Once upon a Spring morn

27

Span

Celeste unfolded the map and, after some study, said,

“It seems as soon as we cross the next twilight bound, we need bear due sunwise.” She passed the vellum to Roel.

After he looked at it for a moment, he pointed to a symbol. “What think you this marking means?” Celeste swallowed the bite of bread and leaned over to look. “Hmm. . WdBr. I have no idea, my love.”

“Think you it represents another one of the tests of which Lady Lot spoke?”

“Perhaps,” said Celeste, “for the first test-defeating Lokar-came right after we met her, and that was at the twilight bound.”

Roel frowned. “I think that was not the first test. For when I met you, it was brigands we fought. Then there was the poison of the blade. Then the attack by the Goblins, Bogles, and Trolls fell next. After that there were the corsairs. -Oh, and the Sirenes. Then came the giant Ogre. So, mayhap he was-what? — the sixth test?” Celeste nodded and took a bite of well-cooked beef; it and the bread and other foodstuffs as well as grain for the steeds had been provided by the grateful citizenry of Le Bastion.

Roel sipped a bit of red wine. “Tell me, cherie, are the Fates the ones causing these tests?” Celeste shook her head and swallowed. “Non, Roel.

The Fates merely see what lies before us. It is rare that they actually interfere with the course of men or with that of any given individual. -Oh, when someone breaks a solemn oath or even a serious wager, well, then, I hear that one or the other of the Sisters steps in to take a hand. -Pity the one who has transgressed, for soon or late, he will pay, and dearly.”

“If their interference is so rare, then why do they seem to plague you and your kith?”

Celeste shook her head in rue and peered into her own cup of wine. “My love, I do not know. Camille, Alain’s wife, thinks it has something to do with Wizard Orbane, though she knows not what that might be, for, in addition to the Fates, it seems we are also plagued by Orbane’s acolytes: Hradian, Rhensibe, Iniqui, and Nefasi.”

“Did you not say the witch Rhensibe is dead? Slain by Borel?”

Celeste nodded. “Not directly, but by his Wolves instead. . and Iniqui was slain by Liaze.”

“And this Orbane. .?”

“Ah, him. One or the other of the Fates-perhaps all three-told Camille that he would pollute the River of Time itself, if he ever got free.”

“And this pollution would. .?”

“I know not the effect, yet if the Fates think it dreadful, then I cannot but believe it would be terrible indeed.” Roel frowned. “Why do not the acolytes simply set him free? I mean, you have told me he is imprisoned in a castle beyond the Wall of the World. Why not simply storm the gates and free the wizard? During the war, my comrades and I assailed many a fortress-castles, palaces, bastions-and with our siege engines we were quite successful. So, why not simply attack with the proper forces and equipment and set Orbane loose from his shackles?”

Celeste shrugged. “I think the Castle of Shadows isn’t like an ordinary palace or fortress. And as to the Wall of the World itself, perhaps it cannot be breached. Besides, what the castle actually is, I do not know. Mayhap it is simply lost beyond the Black Wall of the World, and not easily found. Perhaps it is a moving castle, and when approached it simply vanishes. . goes elsewhere. When we have freed your sister and found your brothers, we will ask my sire these questions. Perhaps he has some answers.”

Roel smiled. “Moving castle, eh? That would make it difficult.”

Celeste laughed. “ ’Tis Faery, love.” On they rode, and the way became hilly, then rocky, and in the distance ahead they could see the twilight boundary rearing up into the sky. They came into a land of cliffs and massifs and deep gorges. And that eve they spent on the left bank of a swift-running deep river, with high stone walls rearing up o’erhead.

Swirling mist cloaked the next dawn as Celeste and Roel got under way. And still the passage was rugged.

