Once Upon an Autumn Eve (28 page)

“It is a grim philosophy you have, my lord,” said Liaze.

Lord Death did not reply.

When the banquet ended, once again he escorted her to her stark quarters, and within her chambers his obsidian eyes glittered at her, and he reached out and touched her auburn hair. It was all Liaze could do to keep from shrinking away.

Then Lord Terror turned on his heel and stalked from the room, and Liaze fell upon her bed and wept.

 

The next night they rode through the skies, and folk did they find abroad, and so they reaped more souls that darktide, but Liaze did not see ought of Luc or a black mountain. Again, they stopped at the inn and Liaze played her harp and sang while Lord Dread and his men drank of the black ale. As before, ere dawn they rode on to Lord Fear’s mountain, where they feasted as before.

During the banquet Lord Grim, cold as ever, whispered, “Princess, I would have you be my bride.”

Liaze suppressed a gasp, and she felt as if she had been struck a terrible blow in the stomach. Still, she managed to say, “My lord, there are better mates for you.”

“None so brave,” he whispered, his words as of shards of ice falling. “Others have cried out in protest at my nightly deeds, but you have not.”

“Even so, my lord, I yet say I am unworthy.”

“I would have you in my bed, Princess Liaze.”

Liaze inwardly shuddered and she remained mute, not trusting her voice to say ought.

“Think on it,” whispered Lord Fear.

Liaze canted her head in assent.

That night she lay curled in a ball on her black-satin sheets and she slept only fitfully.

 

Again they rode the Wild Hunt, and again they reaped souls, and again they stopped at the inn where the princess played the harp and sang. Once more they feasted in Lord Dread’s mountain hall, and this night in Liaze’s chambers the icy lord said, “I am impatient, Princess. What is your answer?”

“My lord, I yet say, I am unworthy.”

“Pha,”
whispered the dark lord, and he reached out and touched her hair, and she did not blench nor draw away. “None has stirred my heart as have you.”

Liaze merely smiled.

“Three nights from now, my lady,” Lord Fear coldly said, “I will take you to my bed, whether your answer be yea or nay.”

When he had gone, Liaze gave in to her tears, and she lay in bed and trembled, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped ’round tightly.

 

Two more nights went past, and the Wild Hunt had ridden and had reaped souls, yet Liaze had seen nought of Luc nor of the black mountain. And each of these nights Lord Dread had pressed her for an answer, but had also coldly reminded her that, no matter, he would take her to his icy bed.

By this time Liaze had decided on a plan, and if that failed, then she would attempt to kill Lord Fear in spite of the legends that he was a deathless being. And she sharpened her long-knife and flexed her bow and examined her arrows and chose among them.

And on the third and last eve of his averral, when Lord Death came to her chambers to escort her to the ghastly horses to ride the Wild Hunt, Liaze said, “My lord, I have heard of two things I would see: one is a black mountain; the other is a blue château. Have you ridden o’er these in the past?”

Lord Grim looked at her, a glitter of curiosity hinted at in his jet-dark eyes. “Oui, I have,” he whispered.

“Could our course this eve take us o’er these places?”

Lord Death pondered a moment.

“As a wedding present?” added Liaze, reaching out and taking the dreadful being’s hand, gritting her teeth as she did so.

The dark lord looked down at his hand in hers and nodded, and on toward the horses they went.

They mounted their wraithlike steeds, and Lord Grim blew the dreadful call on his dark horn. The mountainside opened; out flew the hounds; dark riders on dark steeds flying out after, black fire and shadows streaming in their wake. And in the lead rode Lord Death, Princess Liaze at his side.

Up they flew and away, up and into the night, a gibbous moon nearly full lighting the course among the ragged clouds.

O’er realms they sailed, Lord Terror passing over fleeing victims, ne’er sounding his demonhorn to signal the dogs to attack. For Lord Grim had a destination in mind, two destinations, in fact, and through shadowlight borders did he ride on his way to please his promised bride.

