Once Upon a Winter's Night (56 page)

They spent a week in Atterrage, resting and arranging for transportation. Alain also arranged with Kolor to return to this port on his way to get Big Jack, some ten moons from then, and take on Giles as a passenger and deliver him to the L’Île de Camille, or to give passage to whomever Alain chose as regent-in-training should Giles not wish the task.

Finally came the day of departure, with the
Nordavind
going one way, and the household of Summerwood Manor going another. With tears in her eyes, Camille bade au revoir to Kolor and crew, and just as Big Jack had vowed, so too did Kolor pledge that should Camille ever need him and his crew again, they were at her beck. She kissed the Dwarven captain on the cheek, and then stepped back to Alain.

And Camille and Alain stood adock in the dawn and watched as the
North Wind
once again blew out over the waters. And when they could no longer see the ship, they sighed and turned about and left the sea behind.

 

Two fortnights after, as dusk drew down on the land, a train of ten red coaches came curving up the oaken lane and unto Summerwood Manor, and to Camille’s wondering eyes, the place stood warmly lit by lanterns of welcoming. As Camille and Alain alighted from the lead coach, tiny Lord Kelmot strode forth to greet them, a lynx padding at his side. Scruff, asleep in Camille’s pocket, took no note of the cat.

As the other red coaches disgorged their passengers, “Welcome home, my lord and lady,” said Kelmot, with a wee, sweeping bow. “I was told you were on your way.”

Alain bowed and Camille curtseyed in return, and Camille said, “But how, who—?”

“ ’Twas a message from Lady Sorcière,” said Kelmot, “delivered by Jotun the Giant, though he was very small when I spoke with him, yet quite a bit larger when he left. Regardless, my lord and lady, welcome home.” Kelmot stepped aside and gestured Camille and Alain within.

Alain offered Camille his arm, and together they entered the manse, Lanval and the staff following after. And they found the place well lighted and clean and set to rights, the damage of the wind all gone.

Camille looked down at Kelmot, an unspoken question in her eyes. He grinned and said, “I called upon a few friends of mine to help—Brownies, I believe you would name them, though to me they are the Nis and the Pech.”

“Where are they?” asked Camille. “I would like to thank them for—”

Of a sudden, Alain put a finger to Camille’s lips. “My love, one should never thank a Brownie, else he will leave in high dudgeon.”

Camille frowned, but then smiled and curtseyed to Lord Kelmot and said, “Well, if that is the case, my wee friend, my thanks do then go to you.”

Kelmot smiled and bowed in return, then leapt astraddle his lynx. He grinned his catlike grin, catlike teeth and catlike eyes agleam, and he said, “I am glad you are safely home, my lord and lady, and now I must be off to mine.” And the lynx bounded out through the open door and vanished into the dusk.

Alain closed the door after, and turned to Camille and said, “Well, my love, I wonder what there is to do, now that our guest is gone.”

Camille looked at Alain in all innocence and said, “Indeed, what is there to do?” Then she grinned and said, “I’ll race you.” And she darted for the stairs.

T
hey sat in the game room, playing échecs. It was Alain’s move. As he studied the board, Camille studied him, for though she had lived with Alain for a moon and a fortnight on L’Île de Camille, and another seventy-two days with him on the
North Wind,
and then even more days in Atterrage and on the journey to Summerwood Manor, she yet marvelled at the fact that she could see his beautiful face and see him in the daytime, to stroll the grounds of the manse or to take meals in the gazebo or to wander the hedge maze or to do whatever they would, all with the sun above.

Finally Alain exhaled, and turned his king on its side. “You take this one, my love, yet I’ll take the next.”

“Ha!” said Camille, grinning as she set the board again, with its spearmen and warriors and heirophants and such.

A discreet knock came at the door, and Lanval entered. Alain looked up. “Yes?”

“My prince, ’tis a trivial thing, but someone has stolen the small lockbox.”

