Once Upon a Winter's Night

34

“Chp! — chp! — chp! — chp!..” “Oh, Scruff,” exclaimed Camille, pushing away from Lanval and looking into the high pocket. “I’m so sorry.”

In the candlelight, Scruff looked up at Camille and cocked his head and chattered away, scolding her for mashing him between her and some man.

With wide eyes, Lanval, shabbily dressed, looked on this dirt-smeared girl, a girl bearing a rucksack and waterskin and bedroll, a girl with an angry little bird in a pocket on her thin-worn dress. “Mademoiselle, do I know you?”

“Lanval, it’s me, Camille.”

The steward of Summerwood Manor gasped, now seeing that the person under the dirt, this demoiselle, was indeed Lady Camille. He set the candle to the table, the tallow sending up a thin strand of smoke to add to the soot on the ceiling above. Then he took her by the hands and said, “Oh, my lady, what are you doing here in this terrible place?”

“Is my love Alain on this isle?”

“Aye, mademoiselle, the prince is here, a prisoner in the citadel.”

Camille’s knees nearly gave way, her relief so great in finding at last the place where her love was bound.

“My lady,” said Lanval, reaching out to brace her, and he aided her to a chair at a table.

Camille took several deep breaths then said, “I have come to set him free.”

As Lanval stepped to the fireplace and pulled two bricks away, he said, “I am afraid that cannot be done. Not only does a fortress hold him, but so do the Troll curses.”

“One by Olot and the other by his daughter?”

“Aye. Yet how know you this?”

“From something the Troll said in the Winterwood.”

“Ah, I remember: you did meet Olot there,” said Lanval, reaching in the hole behind the bricks. “-Here it is.” He removed a small canister. “Until that encounter, ’twas but one curse, and that by the daughter.”

“One or two, it matters not,” said Camille bitterly, “if only I had known the content of the curses, then mayhap none of this would have happened. Oh, Lanval, it is all my fault disaster whelmed the manor.”

“Nay, Lady Camille, not your fault, but that of the Troll-cast magic.” Lanval popped the lid from the canister. “We’ll have a spot of tea, and you can say how you came.”

“But how did you get here, Lanval? Was it the wind?”

Lanval added a bit of branch-wood from Camille’s bundle of sticks to the dying coals in the hearth, and hung a kettle on a fire iron and swung it over the blaze. Then he turned to Camille and said, “Aye, it was the wind; we whirled across the sky in that terrible howl, the Prince and the entire household of Summerwood Manor-all, that is, but you-to plunge down on this appalling isle to join the slaves already here as thralls to the Goblins and Trolls.”

Tears welled in Camille’s eyes and ran down her cheeks, and she said, “Oh, Lanval, I was stupid and foolish, and thus the calamity fell. A year and a day and nearly a whole moon agone, I contrived by candlelight to see Alain’s unmasked face; that’s when the curse struck and that awful wind did come.”

Lanval sat down at the table across from Camille and said, “Nay, my lady, again I say, ’twas the fault of the Trolls, the cham and the chamumi and the ancient dread magic that somehow did come into their hands.”

“Cham? Chamumi?”

“Troll words,” replied Lanval. “Cham means king; chamum, queen; and chamumi, princess. Regardless, Chamumi Dre’ela, the Troll princess, set a curse upon the prince long past: Alain spurned her advances, and so she cursed him-broke a terrible amulet of clay she wore about her neck, one of Orbane’s devices, we think.”

Camille said, “One of the Seals of Orbane, or so Lord Kelmot thought.”

“Lord Kelmot?”

Camille nodded. “He aided me after the terrible wind took you all away. I told him of the clay amulet Olot wore, and Kelmot spoke of the seals.”

Lanval said, “Seals of Orbane: Olot had one, and Dre’ela another. Regardless, when Dre’ela broke hers, Alain was cursed to take the form of a bear in the day, though he could be either man or bear at night, whichever he chose. Further, Dre’ela’s bane was such that he could never marry anyone but her. To this she added that if Prince Alain ever fell in love, and if his true love ever did discover that he was both man and bear, then he would have to marry Dre’ela in a year and a day and a whole moon beyond.”

“Marry a Troll princess?”

“Aye. The wedding is three days from now.”

Camille’s face fell, and she glanced at the split and splintered stave. “Then that is the reason for the time I was given.”

An eyebrow raised, Lanval looked at her, but she explained not. Instead she said, “Oh, Lanval, we must do something ere then.”

The kettle above the fire began steaming. Lanval got up to attend it, and Camille glanced at Scruff, the sparrow again asleep in her dress pocket. While Lanval prepared the tea and once more hid the canister, Camille carefully set Scruff to a shelf above the table, where he ruffled a bit and then settled as she sat back down.

While they waited for the tea to steep, Camille said, “The second curse then, it was the cause of the wind.” Her words were a statement, not a question.