The gorge they followed was narrow, and became even more strait. And the river roared, the sound trapped as it was between opposing sheer stone walls. And the horses became somewhat skittish, especially the mares, and only by patting the animals on the necks and speaking to them soothingly did Celeste and Roel move forward. Finally, just ahead the river filled the entire width, and on the left wall and barely seen through the hanging vapor a wide ledge rose up out from the water, and at its far end a narrow path led up and along the face of the stone bluff.

“ ’Tis good we are on this side of the flow,” said Celeste, “for I think we must follow that upward way.

Even so, we need turn or cross over somewhere; else we will stray too far from our course.”

“If we are to climb that path, we must reach it first, and here the river is narrow, the water likely deep,” said Roel. “Yet given the curve of the gorge, mayhap along the left wall it will be shallow enough to reach the trail upward. Let me go first.”

Roel tried to urge his mount forward, but the mare snorted and balked and laid back her ears and refused to enter the water, refused to go any farther into the roaring gap.

Roel ground his teeth and said, “Ah, me, would that I had my stallion. A splendid horse, he would brave anything.” Roel dismounted and tried to lead the mare into the flow, but with white, rolling eyes, the horse jerked back.

Now Celeste rode forward, her mare likewise balking at the thundering run, though it seemed a bit less skittish than Roel’s horse.

But Celeste leaned forward and laid a soothing hand alongside the neck of her mount and called out calming words. And hesitantly, and with the whites of her eyes showing, and snorting in dread, still the mare entered the rush, and Celeste’s placid gelding packhorse, though nervous, followed.

Roel’s mare stomped and whinnied and belled, calling out to the other mare, as if to tell her to come to her senses and return to the safety of this side. But Celeste urged her horse forward, and clinging to the wall, ahead they went, and the water roared and clutched at the animals’ legs, rising over hoof and fetlock, pastern and hock, and unto their very bellies.

And still Roel’s mare cried out, and Roel, knowing that the herd instinct was strong, mounted the horse and heeled her. And now the animal, though her sides heaved with fright and her eyes rolled white and she snorted in terror, entered the roaring water as well.

Ahead, Celeste finally reached the ledge, and up onto the broad shelf she rode, up into the mist, and Roel’s mare with his gelding in tow soon followed.

Roel’s mare calmed when she came up out of the water and onto the flat, for once again the herd was whole.

Roel dismounted and looked straight up the sheer stone wall. How high it went-a hundred feet or a thousand or more-he could not tell, for the fog shrouded all. He turned to Celeste and said, “The path looks steep, the way narrow. Best we lead the horses.” She nodded.

Roel took the reins of his mare in hand and said,

“Ready?”

“Ready,” replied Celeste.

And with Roel in the fore, afoot they began leading the horses higher into the swirling mist.

Whiter it got and thicker, and the roar of the river diminished, for sounds seemed muffled in the vapor’s grasp. Wetness clung to everything: animal, man, gear, path, and sheer-rising stone. The way narrowed, and in places Celeste feared for all of their safety, and she wondered how she and Roel would cope had they to unlade the packhorses, for there was not space to do such.

Up they went and up, along the slender and twisting path, and the higher they got, the more nervous became the horses, even the geldings.

“Roel, is your mare reluctant?”

“Oui, but I know not why. Surely they do not fear heights.”

“Ever since we entered this gorge, the horses have been edgy,” called Celeste. “I thought it the water and the noise, yet now I am not certain, for that is far below, and should by now be forgotten.”

“Mayhap ’tis the narrowness,” said Roel.

“Perhaps, though I doubt it.”

In spite of her reservations, it seemed to be true, for the animals continued to grow more uneasy along the constricted path. But then the way widened, yet even so, still the horses snorted and huffed, as if sensing an un shy;seen danger, and both Roel and Celeste had to murmur soothing words to somewhat calm the steeds. Finally they came to a broad flat, though the walls of the bluff yet rose on high.

“A bridge,” called Roel, still in the lead, but stopping.

“I can make out a bridge straddling the gorge.” And still the mist swirled, obscuring here, revealing there, and then shifting anew.