And over a blue manor in the center of a lake they flew, roses growing all ’round the shoreline. On the ramparts sentries stood, and knowing the fate of cowards they fled not as ’round the ramparts rode the Wild Hunt, hounds baying, shadows streaming, dark fire flying from hammering hooves.

Yet Liaze could see no sign of Luc, though he might well have been chained in the dungeons below.

Lord Death glanced at Princess Liaze and nodded, for he had delivered the first of the bridal gifts to her, and then he blew his horn and turned the Hunt onto another tack.

Through more shadowlight borders they ran, and still no victims did they take, for Lord Fear had other goals in mind this night.

And at last, in the distance ahead, Liaze could see a lone black mountain jutting up from a bleak plain, and the mountainsides glittered darkly in the moonlight, as if coated in obsidian. And the air above was cold, frigid, as if winter gripped the land, or as if the mountain itself was made of black ice.

And as they circled ’round the crest and ’round the crest once more, Liaze gasped and nearly cried out, for at the top, at the very top, under an open-sided pavilion, lay Luc, the knight asleep or deeply enchanted on a bed of black ice.

Lord Dread looked at Liaze and nodded, for the full of his bridal gift had been given.

“Straight to the inn, my lord,” cried Liaze, “for I would celebrate this night.”

Lord Death smiled a grim smile, and now he turned the Hunt, and away they flew.

As the dark horses ran through the air, Liaze took sight on guiding stars, for she planned on using them to follow on her return. And she fumbled into the rucksack at her side, and she withdrew the red scarf, her grip tight so as not to lose it. And she tied it ’round her neck, and it flew out behind in the wind of her passage. And she prayed to Mithras that Gwyd was in place and waiting, and that he would see the scarf, and that the plan he had hatched would work.
Oh, Mithras, please let it work.

As they came to a twilight border, Liaze tried to espy a landmark at the point of their crossing, but on this side she saw nought to guide her; yet, as they passed out of the far side, she noted a twisted tree, its arms pointing toward the shadowlight they had just flown through.

On sped the Wild Hunt, and again they came to a crossing, and she noted a jumble of boulders on this side, and a wide pool on the other.

On they flew and Lord Fear sounded his dreadful horn, and there ahead lay the magnificent inn. Down swirled the dogs, down spun the horses, down went Lord Dread and Liaze. And nowhere did Liaze see any sign of Gwyd nearby; she could only pray that the Brownie was nigh and had seen the scarf and was ready.

Her wraithlike horse came to a stop, and when Lord Grim had given her his leave, Liaze dismounted and entered the inn at his side.

The ghastly spirits of the shadowy riders gathered at the bar, but they took up no mugs of dark brew, for they had taken no souls that nighttide. Lord Death then raised his empty mug in salute to Liaze and icily whispered, “This night to my bride.”

The riders all hoisted their own empty glasses, and from many voices a ghostly echo wailed, whether in grief or joy Liaze could not determine, yet she smiled and took up her harp.

And once again she sang of life and living, and, as before, all the riders crowded ’round closely, trying to recapture the essence of that which they had once held dear.

And Liaze sang of children, and once more the shades of the riders groaned as would a chill wind swirl among icy crags.

And Liaze sang of love, and spectral riders wept ghostly wails at what they had lost.

And still Lord Fear sat unmoved and unmoving in his corner alone.

And Liaze sang of life and women and the joy of ordinary living: of fishing and hunting and the reaping of grain, of boats on a river and of sails on the sea, of farming and herding and planting trees, and of horses and cattle and going to market, and of things such as these and things more.

Her songs were filled with joy, and filled with tears, and filled with love. She sang ballads and ditties and long lyric poems, and the riders laughed ghostly laughs or wept spectral shades of tears.

And just as Lord Dread pushed away from his table, Liaze called out, “The Wild Hunt.”