“Aye, the cham, the Troll king, Olot, set a terrible curse on Prince Alain there in the Winterwood that night he and his Goblins assailed you and the Bear.”

Camille nodded and sighed.

As Lanval poured two cups of tea, he said, “When you and the Bear first arrived at Summerwood Manor, the Prince told us that if you ever saw his face, then he and the entire household staff would be transported to this isle, and we would all become Olot’s slaves. Hence, the seamstresses immediately set to making the masks he would wear, and that’s how you first saw Prince Alain-his features hidden. Yet masks or no, the prince said that Olot had further added that none could tell you the reason for concealment else the curse would come due regardless.”

“Yes,” said Camille as she watched tea leaves swirl and settle in her cup, “the secrecy: all could know but me.”

“Aye, my lady-not only of Olot’s curse regarding seeing Prince Alain’s face, but also of Dre’ela’s curse were you to learn Alain and the Bear were one and the same. We simply could not tell you, though all else but you could know.”

“Can we not break these curses?”

“Many mages tried, my lady-you saw numbers of them there at Summerwood Manor-yet none succeeded. Orbane’s cursed clay amulets are simply too strong.”

“There must be a way. There must.”

Lanval shook his head. “I’m afraid only the Fates could defeat such great and powerf-”

Camille’s eyes widened. “The Fates!” she blurted.

Lanval looked at her curiously.

“Lanval, we might just have a chance, though at the moment I know not how.” An elusive thought skittered along the edge of Camille’s mind, yet it was gone ere she could capture it.

“My lady?”

“Lanval, I have a tale to tell you, a story to unfold.” Camille blew on her tea and took a sip and then began:

“After I committed my stupid mistake and the terrible wind came and hurled you all away, Lord Kelmot aided me in finding the Lady of the Mere. She was there that dawntime, sitting in the hollow of the oak, and both Alain and Kelmot had told me that she does not appear unless something dire is in the offing. Even so…”

When Camille’s tale came to an end, the golden carding comb and shuttle and spool lay on the table along with Lady Sorciere’s staff. One at a time Lanval picked up the gifts and examined them and then set them back. Then he sighed and looked at Camille. “Fates or no, I know not how these might be used to break the curse. Have you any thoughts?”

Camille turned up a hand. “None.” Again Camille felt that there was something she should know lying on the edge of her mind, yet once more the wisp of a thought vanished.

Lanval frowned. “Would that the prince could advise us, for he is quite well-read and perhaps would know how to use these to the good.”

“Is there any way I can see Alain?”

Lanval shook his head. “He has been kept prisoner in a suite of windowless, Goblin-guarded rooms in the citadel. None are permitted to see him but Olot, Dre’ela, and Te’e-foon.”

“Te’efoon?”

“She is the chamum, the queen.”

Camille frowned. “No one else is permitted therein but Trolls?”

Lanval nodded. “Just those three.”

“What about those who clean the chambers, change the bedding, and-”

“My lady, it is clear you have never seen how Trolls and Goblins live. There is no cleaning of rooms, changing of bedding, or the like. However, you do remind me that there are those who take drinking water and food to the prince’s quarters, but they only enter when Alain is the Bear, and even then, the Bear is not present, but in a separate chamber in those same quarters, and so-Bear or prince-none ever sees him but the Trolls. They isolate him, for they have some vile plan they would not have upset, and the prince is at the center of all.”

Camille looked at the three Fate-given gifts. “If I could be one of those who serve the prince, mayhap I can use the opportunity to bribe the guards.”

Lanval’s eyes widened. “Better yet, mayhap you can bribe the chamumi.”

“Dre’ela?”

“Aye. She oversees those who bring the food and water, and I know she is quite fond of true gold; when we first came, every gold thing we had, be it ring or brooch or coin or aught else, she stripped and kept as her own, fashioning necklaces and bracelets and bangles from it all.”

“Oh, Lanval, if she does love gold that much, then perhaps I do have a chance.” Camille gestured at the gifts. “Surely these are true gold.”

“Aye, they are,” said Lanval. “Rare on this isle, for here only glittering Troll gold is found.”

“Kolor spoke of it,” said Camille. “-Troll gold, I mean. Quite worthless, he said.”

“Indeed it is,” said Lanval. “But list, Lady Camille: in your recounting did you not say the Fates warned you to keep these gifts. If so, then giving them to Dre’ela would be a mistake.”

Camille shook her head. “Non, non. What the Sisters said was to hold on to them until near the end, for then they might do me some good.” Camille glanced at the dwindling arc of light yet remaining on the dark disk of Lady Sorciere’s stave. “Three days is all we have, Lanval, and so we are near the end; now is the time for their use.”