The flat was wide enough for Celeste to pull her unwilling mount forward until she stood next to Roel.

And through the swirling mist she could see glimpses of a lengthy stone span reaching from one side of the gorge to the other. “Ah, perhaps that’s what the Br in WdBr means: bridge.”

“Mayhap,” said Roel. “But what does the Wd mean?

Surely it can’t be ‘wide,’ meaning ‘wide bridge.’ ’Tis a bit too strait for that.”

“It matters not, love,” said Celeste, “for, in spite of this fog, somewhere just ahead must lie the twilight bound.”

“Well, then,” said Roel, and he started forward, Celeste following.

And as they moved toward the near end of the span, Roel could see along the length of the bridge short poles jutting up from the stone railings to either side, round objects affixed thereon.

Within ten strides he reached the stone structure, and there his mare flattened her ears and refused to take another step and pulled back on the reins. The gelding as well drew hindward, and together they hauled Roel back to where Celeste and the other animals stood.

“They sense something, love,” said Celeste.

“Let me go forward and see what I can find,” said Roel, and he handed the reins to Celeste, and then took his crossbow from its saddle scabbard and cocked and loaded it.

“Take care,” said Celeste, as he moved toward the bridge.

No sooner had Roel set foot on the pave than at the other end a giant of an armored knight-a great two-handed sword in his grip-stepped onto the far end of the span.

A crimson surcoat he wore, and the mist swirled, shrouding him and revealing him only to veil him again.

“Friend, we would pass,” called Roel.

He received no answer from the fog.

“Then we will hold and you may pass,” Roel cried.

Yet the armed and armored man, now vaguely discernible, did not respond but stood waiting.

Roel sighed and turned to Celeste. “WdBr means

‘warded bridge.’ ”

“Why would someone stand athwart this span?” asked Celeste.

Roel shrugged. “For toll? Perhaps that’s it.” Then he called out, “What be the toll?”

The giant of a man, some nine feet tall, made no response.

“Perhaps the Changeling Lord set him here to keep interlopers from his lands,” said Celeste.

Roel walked back to his horse, and unladed and un-cocked his crossbow and slid it into its saddle scabbard and the quarrel to the quiver. Then he slipped his helm on his head and took down his shield and drew Coeur d’Acier from its sheath.

“Cheri?” said Celeste.

“I must accept his challenge,” said Roel.

“I’ll simply feather him,” said Celeste, reaching for her bow.

“Were the air currents still and could you see him clear enough, perhaps,” said Roel. “But, non, my love,

’tis something I must do, for a gauntlet has been flung.” Celeste shook her head. “Men.”

“Nay, love. Knights.”

He tenderly kissed her and stepped onto the span and strode into the churning vapor. The moment he moved forward, so, too, did the massive warrior.

Her heart hammering with fear for Roel, Celeste strung her bow and nocked an arrow, not one of the blunts but a keen point instead.

Roel then passed a pike jutting up from the wall of the bridge, and now he could see the round object affixed thereon: ’twas the spitted head of a knight, helmet in place, rotted flesh dangling from bone. To left and right Roel looked as he trod onward. More pikes came into view; more knights’ helmeted skulls gaped at the passing warrior.

Oh, Laurent, Blaise, let none of these be you.

On he went through the clinging vapor, the huge knight coming toward him, mist eddying about.

“To first blood?” called Roel.

In response the Red Knight swung his huge sword up and ’round and brought it across in a crashing blow, only to meet Roel’s shield; yet the shock of the strike benumbed Roel’s left arm.

Again the giant swung his great sword up and ’round, but this time the massive blade met Roel’s Coeur d’Acier.

Clang! Chang! Blade met blade and metal screamed.

