Once Upon a Winter's Night (52 page)

Rushing to his side, “Alain, Alain, my love,” whispered Camille, “ ’tis—” But there was no response, though the prince did breathe. Camille shook him, yet he lay slack. Then Camille opened his fist, and therein was the note Lanval had hidden under the porridge bowl that very morn.
He found it and read it and knew I was here, and he was waiting for me. But then, somehow, he could not avoid being drugged . . . or, wait! Bespelled!
That
was what the chanting was about. Someone bespelled my love with sleep. Oh, what am I going to—?

“See my pretty?” croaked Dre’ela.

Camille tucked the note into her pocket and then, hoping that Dre’ela would not see the tears running down her face, she turned and gape-mouth grinned and held up a nugget and said, “Shiny.”

Dre’ela stood in the doorway, her golden-shuttle necklace gleaming in the candlelight next to the golden spool.

 

“It wasn’t a drug,” said Camille weeping, “but a spell instead. He had the note. He had the note. Yet it will do us no good.”

“There, there,” murmured Lanval, as he held her and stroked her hair. “It will be all right. It will be all right.”

Camille pushed herself away. “How can you say that, Lanval? Tomorrow is the very last day, the very last day of all.” She snatched up the stave and shoved it toward Lanval. “See!” A hairline-thin crescent was all that was left on the dark disk.

“My lady, you said yourself, you will signal the Dwarves.”

“But, Lanval, it was you who said it would take a miracle for any to invade that stronghold.”

Silence fell between them, but finally Lanval said, “I see no other choice. You must slip out to the cove and set the signal fire. And even though I would rather be at your side, I must stay behind to be in the citadel then, so that I can try to open the gates and let them in.”

Camille’s eyes lighted with a bit of hope. “If you can get the gates open, then there
is
a way to invade after all.”

Lanval took up matches and candles and handed them to Camille. “They took the oil, yet use these to start a fire with dry branches, and when it is well burning then cast green ones on. That should raise a plume for the Dwarves to see.”

Camille nodded and packed her rucksack. She took up the cane and slid it through the loops, then fetched sleeping Scruff and put him in the high breast pocket. “Ready,” she said at last.

“When the next patrol passes,” said Lanval. He blew out the candle and went to the window and raised the blind and peered into the darkness beyond. Long he looked, and then he gasped.

“What is it?” asked Camille, making her way through the darkness to his side.

“Across the street,” he whispered. “On the roof.”

Camille stared through the darkness, and finally in the starlight she made out the silhouettes of three or four Goblins atop the low building opposite.

Lanval said, “No doubt they are Dre’ela’s guards, waiting to follow you wherever you might go to fetch items of true gold.”

“Can we not provide a diversion, something to draw them away?” whispered Camille.

Lanval hissed, “I could do so, but then who would open the gates?”

Camille sighed. “Let us wait, for mayhap they will go away after a while, or even fall asleep.”

Long did they wait, yet the Goblins remained alert. Finally Camille said, “Mayhap we can set this house afire and in the confusion I can slip away.—Oh, but no. Wait. If we set the house afire, then the Dwarves will think it the signal, and come entirely too soon.”

Plan after plan they examined, rejecting them all. The only one which seemed to have a chance of succeeding was to place against one wall all the wood they could gather, including the furniture, and setting a candle among tinder such that when it burned down far enough it would start a fire . . . sometime after they were in the citadel proper, they hoped.

And so it was they closed the blind again and broke apart the table and chairs and bed and the drawers in the one chest of drawers, and added the firewood, too.

 

Dawn came, and Goblins went through the town pounding on doors, rousting everyone out. Lanval lit the candle that stood among wood shavings just ere his own door was hammered upon, and he and Camille stepped outward, she with her rucksack and stave and Scruff in the high pocket, and the last of the golden gifts in the pocket at her waist. As they started away amid the kitchen crew, Camille looked back. Redcaps dropped down from the low roof of the building opposite Lanval’s, and—

Moments later, one of the Goblins charged back out holding the candle aloft, and he yelled, “You’ll pay for this, you Human dung, once the cham finds out.”

