Once Upon an Autumn Eve (24 page)

Gwyd laughed aloud and then sobered. “Ah, m’lady, ’twill be dangerous, but, oh my, what a splendid thin’ t’do.” Again he broke out in laughter, while Liaze nodded and smiled.

28

J
ust after sunrise, Liaze awakened to the clink of glass as well as a voice from afar, and when she sat up Gwyd was removing wine bottles from a basket and wrapping them in cloth. At her wide-eyed look, Gwyd said, “Weel, Princess, I got t’thinkin I should go back and get some bottles o’ refreshment f’r the trail ahead . . . as weel as somthin t’wrap them in t’keep them safe from the jostlin, and so I did.”

Liaze smiled and shook her head. Then she turned toward the distant sound. “And that is . . . ?”

“Och, it be a message f’r any who might come by. Y’see, when I was leavin, j’st ere steppin out the door, I simply called out, ‘Warnin: this castle be cursed. It be best t’stay away.’ O’ course that now be what the place itself be sayin, and it might keep folks fra the door. Besides, if I e’er come back this way, there might still be some o’ this glorious and verra-weel-aged wine in the cellars f’r the takin.”

Liaze laughed and said, “Clever of you, Gwyd.” She got to her feet and kicked up the fire and set a pot of water on the flames for brewing tea. And while the liquid was heating, she took up a small pouch and went among the bushes to relieve herself and then down to the stream to wash and take care of her feminine needs. When she returned to the fire, the tea was steeping, for Gwyd—Brownie true—had taken care of the undone. Too, he had set out jerky and hardtack for their morning meal.

Liaze did not show gratitude to Gwyd, for as with all of his Kind, any offer of a reward or even a simple “merci” would drive a Brownie away. Just handing him the hardtack biscuits yestereve was coming close to breaking the Brownie proscription; but since they were not offered as a gift or a reward, but rather as something needed, Gwyd had accepted them and gladly.

“Would that I hae some eggs, Princess, then we would hae ourselves a feast.”

Liaze smiled and said, “The first town we come across, we’ll take a room at an inn, and, even if just for a day, we’ll eat sumptuously and rest in comfort, and then be on our way.”

Gwyd’s face fell into a troubled frown, as if trying to determine whether or not this was a gift or an offer of recompense. Finally he shrugged, and his visage once more took on its normal good-natured grin.

They ate jerky and hardtack and drank strong tea, and finally they broke camp—Liaze lading and saddling the animals, Gwyd quenching the fire and rolling the blankets into bedrolls and tying them with leather thongs.

Liaze looked at the diminutive Brownie—three feet tall at most—and she knew there wasn’t a way to shorten the stirrups enough on Pied Agile’s saddle to fit his small stature. Instead, she fashioned a second set of stirrups from a length of rope strung high along the sides between the forebow and cantle.

“Y’dinna expect me t’steer that great big thin’, now, do ye?” asked Gwyd.

“No, Gwyd. I’ll tether her behind Nightshade and tow you along.”

“Ah, weel and good. Me, I prefer a pony, and should we come across any—”

“Ah, Gwyd, there might come a time when we need to run at speed, and a pony would slow us down.”

“Ah, woe,” said the Brownie. “Then I be sentenced t’this great galootin beastie until our venture be done, eh?”

“It seems so,” said Liaze. “Now here, let me give you a boost up.”

Again Gwyd frowned, once more trying to determine if this were a gift of sorts.

“ ’Tis necessary,” said Liaze, as if reading his mind.

“Ah, weel then,” said Gwyd, and he offered himself for a lift.

Once upon the mare, Gwyd let out a crow. “Ah, if ma adopted cousin, a Pixie named Twk, could only see me now. I mean, here I am on a great horse, while Twk himself rides a saddled rooster.”

“A saddled rooster?”

“Aye. And Twk takes great glee in keepin the poor rooster awake and causin him t’crow at all hours o’ the night and disturbin folks fra their sleep. Ha! Those so disturbed always say the rooster must be pixilated, but they nae hae any idea j’st how right they be. Ah, but I do miss wee Twk and his pranks.”

Liaze laughed and said, “Mayhap we will meet him along the way, for it sounds as if he is a clever wit, and perhaps a wit such as his would come in handy, for we need a scheme to defeat Lord Fear after I have taken my ride.”

Liaze mounted up on Nightshade, and she turned him toward the vale with its twilight border at the far end.

