Once upon a Summer Day

48

“Why didn’t you tell me that you wanted to find the Endless Sands?” asked Arle upon hearing Borel’s tale. “My men and I have ridden over much of Faery in the untold time since cursed. I could have saved you days.”

“Oh,” groaned Borel, smacking himself on the forehead. “ That’s what Lady Lot meant when she said I had missed an opportunity. Ah, me, I was so intent on finding the King Under the Hill that it simply didn’t occur to me to ask.”

Chelle merely smiled, but Flic said, “Had I been at your side, my lord, it would never have occurred to me either, but that is neither here nor there, for iron had driven me off.”

They were sitting in a small grove a goodly distance away from the other eight riders, for Flic could only bear to be at hand if no iron were nearby. And so, Arle had shed his armor and weaponry-all but his bow and arrows-and he and Borel and Chelle had walked away from the main campsite to set up a small fire within a horn call should the need arise for the others to come or for Arle to return to his men. And then Flic had flown in, and they had patched up Borel’s many scrapes and wounds from his fight with the thorns. And now they sat and supped and drank and, as requested, Borel told his story to Arle, Chelle hearing it for the first time as well.

Arle looked at Buzzer asleep in the night. “And this was your guide?”

Borel and Flic both nodded, and Arle said, “Incroyable!”

As Arle replenished their cups of wine, including a droplet in a tiny upturned leaf for Flic, “And you, Lord Arle,” said Borel, “what is your tale?”

“Ah, my friend, we broke the curse, just as you said we would. The Fairy King’s little dog leapt down of its own volition the moment we came upon a bitch in heat.”

“There is more of a tale here for the telling,” said Chelle.

Arle laughed. “Indeed, there is, Lady Michelle. Would you like to hear it?”

Chelle nodded, and Arle said, “You see, I am from the mortal world, and one day twelve of my chevaliers and I went ahunting. We jumped up a White Hart, and into Faery it fled, and we…”

“… And so, following Prince Borel’s advice, we rode into town, and stopped in the square and, frightened by our ghastly appearance, the citizens rushed to comply when we asked that they bring all the bitches in town who were in heat.” Arle broke out laughing. “One of the men brought us his wife.

“Regardless, three female dogs were fetched, and nearly as soon as they came into scent range of the Fairy King’s little dog, he leapt down and almost immediately-begging your pardon, Lady Chelle-almost immediately began copulating.

“We sat there and watched a moment, and then Roubaix leapt down from his horse, and lo! neither he nor his mount fell into dust, and we knew the curse was laid to rest.

“Ah, me, but it was good to get off my steed and take a bath and eat my first meal in-I don’t know-in summers beyond count.”

“My lord,” said Flic, “you mean you didn’t eat or drink or, or, um, relieve yourselves all the time you were cursed?”

“Non, for it was part of the curse that we and our mounts had no needs whatsoever while the dog was with us,” said Arle.

“Well, that answers that,” said Flic, looking at Borel, the prince grinning at the Sprite.

“Flic, Flic,” said Arle, “that is what is so diabolique about the spell. You see, with no need to procure food or water or ought else, we would ride forever unless we deliberately chose to dismount. And of course, should we do that, a thousand years would catch up with us all at once.”

“Oh, how dreadful,” said Chelle.

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Chelle said, “But that is not all the story, surely. I mean, you now have horses with you and dogs and goods. How came you to acquire those?”

“Ah, that. There is a citadel above the town of Nione, a goodly sized ville just a half day’s ride from here. Three years past, the former chevaliers of that stronghold rode off on a campaign against nearby Trolls and haven’t been seen since. A representative of that town happened to be where we found the bitch-the dog, not the wife-and he asked us to come and be their protectors, for we have weapons of steel, and that’s most certainly good enough to lay the Trolls by the heels. He gave us funds, and we bought what we would need to get us there: packhorses, supplies, other goods.”

“What of the dogs?” asked Chelle.

Arle laughed. “I told the merchant I would use them to track, but the truth is I love to hunt, though I’ll not pursue White Harts ever again.”

“I should think not,” said Chelle, laughing.