And Roel feinted and parried and struck, and the blades whistled through the air as back and forth knight and knight struggled, the fog churning about them. The giant of a knight hammered at Roel, his blows mighty, and of a sudden Roel reeled hindward and fell, for he had been struck upon the helm, the bronze and padding and a partial parry all that saved him from a crushing death. And the huge knight sprang forward, his great blade whistling down, only to strike stone, chips flying, for his target had rolled away. Roel gained his feet, and as the next strike whistled past, he stepped inside the reach of the knight of the bridge, only to be flung aside by the backhanded sweep of a mailed fist.

At the end of the span, horses danced and snorted and huffed in fear, yet Celeste paid them no heed. As the mist cleared she could see struggling figures, closing,

leaping apart, whirling about one another, blades swinging, the sound of their strikes like that of hammers on anvils. And Celeste drew and aimed, yet she could not loose her shaft, for in the blowing white vapor she could not be certain of her target nor the flight of her arrow given the swirling air.

And then the mist cloaked all, and still the cry of tortured metal rang along the gorge.

Forward, I must move forward. Yet what if I distract Roel? What will I-?

Of a sudden, silence reigned.

Oh, Mithras, is it-?

“Roel!” she called, her voice choked with fear.

Footsteps neared.

Celeste drew the shaft to the full and aimed into the white.

A fog-shrouded form appeared, yet she could not see just what or who it-

— and Roel stumbled out from the mist and fell to his knees, his dented shield clanging down beside him. His chest heaved and blood slid down his face.

Behind her the horses suddenly calmed.

Dropping her bow and arrow, with a cry of anguish Celeste sprang forward. “My love, are you-?” As she fell to her knees before him, he raised his head and looked at her and smiled. “Ah, Mithras, but he was mighty. Never have I fought so hard.”

“But you’re bleeding.”

“I am?”

“Oui. Your forehead.”

Roel reached up and touched his face and looked at the blood in surprise. Then he removed his helmet. “He struck my head a glancing blow. It must have happened then.”

Celeste examined the wound, more of a scuffing of skin than a cut. She embraced him and gave him a kiss and said, “ ’Twas your own helm did it, cheri. A bit of salve and a bandage should be enough.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll wait here,” said Roel, yet panting.

Celeste stepped to the horses and rummaged through the gear. Then she returned with clean cloth and a small tin. In moments she had Roel’s scrape salved and swathed. He took some of the remaining cloth and started to clean Coeur d’Acier, but the blade gleamed like new-there was no blood whatsoever upon the silvered steel.

“What th-? But I struck him through.”

“Something mystic is afoot,” said Celeste. Then she gestured hindward and said, “The horses knew.” Roel frowned down at his blade and then looked at the princess. “Come, let us see.”

Groaning to his feet, Roel stepped to the now-placid horses and took up the reins of his steed, Celeste following. Walking, they moved upon the span, the white vapor swirling with their passage, and the horses calmly let themselves be led, no longer skittish and balking.

As they crossed, Roel carefully examined each and every knight’s head spitted on a pike, fearing the worst for Laurent and Blaise, but whether those of his brothers were among the skulls so mounted he could not say, for with flesh rotted or gone and dangling hair in disarray he could see no resemblance whatsoever. He spent no time examining the helms, for doing so would yield nought, for, like him, Laurent and Blaise had traded all armor for gear of bronze in the mortal city of Rulon ere ever entering Faery.

When they came to the mid of the bridge, Roel looked about and frowned and said, “Here should lie the corpse of my foe, yet nought do I see.” On they went, Roel yet looking at the spitted heads but recognizing nought, and when at last he and Celeste came to the end of the span, there on a pike was mounted the visored helm of the giant Red Knight of the bridge, yet it was empty.

Roel turned to Celeste. “This was on the head of the one I fought, the one I slew. How can it be?” But ere she could answer, Roel muttered, “I know: Faery. ’Tis Faery.”

Before them gaped a tunnel into the stone of the opposite cliff, and into this they strode.

The sound of shod hooves rang and reverberated within the rocky way, yet ere long they emerged from the passage to come out upon a narrow plateau.

Directly before them and rearing up into the sky loomed the twilight wall.

They had come unto the next bound.