Lanval frowned and said, “Lady Camille, I beg of you, try to remember the exact words of the Sisters, for if you relinquish the gifts when you should not, then even the Fates will fail.”

Lanval’s admonition struck Camille pale, and she somberly nodded and said, “I will, Lanval. I will.”

The next dawning, Redcap Goblins came pounding on the doors. Camille and Lanval were rousted out and, along with two-score of others, were marched through the cool morn up toward the citadel, while the bulk of slaves-poorly dressed, as were all-were herded to work in the fields. Camille thought she caught a glimpse of Blanche, but she could not be certain. Even so, she did not cry out, for Lanval had told her the Goblins would lay about with whips should anyone speak. Camille had wondered how she could get Scruff to remain silent, and she had tried to leave him behind, yet he would have none of it, insisting instead on going with her. And so he was hidden in her high breast pocket, and he remained silent and still-peril was at hand, and he uttered not a peep. In another pocket, Camille carried what she thought might be the least of the gifts of the Fates: Urd’s golden spool; though whether it was truly the least, she could not say. Yet it was the smallest of the three, and as such it best fit the plan she had in mind. Camille had carefully considered Lanval’s warning concerning the Sisters’ words of gift giving, and the other two gifts were hidden next to Lanval’s meager hoard of tea in the hole behind the bricks.

As they approached the citadel, Camille’s eyes widened in wonderment, for it was truly a formidable fortress, its great stone walls rearing up to castellated heights, towers in the corners fitted with arrow slits. Surrounding all stood a deep, dry moat embedded with sharpened spikes and stakes. A massive drawbridge spanned the moat, and a huge, bronze-clad gate stood open. Just inside the gate, in the mouth of the entryway was a portcullis raised high-fangs ready to drop on intruders, heavy bars to prevent entry as well. Above the gate a great, runic symbol-an O — was carven in the stone, and Camille could not but wonder who had it so sculpted- Olot, most likely, she thought. Across the bridge and into a passageway that jinked right and left they went, murder holes above, ready to rain death down upon any who won past the moat and gate and portcullis. At the exit of the corridor piercing the walls another portcullis and gate stood. Across an open, paved courtyard they were herded and through two massive, recessed doors, which led into the castle proper.

They came into a great hall, and the stench was nearly unbearable. Camille clapped a hand to her nose and mouth.

“Take swift and shallow breaths,” whispered Lanval, “and breathe through your mouth only. Soon you will become accustomed to it.”

How she would ever become accustomed to such a reek, Camille could not imagine, but she did as Lanval advised and took quick, barely drawn breaths. As the Goblins prodded them on inward, Camille looked ’round the great hall. By the early-morning daylight seeping in through high windows, she could see the chamber was filthy, with food rotting and shards of bones scattered across the floor. Flies buzzed among the litter of garbage, and a squirm of maggots wormed within the corpse of a small animal Camille could not identify. Spiderwebs filled nooks and crannies, and in one corner what seemed to be a mounded pile of excrement lay. Tables and benches marked this as a dining hall, with dirt and grease layering much of the furniture, and snoring Goblins lay about, some on the tables, others under.

A Goblin called out, “Rat catchers, to your traps!” and a score of slaves separated out, each with a guard, and they vanished through doorways and up stairs and down.

Camille watched them go, wondering what was afoot, yet she was shoved in the small of her back to stumble across the floor, one of the Goblin escort snarling, “No lollygagging, turd, or I’ll take the whip to you.”

Lanval turned to protest, but Camille shook her head Non, and so he said nought.

Past a low, one-step dais at one end of the room they were herded; three massive chairs of state set thereon. Through an archway they were goaded and into a huge kitchen beyond, and there they set to work, preparing a great breakfast for their captors.

“Would that I had some poison,” mumbled a worker, and Camille saw that it was Cecile, one of the seamstresses with whom she had had such cheerful times in the sewing circle of Summerwood Manor. Even so, Camille said nought, having been warned by Lanval that should the Goblins even inadvertently find out who she was, then Olot would be the next to know. And so Camille pitched in as did everyone else, the whip the price of dawdling.

Soon great pots of porridge were bubbling, and a hundred or so carcasses of rats were gutted and skinned and set asizzling upon spits. Too, great pots of tea were brewed, and now Camille knew where Lanval had gotten his tin of leaves, though how he had managed to do so under the very noses of the ward, Camille could not say.

Finally, guards snarled orders, and the hot gruel and cooked rats and brewed tea were hauled into the great room to be served to the now-clamoring Goblins, Redcaps all.

That group was replaced by another, and that one by another still. But soon all Redcaps on the isle had broken their fasts, and finally meager portions of gruel were prepared for the slaves, and half of the kitchen crew was drafted to take the porridge unto the thralls in the fields.