“Ah, so it is to Nione you go?” asked Borel.

“Oui.” Arle looked at Borel. “You and your party are welcome to join us, my prince.”

Of a sudden Chelle looked at Borel. “Are weapons of iron-of steel-such that they can break through the tangle of thorn? If so, we can rescue those within.”

Borel said, “There is still Rhensibe to deal with, and the wheel yet turns the ensorcelling spindle.”

“I said this before and I’ll say it again: can we not simply put wax in our ears?” asked Flic. “That would shut out the sound.”

Borel said, “I tried stopping my ears, Flic, but Rhensibe’s spell overcame that. After all, it is magie at work here, and I think we will need a magicien in our company to cope with the arcane.”

Chelle’s face fell, and she glumly nodded in agreement. Then she said, “But we must find one as soon as we can, Borel.”

Borel nodded and took her hand and sealed the agreement with a kiss on her fingers, and then he turned to Arle. “My lord, when we find someone powerful enough to go against Rhensibe, will you aid us?”

“Prince Borel, I and my men will aid you in any way we can, for if it were not for you, we would yet be cursed. But again I ask, won’t you join us in my citadel, my friend? As I say, it is not far.”

Borel glanced at Flic and then said to Arle, “My lord, because of your iron and my Spritely friend here, this I ask: how far is the citadel above the town? That is, how far away from the ville will iron be from Flic?”

Arle shrugged. “A mile more or less I was told.”

Flic said, “A mile is certainly enough to allay the twist of aethyr.”

Borel grinned and said to Arle, “This then I propose: We will accompany you as far as your town of Nione, yet for the sake of my Spritely friend, we will stay in the ville, while you go up to your citadel. I need to purchase a bronze long-knife, and acquire three horses and the supplies we will need to return to the Winterwood. Shortly thereafter we will ride to the Summerwood, for my brother is betrothed, and the wedding comes soon, and I would be there when that happens.”

“Staying in Nione will also give you a chance to rest and heal,” said Chelle.

“A minor matter,” said Borel.

Chelle smiled ruefully and shook her head and said, “Men.”

“After the wedding,” continued Borel, “we need find a magicien or sorciere to combat Rhensibe, and then we will come and ask you for help in freeing Lord Roulan and his household from Rhensibe’s curse.”

“Well and good,” said Arle, smiling. “We will be ready.”

That night, with Flic and Buzzer on a leaf nearby, Chelle and Borel slept by the small fire well away from King Arle’s camp. Borel-exhausted, drained from two full days without rest, much of it loping o’er field and stream and sand-fell aslumber the moment he lay down. On the other hand, Chelle spent much of the night watching him sleep in the illumination of the full moon, noting how the silvery radiance played o’er the planes of his face, how the argent beams highlighted the sheen of his hair. At last she sighed and lay down against his back and held him close.

The next morn, following the directions given the evening before by King Arle, Flic and Buzzer flew away, the Sprite to be far from the iron the chevaliers bore. Shortly after Flic took to wing, Arle rode nigh, dogs running alongside, and in tow he had a horse.

“Andre would be honored if you would ride his steed,” said Arle.

“My lord, what will he ride?” asked Borel.

“One of the packhorses unladed of its goods.”

“A chevalier’s mount belongs to none else, my lord. Chelle and I will ride the packhorse in Andre’s stead. Besides, ’tis easier on the animal if two ride bareback than one in saddle and the other across the withers.”

“Oh?” said Chelle. “You were planning on riding on the withers, Prince Borel?”

Then Chelle broke into laughter, and Borel’s guffaws joined hers.

Arle said, “Ah, a spirited demoiselle. You have chosen well, Lord Borel.”

Borel’s laughter stopped, as did Chelle’s, and they looked at one another. “My lord,” said Borel, “I remind you: but for a brief time long past, until yester we had only met in dreams. And even though my heart is most surely hers, I would court her properly.”

“Ah, yes,” said Arle. “I had forgotten you were not yet lovers.”

Chelle blushed and Borel sighed and Arle laughed. Then the king said, “I would hear your own story, Lady Michelle, as we ride this morn.”