Camille laughed. “ ’Twas I, Lanval. I am the miscreant. I had forgotten all about it. You’ll find it buried in Andre’s compost pile by the stables. I hid it after I took some coins to see me through my quest, though little good it did, me being robbed in Les Îles. Dig in the center, and there it will be.—And, oh, by the bye, you’ll find it damaged; I had to break in with a hammer and chisel . . . Renaud’s.”

Alain laughed. “Quite the burglar are you, my dear? Tools and all?”

Camille fluttered her eyes at Alain and said, “Why, whatever do you mean, sieur? Would I even know how to handle such devices? I am sure I would be all thumbs.”

They both broke out laughing.

Lanval smiled and shook his head and left them to their games.

Alain sobered and said, “Burying the box in compost, that was clever, my dear. But even more clever was presenting to Olot those double-answer posers, and challenging him to remove the wax, and solving the riddles of the Fates Themselves.”

Without comment, Camille smiled at Alain, then gestured at the board. She would play white this time.

He nodded, and she unconventionally opened the game by stepping forward the spearman who stood just to the right of the white queen’s heirophant.

As Alain pondered his response, Camille’s eyes wandered to the échecs board on the central table, the one reserved for Alain’s sire and dam should they ever be found. Then she stared up at the portrait of Lady Saissa, she with her black hair and black eyes. Then she turned and looked at Lord Valeray’s portrait, grey eyes and dark hair, though not as black as the lady’s. And as she looked, a thought eased at the edge of her mind, something that Alain had said, yet she could not quite recall what it—

“Your move, Ma’amselle Burglar.”

Camille grinned, and studied the board. Alain had sprung his black king’s warrior across—

“I have it!” she shrieked, Alain starting back. Camille leapt up from the table and darted to peer at Lady Saissa’s portrait, then whirled and dashed across to Lord Valeray’s. “Alain, I might know where your parents are.”

“What?” Alain, scrambled to his feet. “Where?”

“Oh, love, I might be wrong, but you said that I had solved the riddles of the Fates Themselves, but there is one I had not, for I knew not then what it meant. I still might not know what it means, but I do hope I am right.”

“Which riddle is that, Camille?”

“Urd’s last.”

“ ’Tis done,” said Alain. “The ribbon is laid.”

“Good,” said Camille, “for they know not the path, and we can but hope the ribbon will guide them, for neither of us nor anyone else must lead; ’tis my belief they need do this voluntarily, else it might have no effect.”

Alain nodded.

Camille hugged him. “And be prepared for disappointment, for I am not certain I am right. But if I am, then something wonderful will happen.”

At Alain’s second nod, Camille said, “You go on in; I’ll be at the gazebo. And remember, when I ring the bell—”

“I remember,” said Alain, his voice tight with tension.

With Scruff on her shoulder, Camille turned and headed for the gazebo, while Alain entered the hedge maze.

A quarter candlemark later, just as the sun reached the zenith, Blanche stepped from the manor and started for the gazebo, a tray of food in her hands. And at nearly the same time, Renaud rounded the corner of the manse and headed for the gazebo as well.

When they arrived, as Blanche laid out the lunch on the table—bread and cheese and petit fours and tea, and a small bit of millet seed for Scruff, who hopped down and began pecking away—Camille craned her neck about as if looking for someone and said, “Renaud, the prince would like to know how goes the crafting of shoes for the horses to come, now that the Bear is gone. But I don’t see Alain at the moment. Hmm . . . ” Her eyes lighted on a small bell on the table. In spite of her tension, she laughed gaily and said, “I know, why don’t I just ring for him?”

“Oh, Camille,” said Blanche, “the prince isn’t someone you just—”

But Camille took up the bell and jingled it quite hard, the tinkle ringing across the sward.

As Camille set the bell back to the table—

“Help! Help!” came a cry.

Scruff lifted up his head.

“Oh, help me!” came another cry.

Scruff took to wing, flying for the maze, even as Camille cried out, “Alain, Alain!”