But Lanval had Camille remain behind, for now they prepared food for Olot and Te’efoon and Dre’ela. An enormous number of rats were set to broil, and a great pot of oil of a sort-somewhat like that of olives-was heated, along with a cauldron of vinegar.

A gong sounded, and Lanval murmured to Camille, “We will serve them when they get seated. You are to stay behind, else if Olot sees you, in spite of the dirt smeared on your face and your golden locks bound in a scarf, still he might recognize who you are.”

Even so, Camille stood in the shadows at the archway to watch as the Trolls came down a lengthy stairway along one wall and into the dining hall.

Olot led, and he was yet the same: a hideous, massive, nine-foot-tall Ogre with yellow eyes and green-scummed tusks, and he was still dressed in what looked to be the same greasy animal hides he had worn when Camille first saw him.

Next came a female Troll, “Te’efoon,” whispered Lanval. A head shorter than Olot, she stood perhaps eight feet tall. If tusks and talons could be called dainty, then hers were a bit more dainty than Olot’s, though her tusks were still scummed and her talons long. Te’efoon was dressed in what looked to be mottled green velvet, though the green could have come from mold. Sprigs of hair sprang from her dangly ears and one of her wide nostrils as well as from a large mole on her chin, though not a sign whatsoever grew on her knobby head. She was spectacularly ugly.

Yet even more ugly was the third Troll, Dre’ela, some seven-foot-six or so. She had her father’s tusks and her mother’s hair and even longer talons than either. But worst of all was the cut of her burlap dress, for she had little modesty, and now and again as she descended the stairs Camille flinched away from looking at such a hairy and obscenely bright red “Stay here,” again hissed Lanval, and then he and the others took sizzling hot rats and the oil and vinegar out to the low dais to serve the cham, chamum, and chamumi.

Yet crunching on a mouthful of rat bones, Dre’ela strode into the kitchen and smirked ’round her tusks at the women standing there. And she stood and stroked a necklace made of rings and brooches and bangles of gold strung on a hemp cord. Looped about each wrist as well were bracelets made of cord-hung golden rings and such. When none of the women reacted, Dre’ela growled and croaked, “It is time to feed my groom.” Then she simpered and said once again, “My groom.”

With a bucket of water, Camille stepped forward and into Dre’ela’s miasma, much like the reek of her Troll sire: that of a rotting animal burst open after lying dead afield for a full sevenday in the glare of the hot summer sun, though in Dre’ela’s case, there was a heavy overlay of musk.

Camille could feel wee Scruff’s body trembling where he hid in her high pocket, yet in spite of knowing how frightened he was, she was careful to keep a vacant-eyed, slack-jawed, dull-witted look on her face. Even so, she, too, was afraid: afraid that Dre’ela would realize this slave was someone new, and then she would be exposed. Yet the chamumi’s yellow gaze passed over Camille with no interest whatsoever. After all, she was merely a slave.

And as Lanval took up a great bowl of porridge, and Cecile bore several cooked rats, Dre’ela turned on her heel and led them all outward and across the chamber and up the long staircase.

And as they came to a hallway above, Camille softly canted a singsong chant:

“True gold is quite fine,

So softly gleams mine,

Some think it surely best.

Troll gold is better,

Bright it does glitter,

Outshining all the rest.”

As they neared a Goblin-warded door, again Camille softly chanted her singsong cant, and Dre’ela whirled about and snarled, “What is that you are caterwauling, you piece of Human filth?”

Only then did Camille remember Chemine’s warning: “Let not this girl sing to Goblins and Trolls.”

Keeping the dull-witted look on her face, Camille then simply spoke the cant:

“True gold is quite fine,

So softly gleams mine,

Some think it surely best.

Troll gold is better,

Bright it does glitter,

Outshining all the rest.”

A calculating look came into Dre’ela’s yellow eyes, and she gazed at Camille’s hands and wrists and neck, and upon seeing no gold there, the chamumi said, “Have you gold? True gold? I’ll give you bright Troll gold for such.”

“Oh, oh, would you, ma’amselle?” said Camille, digging in her pocket for the spool, a gaping smile on her face. “I–I love bright shiny Troll gold.” Yet then she paused. “Bu-but, I–I’d also like to see your groom. Not as the Bear. No, not as the Bear. Not the Bear.” Camille frowned, as if trying to dredge up a concept beyond what her slack-jawed look implied. And then she vacantly smiled and said, “Not Bear, but when he is Human. I–I hear from the others who once worked where he lived that he is pretty, too.” Again Camille furrowed her brow, as if slow thoughts moved through her mind. Then she grinned again and said, “Maybe even as pretty as Troll gold, but not as shiny. Not as shiny.”

“See my groom? I should think not, for only I can-”

In that moment Camille took the golden spool out from her pocket and held it up for the chamumi to see. Dre’ela’s eyes widened, and she reached out and snatched the spool from Camille. “A wedding present,” said Dre’ela.