She struck a chord and began a chant, and Lord Grim settled back to hear:

Liaze sang as she had never sung, her words telling of the Wild Hunt and of its reaping of cowardly souls, as well as the doom of heroes. And she sang that these fatalities and dooms mattered not to Lord Dread, Lord Fear, Lord Grim, Lord Terror, Lord Death, for the leader of the Hunt was cold and forbidding. And as Liaze sang she moved among the shades, and they sobbed as would a frail wind, and still Liaze sang and sang, verse after verse pouring golden words from her throat. And the silver harp seemed enchanted, the notes pure and clear, the concordant strings voicing precious harmony.

Yet at last she saw through the narrow gap in the drapery a tiny glimmer; ’twas the sign she and Gwyd had said would signal either her rescue or her ruin, and in that moment the song, the very song, came to an end.

And as Liaze’s voice and the silver strings finally fell silent, a quietness settled over all . . . only to be broken by a nearby cock’s crow.

Liaze threw back a drape, allowing in light from the rising rim of the sun just now broaching the edge of the world.

And ghostly wails went up from the shadowy riders, and they shrieked and screamed, and as if something had reached up from the ground below, they were jerked down through the floor, down into the earth, down out of sight.

In the shadows yet mustered ’round his corner, Lord Terror stood and glared at Liaze, his face distorted with insurmountable rage; palm up, he reached out toward her, and slowly his fingers curled into a clawlike clench, as if he were trying to crush her heart; but nothing whatsoever happened, for the cock’s crow and the light of the sun had rent his power from him.

And Liaze said, “Lord Death, though you aided me to find that which I seek, still, for the terror you bring to others and for rending from them their very essence, you deserve to be cast out of Faery. Hence, I call you by what I think Mithras Himself would say is your true name:
Voleur d’Âme
—Soul Thief.”

On hearing this last, Lord Fear’s gaze flew wide with fright of his own. He reached out to Liaze in a pleading gesture, but she said, “Voleur d’Âme, I banish you, I banish you, I banish you.”

His eyes wide with dread, his face twisted in horror, Lord Terror hoarsely cried out “No! No!” but shrilling and screaming he, too, was jerked down and down, down into the darkness below.

The princess gazed now at the empty chamber, empty of all but her. “Thank you, Lord Mithras,” she whispered.

And the air seemed to waver for a moment, and the fine inn, the splendid inn, became nought but a ramshackle ruin.

With tears in her eyes, Liaze packed the harp away, and Gwyd came running in and cried, “Ah, Princess, thank the Fates, ye still be here.” And he broke out weeping with joy.

Liaze smiled through the tears running down her own face and she knelt and hugged the wee Brownie. “Oh, Gwyd, Gwyd, I cannot—”

“Princess, Princess, hush, now, hush, for I would nae hae ye be blurtin out somthin we would both regret. Y’see, I would stay wi’ ye until this venture comes to an end, and f’r me t’be able t’do that, ye canna thank me, else I’d hae t’leave ye.”

Liaze squeezed the Brownie tighter, and they both wept in relief, and finally Gwyd said, “Och, lass, come out and see the glorious new day. Besides, there be someone I would hae ye meet.”

31

A
s they started for the door, Liaze said, “Are you certain, Gwyd, that Lord Fear will not retaliate?” “Nothin be certain, m’lady. Yet if the legend be true, then he will nae bother ye nor those ye cherish, f’r ye’ve passed his test o’ bravery, and ye hae ridden wi’ him, and, lastly, ye hae outwitted him . . . or rather, t’gether we hae done so, f’r ye kept him entranced until the sun came and the cock crew and he and his deadly Hunt vanished in the light o’ day.”

“Ah, Gwyd, that isn’t exactly what happened. You see, although the daylight caused him to lose his riders, he was yet present, though confined to the shadows in the inn. And so, there at the end, when the cock’s crow and the sunlight reft him of his power, I banished him.”

Gwyd’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. “Ye did what?”

“Banished him. You told me that if I knew his true name, I could banish him. I guessed what his true name might be, and it seems it was so. Either that, or Mithras Himself decided I was right in that Lord Fear deserved to be cast out of Faery.”

“Oh, nae, Princess. If ye banished him, he nae be cast out o’ Faery; instead, he be trapped in that mountain o’ his unless and until ye and your bloodline be nae more.”