Tears flooded Camille’s eyes, yet she brushed them angrily away.
No time for tears, Camille, but for finding a way out of this mess.
And she thought furiously, yet nothing of worth came to mind.

It was only as they crossed the drawbridge that she noted that
all
the slaves were being herded into the castle.

And lo! she found herself walking alongside Blanche, and at Blanche’s side strode Renaud.

“Blanche,” she hissed, “ ’tis me, Camille.”

Blanche gasped, surprise in eyes so dark they were black, and by this feature alone did Camille then know that this was truly her Blanche. “Camille?”

Camille nodded.

Blanche jabbed Renaud and whispered, and Renaud turned his own grey eyes to Camille in surprise.

As they tramped through the jinking passageway through the citadel wall, Camille whispered, “You do not work in the fields?”

Blanche shook her head and reached out and clutched Camille’s hand and said, “None shall work in the fields this day, the day of the chamumi’s wedding.”

Camille sucked in air through clenched teeth, and Blanche squeezed Camille’s hand in sympathy, but ere she could say aught else, they passed into the castle proper and Camille and Lanval and the kitchen crew were separated out and set to cooking, while the remainder of the slaves—all but the rat catchers—were put to work cleaning the great hall, for here would the wedding be held and the cham, chamum, and chamumi would have the chamber look quite splendid on this, Dre’ela’s wedding day.

 

Breakfast came and went and food was taken to the Bear, and still Camille had no plan. The great hall was swept and shoveled and, time after time, slaves carried litter out through the gates to cast it into the depths of the dry moat.

Midmorning came, and then late morning, and finally, as the last of the trash was borne outward, the great gong sounded, and Redcaps came running, and all the slaves were gathered into the great hall, for Chamumi Dre’ela would have many guests at her nuptials, even if some were nought but Human slaves. And so, with the Goblins wielding scimitars and tulwars and spears and standing ward, all the slaves were gathered in and all the Goblins as well, and the great doors were shut behind, for the chamumi would have no one sneaking out during the upcoming ceremony. Again the gong sounded, and, amid huzzahs from the Goblins, the cham, chamum, and chamumi,
and the Bear
came down the long stairway, the Bear a pale yellow-brown.

The wedding was at hand.

And Camille could not think of aught to do.

While Goblins yet shouted, the three Trolls took to their thrones, and they left the Bear at the foot of the low dais, perhaps as a sign of his servitude.

Once again the gong sounded.

Silence fell.

Olot stood and held out his hands as if in benediction, and he smiled, his scum-coated tusks gleaming as of fresh, green slime.

And then he bellowed for all to hear, “In but moments my fine and lovely daughter”—a great shout of leering approval broke out, and Dre’ela stood and awkwardly curtseyed, golden spool and shuttle on hemp twine about her neck dangling and swinging, along with stolen rings and brooches and other such, all made into bangles for neck and wrist. She sat back down, not at all modestly, and some Goblins crowded forward the better to see. Nodding his approval, Olot continued: “Soon my fine and lovely daughter will be married to the Prince of the Summerwood.” Now Olot gestured at the Bear, and once again Goblins howled in delight. Olot raised his hands, and when quiet fell, he said, “A prince who is cursed to be a Bear by day, though he may choose to be a Man or a Bear by night, a curse my daughter herself laid upon him for spurning her advances, and now he must wed her, for his Human lover found out he was the Bear. And by my own curse, he and his household were brought to this isle to serve us, for his Human face was seen by his Human lover, who betrayed him despite being warned. And so by the geas set upon him by my clever daughter, he must marry her, and she is greatly aroused by the prospect of mating with a Bear.” Now all the goblins hooted with excitement, and Dre’ela smiled her own tusky smile.