“C-can I–I see the groom tonight?” asked Camille, smiling a gape-jawed smile.

“Certainly not,” snapped Dre’ela. “None are to see him until after the ceremony, when I become the Princess of Summerwood.”

“I–I will bring you another golden wedding present tomorrow if you let me see him tonight.”

Dre’ela’s eyes flew wide. “You have more true gold?”

“I–I know where to find some.”

Dre’ela’s eyes narrowed and she looked at Lanval. “Does this dull-wit have more gold?”

Lanval, holding the great bowl of porridge, shrugged and said, “Chamumi Dre’ela, I know not. Yet what harm would come of letting my daughter Naif see the prince?”

Dre’ela glanced at the golden spool and then at Camille and said, “Very well, Naif, you may come to see my groom tonight, but you must bring more gold on the morrow.”

Lanval cleared his throat and, when Dre’ela looked at him, he said, “What of the curfew, Chamumi Dre’ela? If my simple daughter is to be out after dark, she will need a permit.”

Dre’ela turned to Camille. “I will send an escort to your hovel this night. Set a lit candle in your window.”

As Camille bobbed her head in understanding, she hid both glee and disappointment behind her half-wit countenance: glee for she would see Alain at last; disappointment for she would not be free to come and go on her own.

Dre’ela turned and signed to the guard. The door was opened, and, following the chamumi, Camille and Lanval and Cecile entered one chamber of a suite, where they set down the water and porridge and cooked rats and then took up the previous day’s bucket and pot and left. Camille had been hoping to see the Bear, yet, as Lanval had said, he was not in the rooms they entered. Mayhap he will detect my scent, if Dre’ela’s stench doesn’t cover all.

That night, when Redcaps pounded on the door, Lanval looked at Camille and held up a cautionary hand; he glanced at the bricks behind which were hidden his cache of tea and the shuttle and carding comb, and now even sleeping Scruff, then he answered the summons. Goblins bulled inward, shoving the steward aside. And they began pulling the bedding apart and overturning tables and chairs and opening drawers and such. They searched through Camille’s rucksack, tossing clothing and vellum and pen and ink aside and all else they found of no worth to them, though, after sniffing to see what it was, they kept the flasks of oil; they found the pocket sewn within, yet nought of value was there, for Camille had left all coinage hidden nigh the sandy cove where the Nordavind had landed. Thoroughly they searched all-room, bed, furniture, drawers-even stirring through the ashes within the fireplace. Lastly they pawed Camille and Lanval, searching for whatever might be hidden upon them, yet they found nought. At last they snarled at Camille and escorted her out, leaving Lanval to clean up the mess left behind.

As the steward closed the door, he smiled to himself and glanced at the untouched bricks, for well had he anticipated what Dre’ela’s Redcaps would do. Then he stepped across the room to retrieve Scruff from the hollow behind the bricks, fully expecting to be scolded by the little bird.

As the chamumi poured a score of Troll-gold nuggets into Camille’s waiting hands, Dre’ela said, “Remember, stupid girl, you must bring me a gift of true gold on the morrow, and I will give you even more of this much brighter gold.”

Camille grinned foolishly and crowed:

“True gold is quite fine,

So softly gleams mine,

Some think it surely best.

Troll gold is better,

Bright it does glitter,

Outshining all the rest.”

Camille laughed and shoved the nuggets into her pocket and then gaped up at Dre’ela and said, “I–I would like to see the groom now.”

Dre’ela signed to the Redcap guards, and the door was opened.

With her heart hammering in her breast, Camille followed the chamumi into the entry chamber, where Dre’ela paused before a mirror to admire her new bangle of true gold, the spool now on its own hemp cord about her neck. Finally, she turned and led Camille past the day’s porridge pot and water bucket and into a room beyond, and there in a great, canopied bed lay Prince Alain asleep.

Camille nearly burst into tears, but whether they were to have been tears of joy at seeing his beautiful face or of distress that he was unaware, she did not know. Yet she could not let Dre’ela suspect that aught was afoot other than a simpleton desiring to see the groom. And so she held her emotions to herself, and reached into her pocket and drew out a nugget and managed to gape a grin and say, “Oh, he is quite pretty, almost as pretty as shiny gold. Can I–I stay awhile and try to see which is prettier?”

No answer came and Camille turned and saw that Dre’ela was back before the mirror and turning the bobbin this way and that, watching the candlelight gleam on the spool.

Swiftly Camille stepped to the bed and she put her hand to Alain’s lips and then shook him by the shoulder. “Alain, Alain, it’s me,” she whispered. “Alain, wake up.”

But the prince lay slack, unresponsive, almost as if he’d been “What are you doing, oaf?” snarled Dre’ela, striding into the chamber.

Camille started, and then turned with a lackwitted grin and held up the Troll-gold nugget and said, “I–I was trying to see which is prettier, shiny gold or the groom.”

