Once upon a dreadful time

Leave-taking

At dawn the day after Luc, Roel, Laurent, and Blaise and their guides had ridden away, Michelle and the Winterwood retainers as well as Avelaine and half of the Springwood warband prepared to set out for their respective manors. At Sieur Emile’s manse, Avelaine would pick up a small escort of men and ride on to her home in Port Mizon, there where her husband Vicomte Chevell readied a battlefleet with the intent of once and for all clearing out the corsair stronghold on the island fortress of Brados. Just how a release of Orbane from the Castle of Shadows might affect this seafaring mission, none could say, for Orbane was not noted for conflicts upon the brine, but the warring of armies on land instead.

Regardless, Michelle would be at Winterwood Manor by morrow eve to await the arrival of Borel, while Avelaine’s return to her port city would take a seven-day altogether.

Borel embraced Michelle and said, “I’ll be on my way the very moment the closing ceremonies are done; the Wolves and I will press through the night, so look for me the morning following the eve we get quit of this faire.” Lady Simone kissed Avelaine and said, “Take care, my daughter, for there is more than just you to worry about. I would not have my future grandchild placed in jeopardy.” Sieur Emile gently embraced Avelaine. “Avi, heed your mother, for in war, who knows what might come. Thank Mithras you live by the sea and should be fairly safe, for the war will be fought aland. Even so, the battles might come close, so be ready to hie to a safer place.”

“Oh, la,” said Avelaine. “I think this Orbane, even if he does get free, will be put down by you and the king and his men, to say nought of Rollie and Blaise and Laurent.”

“And Luc,” said Liaze, gazing toward the duskward bound beyond which lay her realm.

“Mais oui,” said Avelaine. “I did not mean to leave him out, nor Borel and Alain. All will do magnificently, of that I am certain.”

A tall, dark-haired man approached and said, “Lady Michelle, we are ready.”

“Oui, Armsmaster Jules,” replied Michelle to the warband leader.

“We are ready as well,” said stocky, redheaded Anton, captain of the Springwood warband.

Quick embraces were exchanged all ’round, and Valeray, Saissa and their get, as well as Camille and Duran, stepped back, along with Simone and Emile. The men and the two ladies mounted up, and, with a sliding of massive bars and the creaking of hinges, the gates of the castle were opened. With waves and calls of au revoir, across the flagstone clattered the horses and out into the land beyond, and as faire-goers watched, away trotted the war bands, one group heading dawnwise, the other starwise.

And as the two ladies and their escorts rode away on their separate paths, through the early morning light on glittering wings came Sprites to report to the king.

. .

It was midmorning when Michelle and Jules and the warband crossed over into the Winterwood. Foxes looked up from their feasting, and scattered away into the snow-laden ’scape.

Michelle marveled at the litter of crows, yet she and the others paused not, but pressed on toward a number of small fires glimmering not far ahead, around which tiny folk clustered.

. .

Past the crow-slaughter at the starwise bound of the Springwood rode Avelaine and her entourage. And they came among small beings, the wee Root Dwellers, where birds roasting on spits filled the air with a meaty aroma. These diminutive fey folk, some unclothed, others not, many now adorned with black feathers, bowed and curtseyed gracefully as the sparse cavalcade fared by. As always, Avelaine marveled at the sight of them, with their quite exotic elfin features-long tipped ears and tilted eyes, eyes usually filled with mischievous gaiety. And she listened to their tiny, piping voices, sometimes mistaken for bird twitters by those who did not know better. Some doffed crudely stitched hats, revealing nearly bald heads, while others sported hair to the waist, or even to the anklebone. And as they bowed and curtseyed to Avelaine, she nodded and smiled in return, giving them their due. And through the long gauntlet of Root Dwellers, some yet bearing the weapons used in the slaughter, rode the lady and her escort, while spitted crows roasted above flames.

When the warband had passed out of earshot, Captain Anton turned to Avelaine and said, “Remind me, m’lady, never to make enemies of the wee ones, else I am a dead bird.” Then he roared with laughter, as did all his men, Avelaine joining in.

. .

And so as the sun rode up and across the sky and started its slow descent, in the Winterwood and the Springwood, warbands of men escorted ladies toward home, while elsewhere in Faery and riding across the sky a figure, streaming danglers and tatters like ephemeral shadows, flew swiftly toward her goal.