Downslope they rode, the mare with Gwyd astride, and the geldings following. And as they wended toward the dell, Gwyd fell silent, the Brownie immersed in deep thought.

Into the vale they went, and Liaze stopped and let the horses take draughts from the brook running along the bottom. And she filled the waterskins to the full. As she did so, Gwyd said not a word, rapt as he was in his own pondering.

On down the dell they went, and then through the twilight at the end, and they came out on the crest of a tall hill, the slope falling away into a land of rolling plains, and in the distance a river glittered in the morning sunlight. Farmsteads dotted the ’scape, and leftward afar a forest spread o’er long slopes.

“Well?” said Liaze.

Gwyd made no response.

Liaze turned in the saddle and said, “Gwyd?”

“Huh?” The Brownie was jerked from his thoughts. “What?”

“Is this the place? If not, we can ride back through the border and try somewhere else.”

Gwyd looked about. “Ah, yes, Princess. Duncan’s manor be in those distant woods.”

“Hmm . . . Well then, we’ll head that way, but once I reach the line of trees, you’ll have to guide us toward the mansion.”

“Aye,” said Gwyd, and once again he fell to pondering.

 

It was nigh midday when they came to the forest. At Liaze’s call, Gwyd surfaced from his thinking, and he said, “Tell me, Princess, can ye sing?”

Liaze looked at him and frowned. “What has this to do with stealing the elixir?”

“Nought,” replied the Brownie. “Regardless, can ye sing?”

“I’ve been known to carol a
ballade
or two, not as well as Camille or Alain, but I’m a fair hand at it.”

“Can ye play a harp?”

Liaze sighed. “Oui. My père and mère thought it proper that all of us—Borel, Alain, Celeste, and I—learn several instruments: harpsichord, flute, lute, harp, and drum. But what does—?”

“I might ken a way t’break Lord Fear’s hold o’er ye, but y’ll hae t’do y’r part while I do mine.”

Liaze’s eyes flew wide in surprise. “You do? You have a way?”

“I nae be certain, and I’ll hae t’ponder on it some more, but I think it j’st might work, given the Fates be on our side.”

“Oh, tell me, tell me,” urged Liaze.

“Nae. Gi’e me more time t’think on it. But I’ll tell ye this: we need t’steal not only the elixir and the crystal decanters fra the Trolls and Goblins, but also the silver harp I left behind—’twas ma own—and we’ll need t’take one o’ the laird’s red scarves.”

“You’re not going to tell me, are you,” said Liaze, her words not a question.

“Ah, Princess, I dinna want t’get y’r hopes up. Besides I need t’take consultation wi’ them what might know. Then I’ll tell ye what I hae in mind.”

Liaze sighed in exasperation, but Gwyd said, “Go straight on f’r a ways. Up ahead we’ll stop and get some good rest—e’en sleep if we can—while we wait f’r night, cause we’ll nae be goin in t’the place until the wee marks. Then we need approach the manor fra the downwind side so as not t’be scented, especially the animals, f’r Trolls and Redcaps prize horse flesh above e’en that o’ Humans, though I think they would find ye a tasty morsel.”

Liaze shuddered to hear of the dietary habits of these Folk, and she said, “Then let us make certain that they do not sniff us out.”

 

In the moonlight they quietly slipped from tree to bush to tree and then to the low stone wall surrounding the mansion, Gwyd leading the way, for he knew every nook and cranny and rock and plant on the laird’s manor grounds. As they crouched by the wall, and as Gwyd peered through a slot where a brick was missing, Liaze softly said, “Tell me, Gwyd, with Trolls and Redcaps about, how think you the farmsteads nearby deal with such?”

Without taking his gaze away from the manor, Gwyd said, “I would think they ne’er go out alone at night—in fact put up barricades and stay wi’in—and they are nae doubt weel armed by now.”

Liaze nodded and said, “My thoughts exactly. Yet, were these Trolls and Goblins in my demesne, I would take a warband and clean out this vipers’ nest. Is there no one nearby to do the same?”

“ ’Twould hae been the laird’s t’do, f’r he was the first one raided and taken by surprise.”

“Were there no guards posted?”

Gwyd shook his head. “ ’Twasn’t needed ere the Trolls came, and then it were too late.—And speakin o’ guards, there do be a Redcap makin rounds.”

Gwyd moved aside and let Liaze peer through the slot. In the moonlight a Goblin shuffled alongside the building.

Liaze and Gwyd waited and watched, and finally, after several rounds, they determined that this Redcap seemed to be the only sentry.