Dre’ela glanced at her own golden bangles and then at Alain, as if she, too, were trying to decide which was prettier. Then she grabbed Camille’s wrist in a painful grip and jerked her from the room, saying, “You’ve seen him, and that’s all you bargained for. I’m sending you back.”

In spite of Dre’ela’s clawlike clutch, “C-can I not stay in the castle?” asked Camille, hoping the chamumi’s answer would be yes, for surely Alain would waken, and if she could somehow divert the guards “No, you fool of a Human,” snarled Dre’ela. “You know treacherous slaves are not permitted in the castle at night.”

Camille hid her disappointment behind her lackwit face and said, “Th-then tomorrow night I–I will give you more true gold, and you will give me shiny gold, and I–I will see the groom again, eh?”

Dre’ela’s yellow eyes gleamed with the thought of more gold from this fool, and she said, “Oh, yes, Naif… Indeed.”

“I think he was drugged, Lanval,” said Camille, bitterness in her voice.

Lanval blew out a sigh of exasperation. “Drugged? I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Camille’s shoulders slumped in despair. “What will we do, Lanval, what will we do? I mean, there are only two days left, and I can’t talk to him if he’s drugged. And Dre’ela is there in the chambers as well. I need to be alone with him to see if he can tell us how the Fates or their gifts might be used to break the remaining curse.”

“I know not, my lady, yet there is this I do know: we must not let hopelessness or gloom o’erwhelm us, else we are fordone ere we begin.”

Camille took a deep breath and let it out. “You are right, Lanval. It is time to think and not lose heart.”

With effort, Camille set aside her emotions, and she fell into long thought. Finally she said, “Have you any cord, Lanval?” At the steward’s puzzled nod, Camille grinned and said, “I believe if I give Dre’ela a piece of cord along with the golden shuttle, she will step out from the chamber and back to the mirror to fix a new necklace. That will occupy her a short while. Yet it still leaves me with Alain being drugged.”

Lanval turned up his hands, but then Camille exclaimed, “A note!” She rushed to her rucksack, tossing aside the things Lanval had so carefully repacked. “I can leave a note in his food, mayhap in his porridge. Then, no matter how Dre’ela is drugging him, he can be on the alert for such and avoid it.”

A frown crossed Lanval’s face. “You must be careful in what you say, for should the guards or Dre’ela or Olot or Te’e-foon discover your note, it must not let them know aught.”

“Can they even read, Lanval?”

“I don’t know, my lady, but we must assume that they can.”

Camille nodded and sat awhile, then finally penned:

Every bird is wary in what it drinks and eats, especially a tiny brown sparrow sitting in a tree, scruffy little soul just like…?C?

Camille then frowned and said, “Ah, but I know how the Bear eats, and he is likely to gobble this note down should I place it in his food. We must find another way.”

She looked at Lanval, but he shrugged.

And then Camille said, “I know! I’ll scent it with something I am certain does not exist in that castle.”

“What is that, my lady?’

“Soap!” said Camille, and she rummaged through her rucksack and drew out the last of the Summerwood Manor soap she yet had, now nought but a chip. As she rubbed it across the vellum, she said, “We’ll slip it under the porridge bowl, where the Bear will surely scent it.” She paused and looked at Lanval. “Oh, my, but there is this: will Alain know of the note if the Bear does find it?”

“I believe so, Ma’amselle, for once he said that when he is a man he remembers all the Bear has done, though when he is the Bear at times he has trouble holding on to his Humanity. Or so the prince did say.”

“Good,” declared Camille, folding the vellum over and over, then dripping candle wax along the edges to seal the ink against liquid; “Just in case,” said Camille.

Then she rubbed more soap over the outside. “Surely the Bear will scent this.”

“But what if he does not?” asked Lanval. “What will you do if on morrow night you find the prince asleep?”

“If this fails, then when I return tomorrow night I will slip out and hide nigh the cove till day comes on the land, and then set a signal fire to call Kolor and the Dwarves and Big Jack. I had hoped to avoid combat, but we may have no other choice.”

Lanval shook his head and sighed.

“What?” asked Camille.

“My lady, I think it will take a miracle for any to invade that stronghold.”

A bolt of fear shot through Camille’s chest, but she said, “Then let us pray it does not come to that.”

As Camille followed Dre’ela up the stairs, she heard a peculiar chanting. Ere coming to the top, Dre’ela paused and pushed out a hand to hold Camille back, and they waited. When the chanting ceased, the chamumi went on, Camille following. At the landing, Camille saw down the corridor and just disappearing ’round a corner a blot of darkness streaming tatters and tendrils, like a ragged shadow moving away, and it seemed to Camille she heard muttering in the tattered shadow’s wake. It reminded Camille of something or someone, and just as they reached the Goblin-guarded door, she remembered the ragged silhouette that had flown across the face of the moon the night the Goblins had come to Summerwood Manor, the night Lord Kelmot and the Lynx Riders had slain them all. Too, it was the night the Goblins had slaughtered two of the black swans, and the rest had flown away. Yet what might that streaming black thing have been, or the one that had vanished ’round the corner, Camille could not say.

