom, rage consuming her features. “Fool, you fool!” she shrieked, her fury directed at Liaze. “You have ruined everything! Now I will have to start over.”
Liaze could not move, but for her eyes, nor could she speak.
Alighting upon the glassy flat, the witch stalked toward Liaze, the fury replaced with cold rage. Stopping before the princess, the witch glanced at Luc, the knight’s shallow breath wafting white in the icy air. Once again the features of the witch twisted in rage, and she turned to Liaze and raised a black-nailed hand as if to strike. But then a look of recognition replaced the one of fury, and she laughed in triumph.
“You are Liaze, one of Foul Valeray’s get, daughter of he who is most responsible for imprisoning my master.” Again the witch laughed. “Oh, my, but this is too sweet, and almost makes up for setting back my plans by two more darks of the moon.”
She strutted before Liaze, the hem of her longsleeved black dress flowing behind. She was tall and imperious, and her black hair matched her eyes, and then she turned to Liaze and said, “You don’t know me, do you.” It was not a question.
“I am Iniqui, sister of Hradian and Nefasi, and of Rhensibe, whom your vile brother slew. Oh, this revenge will be most enjoyable well beyond your death, for Foul Valeray and his whore Saissa and their get will grieve long when word comes that the elder daughter has been slain by my hand. Oh, yes, sweet revenge.
“Ha! They say that revenge is a dish best served cold, and here we are on an icy mountain… cold indeed, how fitting.”
Iniqui put a hand behind one ear in a pretense of listening. “What’s that you ask? Why did I steal your lover and put him here to die? Ha! Little did I know it would come to this.