“We’ll wait until he turns the corner on his next pass,” said Gwyd, “then we’ll make f’r the door t’the root cellar.”

“The root cellar?”

“Aye, it connects t’the wine cellars, and they in turn lead up and in. And we can slip through the halls and t’the second floor and t’the laird’s study, f’r that be where the elixir be kept as weel as the crystal decanters. Too, ma own quarters be in the cellars, and that’s where ma harp lies, assumin o’ course they have nae melted it adown f’r the silver it bears.”

“And the red scarf?”

“Next t’the laird’s study there be a dressin’ room, and several should be inside.”

“Ha, then, the most dangerous part is getting from the cellar to the study and back, eh?”

“Aye.”

“Then let’s have at it, my friend.”

As they waited, Gwyd said, “It be nae meet t’blame the laird f’r nae bein ready. He took a bad wound in his escape, and where he went I know not. But I hae nae doubt as soon as he be mended, he’ll be out raisin a warband. Yet all his weapons and armor and such lie in yon manor, and it’ll take a bit o’ time t’gather up the men and the gear he needs in order t’-take this place back and t’slay all o’ those what took it away in the first place.”

Finally the sentry passed once more, and the moment he rounded the turn, across the lawn they zigzagged, keeping to shade and bush, Liaze with an arrow nocked and a rucksack at her side, Gwyd with Liaze’s scabbard at his waist and her long-knife in hand, the blade a sword to one of his stature.

They came to a slanted cellar door, and, as Liaze stood watch, Gwyd haled on the handle, but it didn’t budge. “Garn! It be barred fra inside.”

Liaze glanced ’round and up. “We can climb to the balcony.”

“Aye,” said Gwyd, and he sheathed the long-knife and up a trellis he scrambled.

Liaze slipped her arrow back into the quiver, and slung her bow, and followed.

Just as she swung her leg across the balustrade, “Oi!” came a call from below. It was the Redcap guard. And he stood gaping up at them.

In the moonshadow, Liaze whipped her bow off her shoulder even as the sentry took a deep breath to shout.

“Foe!”
he yelled.
SsssThock!
The arrow took him in the throat, and he fell clutching his neck, a bubbling gargle now his cry. Momentarily his feet drummed the sod, and then he fell still.

In the near distance sounded a door opening.

“Come, quickly,” hissed Gwyd, and he stepped to the glass doors, but they were locked. Liaze jabbed a leather-clad elbow into a pane, and it shattered. Gwyd reached through and twisted the handle, and they slipped into the darkened room.

By moonlight they crossed the chamber, and Gwyd stood with his ear to the door, listening.

From outside the manor there came a deep call: ’twas the voice of a Troll.

Footsteps went running past in the hall just beyond the door.

Silence followed.

Gwyd opened the panel a crack and peered outward.
“Now!”
he hissed, and he stepped into the corridor.

Down the passageway he ran, Liaze following, and he darted into a chamber. Liaze came after, and Gwyd stood, his fists clenched in rage, peering at a large desk. “Those bloody fools!”

In the moonlight on the desk Liaze saw a jumble of papers and a heap of coins—gold, silver, bronze—next to an empty crystal vessel lying on its side and another standing upright, with their stoppers and a crystal bar lying between. “What is it, Gwyd?”

“Knobbleheads! They’ve drunk all the elixir.”

Liaze groaned.

“Stupidly thinkin, no doubt,” said Gwyd, “ ’twas nought but apple brandy.”

“What can we do?”

“The decanters are here and unharmed”—he took up the crystal bar and examined it—“as well as the bridge, and can we get some more o’ the golden apples, we’ll be all right.” Liaze drew squares of cloth from the rucksack at her side, and Gwyd capped and wrapped each decanter separately and then the bar and slipped them into the bag. Then he laded fistfuls of coins onto another square and tied it tightly so as not to jingle and slipped the improvised purse into the rucksack, saying, “We ne’er ken when treasure might be needed.”

On the grounds outside there was a hue and cry and a thrashing about of bushes.

“The red scarf,” said Liaze, and Gwyd stepped to a hidden door and within the chamber beyond, and a moment later he emerged with a scarlet length of winter neckwear. Into the rucksack it went.

“Now f’r ma harp.”

In the yard a Troll roared and Goblins squealed, as the search for intruders went on.

Back into the corridor went Gwyd and Liaze, blade in hand and arrow nocked. Gwyd ran to a stairwell and listened, then darted downward, Liaze running quietly after.