Dre’ela motioned the guards to open the door, and then she turned to Camille and held out a hand. “I’ll have my wedding gift now.”

Camille reached into her pocket and pulled out the cord and the shuttle. “Chamumi Dre’ela, have you my shiny?”

Dre’ela’s eyes widened with greed at the sight of the golden shuttle, and she hurriedly gave Camille another score of Troll-gold nuggets and snatched the shuttle and cord from Camille and rushed in to stand before the mirror. Camille slipped past her and into Alain’s bedchamber. The prince lay on the bed, one hand tightly clutched and held to his chest.

Rushing to his side, “Alain, Alain, my love,” whispered Camille, “ ’tis-” But there was no response, though the prince did breathe. Camille shook him, yet he lay slack. Then Camille opened his fist, and therein was the note Lanval had hidden under the porridge bowl that very morn. He found it and read it and knew I was here, and he was waiting for me. But then, somehow, he could not avoid being drugged.. or, wait! Bespelled! That was what the chanting was about. Someone bespelled my love with sleep. Oh, what am I going to-?

“See my pretty?” croaked Dre’ela.

Camille tucked the note into her pocket and then, hoping that Dre’ela would not see the tears running down her face, she turned and gape-mouth grinned and held up a nugget and said, “Shiny.”

Dre’ela stood in the doorway, her golden-shuttle necklace gleaming in the candlelight next to the golden spool.

“It wasn’t a drug,” said Camille weeping, “but a spell instead. He had the note. He had the note. Yet it will do us no good.”

“There, there,” murmured Lanval, as he held her and stroked her hair. “It will be all right. It will be all right.”

Camille pushed herself away. “How can you say that, Lanval? Tomorrow is the very last day, the very last day of all.” She snatched up the stave and shoved it toward Lanval. “See!” A hairline-thin crescent was all that was left on the dark disk.

“My lady, you said yourself, you will signal the Dwarves.”

“But, Lanval, it was you who said it would take a miracle for any to invade that stronghold.”

Silence fell between them, but finally Lanval said, “I see no other choice. You must slip out to the cove and set the signal fire. And even though I would rather be at your side, I must stay behind to be in the citadel then, so that I can try to open the gates and let them in.”

Camille’s eyes lighted with a bit of hope. “If you can get the gates open, then there is a way to invade after all.”

Lanval took up matches and candles and handed them to Camille. “They took the oil, yet use these to start a fire with dry branches, and when it is well burning then cast green ones on. That should raise a plume for the Dwarves to see.”

Camille nodded and packed her rucksack. She took up the cane and slid it through the loops, then fetched sleeping Scruff and put him in the high breast pocket. “Ready,” she said at last.

“When the next patrol passes,” said Lanval. He blew out the candle and went to the window and raised the blind and peered into the darkness beyond. Long he looked, and then he gasped.

“What is it?” asked Camille, making her way through the darkness to his side.

“Across the street,” he whispered. “On the roof.”

Camille stared through the darkness, and finally in the starlight she made out the silhouettes of three or four Goblins atop the low building opposite.

Lanval said, “No doubt they are Dre’ela’s guards, waiting to follow you wherever you might go to fetch items of true gold.”

“Can we not provide a diversion, something to draw them away?” whispered Camille.

Lanval hissed, “I could do so, but then who would open the gates?”

Camille sighed. “Let us wait, for mayhap they will go away after a while, or even fall asleep.”

Long did they wait, yet the Goblins remained alert. Finally Camille said, “Mayhap we can set this house afire and in the confusion I can slip away.-Oh, but no. Wait. If we set the house afire, then the Dwarves will think it the signal, and come entirely too soon.”

Plan after plan they examined, rejecting them all. The only one which seemed to have a chance of succeeding was to place against one wall all the wood they could gather, including the furniture, and setting a candle among tinder such that when it burned down far enough it would start a fire… sometime after they were in the citadel proper, they hoped.

And so it was they closed the blind again and broke apart the table and chairs and bed and the drawers in the one chest of drawers, and added the firewood, too.

Dawn came, and Goblins went through the town pounding on doors, rousting everyone out. Lanval lit the candle that stood among wood shavings just ere his own door was hammered upon, and he and Camille stepped outward, she with her rucksack and stave and Scruff in the high pocket, and the last of the golden gifts in the pocket at her waist. As they started away amid the kitchen crew, Camille looked back. Redcaps dropped down from the low roof of the building opposite Lanval’s, and Oh, no! They’re going in to search Lanval’s place once more.

