The Black Swan (25 page)

Siegfried knitted his brows, thinking. “Yes—but I haven't bothered to hunt there for years. The last time I was there was disappointing; the only birds I ever saw there were a few paltry teal and some crows.”

“When Her Majesty asked you to find swans for the fête, knowing that it was not quite the season, I took the liberty of sending out a few men to scour the countryside to see if they could find any,” Uwe said, “And one of them just returned with the news that there is a migrating flock at that lake, believe it or not!”

“Hah!” If there had been anything needed to put the feather on Siegfried's pleasure, it was that. “Well done, Uwe! You have saved us a great deal of fruitless searching!”

“My pleasure, sire,” the minstrel replied, and bowed as he returned the way he had come. “My pleasure.”

He might as well have been on the moon once he was a few paces away, for Siegfried completely forgot about him in the anticipation of a fine hunt.

“The lake is quite a distance from here, Siegfried,” Benno pointed out. “It will take us most of the day to get there, at least, even on horseback.”

“There's a full moon tonight,” Siegfried replied. “We can hunt by moonlight. We might just as well take some supplies and camp there overnight. . . .” He brightened even more as he recalled the presence of a small village near the lake, a village that boasted a fine inn with excellent beer. “Better yet, we'll stay at the village inn, and we'll take Wolfgang with us!”

“Wolfgang?” Benno laughed, no doubt recalling the last time they'd taken Wolfgang out of the palace. “Do you think we can persuade him into a saddle?”

“I'll put him on my palfrey this time; she has the sweetest gait of any horse in the stables. He needs to get out of the library before he goes blind; he's been poring over that new play too long.” Siegfried had no doubt that he could lure his tutor out on the trip; Wolfgang had more than once mourned aloud that his pupil would have little or no time for him once he was presented with his bevy of would-be brides, and even less when the actual bride was chosen. This would be an excellent chance for the three of them to have an outing all by themselves, and the lively discussions that were sure to ensue would keep the journey from growing tedious.

“He can stay at the inn while we go on to the lake,” Siegfried continued, planning the thing in his mind. “The peasants will entertain him, I've no doubt, and he can probably find enough in some of their tales for that book of his.” One of Wolfgang's ongoing projects was a book of peasant tales; he had a theory that the ballads of the great minstrels eventually trickled down to the peasants, though changed to reflect a peasant's life.

“All right,” Benno said, agreeing to the whole project. “I'll go coax Wolfgang out of the library, you go order the horses and gear.”

“Right! Give me your bow, and I'll see it's packed up. I'll see you at the stable.” Willingly Siegfried took the second crossbow and quiver from his friend, and the two parted on their errands.

From above, the lake looked like every other body of water they had stopped at. Twilight lingered; soft blue dusk-light filled the great inverted bowl of the sky, with only a few stars showing faintly in the east. To the west, the cloudless sky held the last recollections of the crimson sunset in the form of a pale blue glow. It was beautiful up here—but not down there.

If Odile could have shivered in this form, she would have, and she hoped that the others hadn't set their hearts on that imagined hunting lodge, because if they had, they were going to be heartbroken. The waters of the lake, cold, dark, and foreboding, spread beneath them, shaped like a very fat spider with splayed legs, squashed into the forest floor. Mist wreathed the shore, and crept into the branches of the huge black pines around it. Ancient pines they were, perhaps the oldest Odile had ever seen, with their boughs sagging toward the earth in melancholy mourning. Rock cliffs made up most of the shoreline, and in the middle, a single spear of stone stabbed upward, lancing through the very heart of the lake.

The great owl led the way downward, and the flock of swans followed him with exhaustion in every beat of their drooping wings, pale silver vees against the dark water below them.

Odile dropped with them, following in the hollow of their vee, so that all of them touched down on the water at the same time. The feet and legs of swans were curiously impervious to cold, so she couldn't tell how chilly the water was as her feet struck, then glided along the surface, but when they had all settled onto the water, she sensed that it was probably very cold indeed, more so than she would have guessed. It must be fed from a subterranean spring, and the chill accounted for the reason that there were so few other water birds here. Between the cold and the shade of the huge pines, it would be difficult for vegetation to grow, offering little in the way of food for foraging water birds. In this form, she sensed that the lake was very deep indeed, and surrounded by high bluffs and cliffs as it was, there were very few shallow places for plants to take root in the first place.

So I'll have to supply food here. All right, I can do that—but now I see why Father wanted me to come along. It will free him from all of the tedious little chores.
There was a touch of scorn in her thoughts, as she watched von Rothbart sail majestically away into the pine forest, leaving
her
to watch over the needs of the flock once again. Well, at least
now
they could get some rest, and she could work on her studies, hopefully increasing her powers. The more magic at her command, the better she would be able to provide for her comfort and the flock's.

She paddled wearily toward the shore, hoping to find a place where the flock could come up onto the shore. After skirting the cliffs into and out of three of the crooked “arms” of the lake, on the fourth she noted that the height of the cliff hanging above them was dropping. As the flock followed her hopefully, she made her way along the fourth limb and at the end of it found what she was looking for, a spot nearly level with the water. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw mist rising out of the water; it was going to be a chilly night. She hopped up onto the grassy bank, followed by the flock, who immediately dropped down onto the grass to rest.