“ ’Tis the prince,” gasped Blanche, but Renaud was already running toward the hedge.

Camille scrambled to her feet and followed Blanche, the handmaiden running swiftly after Renaud.

Now others ran toward the maze, one of these Lanval, though he and they were yet a distance away.

Renaud was first to the entry, where he hesitated, for he did fear this place: “I think if I ever went in there, I would lose myself forever,” once he did say to Camille.

Then Blanche reached the entry, and she hesitated too, for she shared Renaud’s fear.

But then Alain called out again, “Oh, help me! Help me!”

Gritting his teeth, Renaud, with Blanche right behind, darted inward, both casting their fears aside. Without realizing it, Renaud followed a long ribbon lying on the ground and twisting into the labyrinth.

Camille stopped at the entrance, and even as Scruff flew back over the hedges and landed on her shoulder, chirping an irritated “
chp!
” Lanval arrived. “Keep the others out, Lanval,” Camille said, then she darted within.

Twisting and turning, Renaud and Blanche ran through the high hedgerows, the ribbon guiding their feet. Winding and weaving, jinking left and right, at last they came to the very center of the maze, and there they found Alain waiting, standing beside the statues of his parents.

And even as they gaped at the completely unhurt prince, and then looked full at the effigies, a great burning came over the smith and handmaiden; Alain cried out and leaped forward to aid, but the furious flames cast no heat, and the two within were not harmed. And so he stepped back, as Camille, now at the center as well, chanted Urd’s final allusion:

And Blanche and Renaud disappeared in the flames as the glamour burned away, and when the fire dwindled and vanished, where they had been now stood Lady Saissa and Lord Valeray, each of them somewhat dazed.

 

In the faraway town of Lis, there where Camille had first boarded the red coach, in the stable across the street from the Golden Trough, two people who but for the hue of their eyes were twins of Camille’s Blanche and Renaud, two people who had had no memory of who they had been, two people who, some eighteen years past, had titled themselves Clarisse and Georges, those two people suddenly knew their identities: they were the true Blanche and Renaud. How they had lost their memories, how they had been whisked from Summerwood Manor to the town of Lis those eighteen years agone, they had not the vaguest idea, though each of them knew that magic was somehow involved.

 

But in the maze at Summerwood Manor: “Mother! Father!” cried Alain with tears in his eyes, and he embraced them both.

 

Great was the rejoicing there in the labyrinth, and great the joy as well when the King and Queen of the Forests of the Seasons emerged arm and arm with Alain and Camille.

Lanval bowed low and glanced at Camille and then said, “My lord Valeray, my lady Saissa, your quarters are ready and raiment has been laid out, for we were expecting you.”

Valeray raised an eyebrow. “Expecting us?”

Lanval canted his head toward Camille and said, “The Lady Camille told us you would come . . . or rather that you might.”

 

“It was someone we trusted,” said Lord Valeray, “one of magekind who had been here before and has come since, and who cast the curse that transformed us, and in evil glee made us fear the very thing which would set us free.”

“The sight of our likenesses in the heart of the maze,” said Lady Saissa.

“Was this done using a clay amulet?” asked Camille.

At Valeray’s nod, Alain growled, “A Seal of Orbane.” Then he looked at sire and dam and asked, “And who was this trusted mage who came and did this to you?”

Rage filled Lady Saissa’s eyes, and she said, “It was—”

“Hradian!” exclaimed Camille. “The witch Hradian.”

Saissa looked at Camille in surprise. “Yes, but how did you know?”

Camille turned up a hand. “When you said it was someone you trusted, then did I remember how Hradian was dressed: the crone accoutered in black, with black lace frills and trim and danglers. She looked as if she were streaming tatters and tendrils of shadow, just as was the silhouette that flew across the moon, just as was the glimpse of the figure I saw there in Orbane’s citadel. And when she came to Summerwood Manor, ostensibly to remove a curse, she was sly-eyed and leering. Oh, how she must have gloated, knowing that she was at the root of all.”