Borel mounted the steed and gave Chelle a hand up, and with her riding behind, they rode to the chevaliers’ camp and dismounted.

Over Andre’s protests, the prince and his lady rode bareback upon a gentle gelding, and as the cavalcade wended its way toward the town of Nione, King Arle reined back until he rode alongside the pair. “Your tale, my lady?”

Chelle nodded and said, “My father-the duke-decided well in advance that on the day of my majority he would hold a gala. And so he invited many to attend-nobles, Fairies, merchants and other townsfolk. And they all came, Fey Folk on horses with silver bells, merchants in broughams, nobles on prancing steeds, and even some Fey who flew in.

“Ah, the party was splendid, with croquet and quoits and darts and blindfold tag, with music and dancing, and the food, oh the food, it was delicious-roasts and quail and breads and fruits and pastries as well as sweet candies.

“And the gifts were considerable. The Fairies gathered ’round and spoke as if their gifts had been given to me at my birth, though I don’t know what those might have been.

“Regardless, one of the Fey Folk, a most gracious and beautiful lady who had somehow arrived unnoticed and unheralded, drew me aside and asked if I would see her offering. Of course I said I would, and she took me to the unused chamber at the top of the turret, and there sat a lovely spinning wheel, a gift I had not heretofore seen. And this Fairy asked me to try the treadle, to see how easily the wheel spun. I sat on the stool and pressed it but once, and it ran without needing another press, but it squeaked horribly, yet it also somehow made music. It was then that Rhensibe dispelled the glamour surrounding her, and she showed her true self to me. She laughed cruelly, and I tried to flee, yet I did not even reach the stairwell, but collapsed instead. What happened thereafter, I cannot say.”

Chelle fell silent, but Borel said, “That’s when the terrible black wind carried the entire vale away unto the Endless Sands, leaving a bare stone valley behind.”

Chelle shook her head. “I still cannot believe that took place eleven years and eleven moons ago, as mortals would reckon time. It seems just yester to me.”

Arle said, “As Prince Borel told us last eve, you were in an enchanted sleep, Lady Michelle, in which I deem all time did stop.”

Chelle sighed and said, “You must be right, King Arle. But even so

…”

They rode a moment without speaking, and then Chelle said, “Rhensibe came to me in my dreams, and she laughed in glee and told me that I was trapped. Then did I seek you out, Borel, for I knew you would come.”

“And that was but a moon ago?” asked Arle.

“A few days more, my lord,” said Borel. “Yet it was not until there was but a bare moon left that I knew Chelle was real and not just a dream. Then did I set out to find her.”

“Hai! And find her you did, my prince, and found me and my men as well.”

“But not in time for d’Strait,” said Andre, who had been riding nearby and listening.

“He did not die in vain,” said Arle, “for it was his blade allowed Prince Borel to fight his way through the thorns.”

Andre nodded. “He would have been proud to know of that, and if his wife and children were yet alive they would have been proud as well.”

“Perhaps they do know,” said Arle, glancing at the skies above.

And they rode along in somber silence.

A delegation welcomed King Arle and his chevaliers to Nione, and when they discovered that Prince Borel of the Winterwood and Lady Michelle of Duke Roulan’s vale accompanied King Arle, nothing would do but that the prince and his amour take up residence in a temporarily vacant hillside chalet owned by the mayor himself. Not only that, but he would send a cook and a ladies’ maid and a valet to serve them as well.

And so it was that Borel and Chelle and Flic and Buzzer found themselves ensconced in very elegant and private quarters rather than in rooms at an inn.

A healer was sent to deal with Borel’s thorn-given wounds, but Flic had already prepared tisanes and balms and anodynes, and Borel was well on the mend.

Over the next several days, as Borel healed he acquired three horses-two for riding, one to be a pack animal-and sufficient supplies to get them to the Winterwood. He had his leathers repaired, where the thorns had scored and torn and punctured them. And he sent his tricorn to the milliner to be cleaned and blocked as well. The prince obtained a bronze long-knife to replace the one he had lost during the wild Pooka ride. But when he tried to use the remaining Gnome-gifted coinage to settle with the various merchants, the tradesmen waved him away, saying King Arle had paid for all.