Olot held up his hands, and quietness fell. “Why should we do this? Why mate my daughter to a filthy Human? Or even a Bear? Heed! I have been planning this ever since our former master was thrown into the Great Darkness. Once we were free of him, I said to myself,
no more
would we bow to
any
master. Instead, we and our kind will become the masters ourselves. And as masters it is our due to live in the lap of luxury. And we will do so in Summerwood Manor and rule the Summerwood, for, with this marriage, Dre’ela will be the rightful and true princess of all therein.”

At this pronouncement, Chamum Te’efoon hooted with glee and clapped her hands, and all the Redcaps whooped in elation.

Olot let the shouting nearly run its course. Finally he raised his hands and called out, “Now let us get on with the ceremony, and it’s a formality, I know”—he grinned a tusky grin—“but does anyone wish to challenge this wedding?”

And even as Redcaps smirked at one another, from the back of the chamber a small voice said, “I do.”

O
lot’s yellow Troll eyes flew wide in disbelief. “What?” he roared, glaring out over the assembly, looking for the miscreant.

“I do so challenge!” Camille cried out. “I challenge, for the prince is consort to me!” Shaking off Lanval’s restraining hand and gripping her staff, Camille pushed forward through the throng. As she emerged from the crowd to step toward the low dais, she cast off her head scarf, and her golden hair cascaded down. And many slaves—those from Summerwood Manor—now gasped in recognition.

“You!” cried Chamumi Dre’ela, rage in her eyes.

“You!” cried Olot, lust in his.

The Bear raised his nose in the air and snuffled, then rushed to Camille’s side, and she threw her arms about his neck.

Even as she hugged the Bear, Te’efoon roared, “And just who are you to make such a claim?”

Camille stood and called out, “I am the Princess of the Summerwood, consort of Prince Alain.”

“You claim to be his wife?” shouted Te’efoon. “Were banns posted, a king notified, perhaps the king of Faery?”

Camille stood defiantly, yet she said, “No. No banns. No notification of a king. Yet we are joined by the bonds of love and also by common law.”

“Ha!” shouted Olot. “Since I am the first cham, the first king, to know of this, I deny that a marriage between you and he ever took place.”

But Camille was not to be deterred, for she had finally captured the elusive thought that had skittered ’round the edge of her mind—a thought concerning the Fates and wagers and living up to the terms of a contest. She looked into the faces of all three Trolls on the dais—cham, chamum, and chamumi—and said, “Nevertheless, I do challenge.”

A great hubbub filled the hall, among slaves and Goblins alike, for this chit of a girl challenged a Troll.

A great smile swept over the faces of the Trolls, tusks gleaming greenly, and Cham Olot raised a taloned fist and said, “Then I name the terms: combat to the death.”

Rage in his eye, the Bear reared up on his hind legs and roared, his black claws ready to strike.

Goblins shrieked, and Dre’ela cried out in fear. Chamum Te’efoon leapt up to flee, her throne crashing over backwards. Olot quailed, thrusting his hands out before him, to ward off any coming blows.

And, lo! Scruff struggled up out of Camille’s pocket and took to wing! The tiny sparrow
flew
! Camille gasped in astonishment as up and ’round he circled, and then shot through a high window slit and away. Yet Camille had no further time to wonder, for even then the Bear took a step toward Olot.

“Remember my curse, Bear: if you kill me, then you die,” shouted Olot.

Camille reached out a hand, trying to stay the Bear, and she cried, “Oh, Bear, oh, Alain, I would not have you die. Better that it be me.”

But the Bear was not to be deterred, and took another step forward.

Olot threw up both hands. “All right, all right, not combat to the death. She can name the challenge, but I shall name the terms.”

At that, the Bear looked back at Camille, and she nodded.

The Bear dropped to all fours.

“One of the terms,” said Olot, looking at Camille, “is that whatever you choose, the means for such must be in this chamber.”

Again the Bear looked at Camille, and again she nodded, all the time her mind racing:
What can I possibly challenge him with? A singing contest? No! Remember Chemine’s warning: “Let not this girl sing to Goblins and Trolls.” Besides, Trolls and Goblins no doubt think that croaking or roaring is splendid singing, and I can do neither, hence I would lose were one of Olot’s stipulations be that goblins would judge.