She took her human form, and sought for a good place to create a shelter—but for once, she found that her father had been preparing things ahead of the flock; his magical signature hung in the air at the edge of the grassy shoreline, visible only to those who had eyes to see such things. This must be the only place along the lakeshore where it was easy for swimming swans to get up on the bank, so it would have been no great task for von Rothbart to guess where they would go when they arrived. She walked up to the glowing sigil, and calmly touched it; as she had expected, it began to move. Following it as it led her farther along the shore to the right, she entered a grassy clearing. The sigil moved on, then stopped and dissipated. When she reached the place where she had seen it vanish, she smiled. She would not have to create a shelter, for her father had already done so.

Not that any ordinary mortal would have known that; the clue to her was that the signature of magic at this spot was so strong. It hung about what appeared to be a grove of enormous old oaks growing so closely together that their trunks touched. Each of the trees was so large that four or five grown men could have circled the trunk with outstretched arms and not had their fingers touch; together they were the size of a large house. When she examined them, she realized that there was a dark crevice near the roots of one of the trees, and as she drew nearer still, squinting in the darkness, she saw that behind a screening of vines, there was a door in that crevice. She opened the door, and found that von Rothbart had taken a page from
her
book, as it were. This was no natural grove. Von Rothbart had created this place over the course of many nights, forcing the oaks to grow as she had forced the willows on her island.

So this was why he deserted us every night!
She now felt ashamed that she had misjudged him; he had been working fully as hard as she all these nights.

She pushed open the door, which moved easily at her touch, and held up her hand with a faerie-light cradled in her palm. Within the hollow interior, the sorcerer had roughed out a single room, the floor made of the roots grown together to form a solid surface, the walls and roof of the living oak. There were no windows in this shelter, and no furnishings, but it would hold against cold and weather, and it could be heated by a magic fire and illuminated the same way. Or she could fetch lamps and candles from the manor, whichever she chose, though it seemed inadvisable to bring too much flame inside.

She was disappointed; with all those nights to work, she could have accomplished much more than this. Evidently the shelter had not been as high a priority for him as she had thought.
At least he's done
something,
for a change,
she thought, and sent the conjured light up to the ceiling so that she could set about making the place habitable.

Then she turned and went back into the clearing, where the swans awaited her, watching her attentively. The first thing she did was to transport a good supply of corn from the manor, pouring it into a pile in the midst of the ragged circle of swans. It would be some time before the moon rose, and she knew they were as exhausted as she, very hungry and needed food
now
to replenish so much spent energy. Then, while they scooped up the corn in their bills, devouring it so quickly it might have been vanishing by magical means, she returned to the hollowed trees, leaving the door open behind her. Turning this rough space into something livable could take all night, and if she wanted a decent place to sleep, she'd better get about it now.

Besides, if she stopped to rest, she might not have the force of will to take up the task.

Something like a bed
—Once again, the easiest thing to do would be to use what she had at hand, which was the living fabric of the trees. Gently, she coaxed a bit more growth, bringing the wood of the roots up to form a low oblong shape, like a hollow bench, just wide and long enough to cradle a sleeping girl. When she had a creation grown to her satisfaction, she made another, then another, until the inner surface of the walls was ringed with sleeping benches.

That done, she turned her attention to the floor, coaxing up a mat of rootlets to weave together into a dense, springy carpet.
Now I need a hearthstone, to protect the wood. I don't want to kill the trees.
After some consideration, she remembered a large, flat stone near the entrance to this grove; with a wrenching effort, she conjured it directly into the shelter, right in the center, and with the very last iota of her power, called up a magic fire upon it.

But calling the fire was the last thing she was able to accomplish. Her vision blurred, and she swayed where she stood. Suddenly overcome with dizziness, she reached for the wall to steady herself, and when that didn't help, sagged down to the floor on her knees.

A moment later, she found herself surrounded by girls.
Oh. The moon must have come up
—she thought vaguely, and tried to get to her feet.

Odette kept her sitting on the floor with gentle but insistent pressure on her shoulders. “Stay where you are,” the young woman ordered in a tone of authority. “If you stand up, you'll fall over on your nose.”

“But I'm not finished,” she protested weakly, thinking about all she had yet to do. “I've only started—there's no bedding, no food—”

“And you don't need to do anything more at the moment.” Odette actually patted her shoulder in a gesture of kindness. “Let us take care of you for a change.”

Another wave of weakness washed over her, and she decided that she wasn't going to argue. She heard Odette giving orders to the others, and she dropped into a sitting position, leaning against the bed-bench beside her as she rested her aching head against her arm with her eyes closed. For the moment she was perfectly content to simply sit here and let her strength come trickling back. The silence around her indicated that once again she was alone, the others having gone out on whatever errands Odette had given them.

After a time, she heard some of the girls returning. She opened her eyes and raised her head—which seemed to weigh twice as much as it should—and saw that the maidens had brought in enormous piles of bracken, herbs, and grasses, which they were arranging to make soft beds in each of the hollows.

Oh, now that is a good idea,
she thought,
And it doesn't require magic, does it?

More of the girls arrived as Odile watched in bemusement, all with similar burdens, until each of the hollow benches had cushioning material. Then, Katerina helped Odile to her feet and onto one of the primitive beds, which was surprisingly soft and had a pleasant scent from the wild herbs.