Each evening, in deference to Flic’s intolerance of iron, King Arle shed his arms and armor and came down from the citadel to dine with them. Chevaliers took turns accompanying the king, and there were celebrations every night for a sevenday, with singing and dancing and merrymaking all ’round, as well as tale-telling, and here Flic did shine. He strutted about and waved his silver epee and-striking en gardes and lunging and parrying and making running fleches, sometimes afoot on tabletop, other times awing in air-he told of how he and Argent had routed the dreadful Shadows, also mentioning as an afterthought that King Arle and his men did help. And Arle roared with laughter at the antics of his wee friend.

And Chelle and Borel danced the bee dance, showing the townsfolk how ’twas done. And when they were asked where they had learned such a step, Borel spoke of Buzzer, and then there was nothing for it but that Buzzer had to be strutted out for display the very next day. And the townsfolk Ooh ed and Ahh ed as if they had never before seen a bumblebee. It is said that in the days after, many folk suffered stings while trying to make pets of bees.

After each gala and upon returning to the chalet, Borel and Chelle oft stood on the balcony and looked at the moon and spoke of inconsequential things as well as things substantial.

During the days, as well, they strolled about the town, and Chelle outfitted herself with boys’ riding breeches and boots, for she would not go sidesaddle all the way to the Winterwood.

Borel smiled and said, “ ’Tis not ladylike, my lady.”

“I suppose your sisters never ride astraddle?” asked Chelle.

“Oh, they are not ladylike either,” said Borel, and he broke out laughing.

Too, Chelle acquired a supply of feminine necessities she would need for the journey, and one special sheer garment for herself. Borel made himself scarce during that shopping trip, and instead chose tack and supplies for his horses, now that he knew how the Lady Michelle would ride.

And every day they strolled along the mossy banks of a burbling stream, or played echecs, or whiled away the time at other idling but oh so important tasks.

And always they remained quite circumspect, and yet…

On the fourth night in the chalet, as they stood before her bedroom door, Borel said, “Chelle, perhaps you do not remember, but I courted you throughout our dreams, and I tried to not take advantage, for you did not know we were dreaming, whereas I did. Yet you fired my blood, and you still do, and I often lost control in the dream, and it is all I can do to not lose control now. For I would sweep you up in my arms and-Chelle, what I am trying to say is that you have my heart and you occupy my every thought. I would court you truly if I may and if it is your will. You need not answer now, my love, and-”

Michelle silenced him with a kiss, then she quickly stepped into her room and closed the door behind.

Borel, bewildered, walked to his own chamber.

Slowly he undressed, and lay down, yet he could not sleep, Chelle filling his mind: her scent, her sweet breath, her hair, her eyes, her laugh, her slender form and grace and elegance.

In the middle of the night with the moon shining in, Borel yet lay awake when his door softly opened, and, barefoot, Chelle came padding in. Borel turned to see her standing in the moonlight, her negligee sheer and revealing.

She came and stood at the side of his bed, her blue eyes unseen, enshadowed, though not by a magic spell but by the night instead. “My love, I remember every one of our dreams,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “And in them I told you I have loved you since a time long past when I was but a child.” She let her delicate gown slip away unto the floor, and with her golden hair falling across her bare shoulders, she said, “But I am a child no more.”

And Borel reached up and drew her into his bed, and he kissed her soft lips and her eyes and her throat and her breasts and lower, and though she had no experience, she moaned with need and caressed Borel, running her hands along his firm muscles and across his flat abdomen and more. And they made gentle love and passionate love and wild love throughout the moonlit night.

“My, but you look chipper today,” said Flic.

“Do I seem to be walking on air?” asked Chelle, scooping slices of melon onto her trencher, along with eggs and rashers and crepes with syrup and toast with butter and a bit of cheese on the side.

“Where’s Borel?” asked Flic, eyeing the enormous mound of food on Chelle’s plate.

Chelle shrugged. “Perhaps yet abed,” she said, taking up a bit of melon and popping it into her mouth.

Flic grinned. “Uh-huh, as if you didn’t know.”