Moments later, one of the Goblins charged back out holding the candle aloft, and he yelled, “You’ll pay for this, you Human dung, once the cham finds out.”

Tears flooded Camille’s eyes, yet she brushed them angrily away. No time for tears, Camille, but for finding a way out of this mess. And she thought furiously, yet nothing of worth came to mind.

It was only as they crossed the drawbridge that she noted that all the slaves were being herded into the castle.

And lo! she found herself walking alongside Blanche, and at Blanche’s side strode Renaud.

“Blanche,” she hissed, “ ’tis me, Camille.”

Blanche gasped, surprise in eyes so dark they were black, and by this feature alone did Camille then know that this was truly her Blanche. “Camille?”

Camille nodded.

Blanche jabbed Renaud and whispered, and Renaud turned his own grey eyes to Camille in surprise.

As they tramped through the jinking passageway through the citadel wall, Camille whispered, “You do not work in the fields?”

Blanche shook her head and reached out and clutched Camille’s hand and said, “None shall work in the fields this day, the day of the chamumi’s wedding.”

Camille sucked in air through clenched teeth, and Blanche squeezed Camille’s hand in sympathy, but ere she could say aught else, they passed into the castle proper and Camille and Lanval and the kitchen crew were separated out and set to cooking, while the remainder of the slaves-all but the rat catchers-were put to work cleaning the great hall, for here would the wedding be held and the cham, chamum, and chamumi would have the chamber look quite splendid on this, Dre’ela’s wedding day.

Breakfast came and went and food was taken to the Bear, and still Camille had no plan. The great hall was swept and shoveled and, time after time, slaves carried litter out through the gates to cast it into the depths of the dry moat.

Midmorning came, and then late morning, and finally, as the last of the trash was borne outward, the great gong sounded, and Redcaps came running, and all the slaves were gathered into the great hall, for Chamumi Dre’ela would have many guests at her nuptials, even if some were nought but Human slaves. And so, with the Goblins wielding scimitars and tulwars and spears and standing ward, all the slaves were gathered in and all the Goblins as well, and the great doors were shut behind, for the chamumi would have no one sneaking out during the upcoming ceremony. Again the gong sounded, and, amid huzzahs from the Goblins, the cham, chamum, and chamumi, and the Bear came down the long stairway, the Bear a pale yellow-brown.

The wedding was at hand.

And Camille could not think of aught to do.

While Goblins yet shouted, the three Trolls took to their thrones, and they left the Bear at the foot of the low dais, perhaps as a sign of his servitude.

Once again the gong sounded.

Silence fell.

Olot stood and held out his hands as if in benediction, and he smiled, his scum-coated tusks gleaming as of fresh, green slime.

And then he bellowed for all to hear, “In but moments my fine and lovely daughter”-a great shout of leering approval broke out, and Dre’ela stood and awkwardly curtseyed, golden spool and shuttle on hemp twine about her neck dangling and swinging, along with stolen rings and brooches and other such, all made into bangles for neck and wrist. She sat back down, not at all modestly, and some Goblins crowded forward the better to see. Nodding his approval, Olot continued: “Soon my fine and lovely daughter will be married to the Prince of the Summerwood.” Now Olot gestured at the Bear, and once again Goblins howled in delight. Olot raised his hands, and when quiet fell, he said, “A prince who is cursed to be a Bear by day, though he may choose to be a Man or a Bear by night, a curse my daughter herself laid upon him for spurning her advances, and now he must wed her, for his Human lover found out he was the Bear. And by my own curse, he and his household were brought to this isle to serve us, for his Human face was seen by his Human lover, who betrayed him despite being warned. And so by the geas set upon him by my clever daughter, he must marry her, and she is greatly aroused by the prospect of mating with a Bear.” Now all the goblins hooted with excitement, and Dre’ela smiled her own tusky smile.

Olot held up his hands, and quietness fell. “Why should we do this? Why mate my daughter to a filthy Human? Or even a Bear? Heed! I have been planning this ever since our former master was thrown into the Great Darkness. Once we were free of him, I said to myself, no more would we bow to any master. Instead, we and our kind will become the masters ourselves. And as masters it is our due to live in the lap of luxury. And we will do so in Summerwood Manor and rule the Summerwood, for, with this marriage, Dre’ela will be the rightful and true princess of all therein.”

At this pronouncement, Chamum Te’efoon hooted with glee and clapped her hands, and all the Redcaps whooped in elation.

Olot let the shouting nearly run its course. Finally he raised his hands and called out, “Now let us get on with the ceremony, and it’s a formality, I know”-he grinned a tusky grin-“but does anyone wish to challenge this wedding?”

And even as Redcaps smirked at one another, from the back of the chamber a small voice said, “I do.”