“First was Rhensibe,” said Michelle. “Torn to shreds by Borel’s Wolves.”
“Then came Iniqui,” said Liaze, “kicked into everlasting fire by Deadly Nightshade, Luc’s warhorse.”
“Finally, Nefasi,” said Celeste, “slain by a god-made arrow.”
“And you three are responsible?” asked Simone.
“No more so than those three acolytes,” said Borel.
“In each case, Simone,” said Saissa, “the witches themselves had done terrible deeds and were about to do more: Hradian had changed one of my sons into a Bear and would mate him with a Troll; Rhensibe was about to slay Michelle and Borel with her very own poisonous claws; Iniqui would have drawn Celeste into the fire and would have let Luc die of exposure on a dark mountain afar; likewise was Nefasi set to kill your son Roel and would have slain Celeste, and the Lord of the Changelings would have left Laurent and Blaise as statues and used Avelaine as a brood mare. It was only because of these brave souls sitting here that none of that came to pass. It was Valeray’s deed that led to Orbane’s downfall, and it was Camille who upset Hradian’s schemes. And as far as the three slain acolytes, it was Borel who had called his Wolves, and Liaze who commanded Deadly Nightshade to attack, and Celeste who loosed the gray arrow, and these things spelled the end of Rhensibe and Iniqui and Nefasi. So is it any wonder that Hradian would seek vengeance?”
“Oh, non, Lady Saissa, that I understand,” said Simone. “It’s just that I wish none of it had come to pass, especially now that Avelaine is expecting.”
“Oh, Maman,” said Avelaine, “had it not come to pass, then I would never have met Chevell, and you would not have a grandchild on the way. And of course, we could not let that happen, now, could we?”
“Ah, young love and young mothers to be,” said Valeray, beaming at Avelaine, and then at Alain and Camille, at Borel and Michelle, at Liaze and Luc, at Celeste and Roel, and finally at his own Saissa. But then he sobered and raised his glass to them all and grimly said, “As declared apast by the Three Sisters, dreadful events lie ahead. Perhaps these ominous sensings the women feel are signs that those events are nigh upon us. Regardless and as I said once before, here’s to interesting times.”
To interesting times, said they all, though tears stood in Simone’s eyes and those of Saissa as well.
Glamours
“Now, where is that other gown?” snapped Hradian, searching among the musty clothes in the meager loft. “No, no, not that one, nor this one. Ah, here is the one. The same as I wore to Summerwood Manor five and some years agone. Such pretty danglers and lace, like smoke streaming. But it won’t do to wear it again as it is. No, I’ll have to cast a glamour over it, something to match-”
A deep-throated plaintive croak sounded.
Hradian turned and looked down at the doorway. “What is it, Crapaud?”
Another croak, this one with a needy edge.
“Oui, you may seek your breakfast, but return quickly; I have a duty for you.”
The monstrous toad-nearly the size of a bushel basket-
hitched about and waddled to the verge of the flet and toppled off to plop into the scum-laden water.
Hradian swung her attention back to the garment and sniffed the cloth. She didn’t smell ought, for her nose was completely inured to the reek of swamp bottom, and if the same malodor clung to the gown, it would escape her notice. “Bah,” she growled, “whether or no, it’ll air out on my flight, especially if I ride low o’er the desert.”
Down the wall-ladder she clambered, the gown over her shoulder. When she reached the floor, she slipped into the black dress and covered her nakedness. For perhaps the third time in her life she wished she had a mirror to admire herself, but mirrors are tricky things, and open to someone spying in upon her. Of course the surface could be covered with the right kind of impenetrable cloth, or the mirror could be turned to face the wall, or kept in a tight closet by itself for occasional and limited viewing; but still if a mage were powerful enough, he could launch an attack through the speculum itself whether or no the device was hidden, or covered, or in use. No, no mirror had she nor would she ever, except for a bowl filled with inky liquid, and that but a temporary tool to spy upon her enemies.
Instead she had to be content with looking down at herself only to see-“This won’t do”-that her grimy toes peeked out from the hem. “Shoes, yes shoes.” Hradian found her cracked leather slippers and tied the laces and hissed, “One day, and soon, my love, you’ll have nought but the finest soft footwear, of fur and satin and cloth and suede and whatever else you wish.” Hradian then scrabbled through her belongings and finally found what she wanted: a small pouch on a thong. She slipped the potion vial into it and secured the top and hung it about her neck.
Then, because the journey would be a lengthy one, she shoved a wedge of cheese and a loaf of bread into a small rucksack and looped the strap over her head and shoulder. Looking about and deciding she needed to carry nothing else, she took up her besom.
“Crapaud! Crapaud! Where are you?”
There came a squashy splop out on the flet, and the bloated toad, dripping water, waddled to the doorway. Part of something wiggling and slimy-the hindquarters and tail of a large newt?
a lizard? something else altogether? — dangled from the corner of Crapaud’s wide mouth, the toad trying to gulp it down, while the partly swallowed thing fought to extract itself.
“Crapaud, watch over the house,” commanded Hradian.
Crapaud emitted a croak, and in that same moment the thing escaped. But as it darted for the water- schlakk! — Crapaud’s long tongue snatched it up.
Without waiting to see if the thing was swallowed or not, Hradian mounted her twiggy broom and flew away, the trim and danglers from her dress flowing out behind her like ragged shadows melting away.
As soon as she was above the drifting miasma of the swamp, Hradian took a quick glance at the morning sun. “Must hurry, must hurry,” she muttered, and she goaded her besom to greater speed. “They will be well started by the time I arrive. A simple glamour will do at first, but then. .” With the wind of her passage whipping through her black hair, Hradian broke into laughter as she sped toward her destination.
. .
Twilight bound after twilight bound she crossed, and the sun rose up the sky. And in the marks after the sun passed through the zenith, Hradian cast her first glamour and then crossed another bound. In the forest below were any observing, unless they had Fey sight, they would see nought but a crow winging starwise. And even had they Fey sight, still they might see nought but a tremulous aura about the dark bird.
. .
A candlemark or so and a twilight bound later, in midafternoon the crow spiralled down to come to rest in a leafy forest.
Moments later, with a second glamour cast, a small girl, bearing a bouquet of wildflowers, stepped out from the trees and onto the green grassy field.
Faire
As Emile shoveled eggs onto his plate to go with the rashers and toast and jam, he asked, “Valeray, is there anyone else, other than this Hradian witch, and perhaps her master Orbane, who might wish to see you and your get dead?” Valeray shrugged. “None I can think of.” Then he looked at Saissa and grinned. “Oh, there are some lords and ladies and mayors and such who might yet hold a grudge against me for deeds long past when I was yet a thief. But I would think those resentments not enough to send someone or something spying, especially someone or something unseen.”
They sat outside on a balcony overlooking the tournament field, with its many tents where jongleurs and merchants and participants and fest-goers had come to entertain, to sell their wares, to enter the contests, or to otherwise engage in the faire.