Chelle smiled and looked about to see if anyone were near, and then she whispered, “Oh, Flic, it was wonderful, and we are lovers. Isn’t it grand?”

“Well, it took you two long enough,” said Flic.

“Long enough for what?” said Borel, walking into the room. He stepped to the sideboard and filled a plate of his own.

“Long enough to, um, plight your troth,” said Flic.

Borel sat next to Chelle. “If she will have me, we are betrothed,” he said. He turned to Chelle. “Will you marry me, my love?”

Chelle’s eyes sparkled and she answered, but what she said neither Borel nor Flic understood, her mouth stuffed with food as it was. And both Borel and Flic looked at one another, and they shrugged and turned up their hands.

“I think she said ‘No,’ ” said Borel, a twinkle in his eye.

“I believe you’re right, my lord,” said Flic, grinning.

Chelle frantically shook her head and groaned a wordless protest, and both the prince and the Sprite broke out in laughter.

Finally, Chelle swallowed and this time clearly said, “Oh, yes, my love, I will marry you.” And she threw her arms about Borel and kissed him soundly.

Nine more days and nights they stayed in the chalet in Nione, and every day they celebrated their betrothal, and in the nights as well.

The evening they told King Arle, he made a public proclamation, and the entire town celebrated. And Arle toasted their good health and said, “Well, now, my friends, you have notified a king. Hence all you must do is post the banns, and, after the waiting time is over, find you a hierophant.”

“In my own demesne will we post the banns,” said Borel, “and in Duke Roulan’s demesne as well, once we get him free, for I would have the wedding be one wherein he gives away the bride.”

“Pah!” snorted Flic, but he was smiling. “You humans with your rituals.”

On the fourteenth day in Nione, Borel and Chelle and Flic and Buzzer made ready to depart, and Arle came unto them and he presented Borel with a bronze sword, its edge keen, its hilt capped with a white chalcedony gemstone, and a grey leather belt and scabbard with it. He then presented Chelle with a moonstone pendant. And to both he said, “These two stones are governed by the moon, and they will remind you of the perilous times and of your lasting love.”

Borel embraced the king, and Chelle hugged Arle and kissed him, and murmured her thanks.

Arle turned to Flic and held up a jar of honey and said, “This is for you and Buzzer. I am told it comes from the white moonflower and is honey rare indeed.”

Flic bowed and said, “Thank you, my lord, and I thank you on behalf of Buzzer as well. She and I will both be pleased with such a gift.”

On Flic’s behalf, Borel took the jar and slipped it into one of the packhorse bags with the food.

Then King Arle presented Flic with a wee tiny pendant as well and said, “This stone is known as a moondrop; it is said to be moonlight itself made manifest; well do you deserve it, my little friend, whose heart is perhaps the biggest of all. Wear it to remind you of the perils you faced and the victories won.”

Flic drew his silver epee and saluted the king. “Thank you, my lord. I will wear it with pride. Yet I remind you, the adventure is not finished until we free Roulan and all those entrapped by Rhensibe.”

Arle looked at Flic and then Borel and finally Chelle and said, “Oh, I have not forgotten that quest, my friends. As soon as you return with the magicien or sorciere to deal with that foul witch, I and my men will ride with you.”

“We thank you, my lord,” said Borel, and again he and the king embraced, and again Chelle hugged and kissed Arle, and then they mounted up and watched as Buzzer flew ’round and took a sighting on the sun and then shot off toward the demesne on the generally sunward bound of the Winterwood, an adjacent realm where grew yellow daffodils and blue morning glories and red clover, all three of which Flic and Chelle identified after Borel had described them.

And so, with a packhorse in tow, out from Nione they rode, and some townsfolk stood along the street to wave them good-bye. Up the far hill they fared-Borel and Chelle ahorse, Flic on the tricorn-all of them following a beeline for a distant border. And as they topped the rise, behind them there sounded a long and resonant horn cry: it was King Arle’s au revoir.

Borel and Chelle turned and waved good-bye, Flic waving as well, and Chelle cried out, “Au revoir, King Arle, for we will meet again.”

And then they turned and rode over the hill and down the far side and away.