David Niemitz
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Faerie Knight 176
🕑 Added 2025-05-07 11:00:09 +0000 UTC176 - A Meeting in the Wood
Even Sir Maddoc of the Wood made his ill-considered bargain out of love, and his desire to protect the princess. Of course, the price he paid in the end was more than he could have ever imagined.
François du Lutetia, A History of Narvonne
☀
26th Day of Deep Summer’s Moon, AC 297
Cazador’s ears perked up when the north road from Rocher de la Garde brought them into sight of the Ardenwood. At Trist’s side, Claire rode her palfrey, Tystie, but the mare had never lived in Camaret-à-Arden for long enough to think of it as home, and she didn’t share the big destrier’s excitement.
“There’s going to be a lot of rebuilding to do,” Henry remarked from behind them. “Most of the town is ashes.”
“I didn’t really get a good look at it before the fighting,” Yaél admitted. She had a destrier named Haussier, a horse whose knight had perished in the fighting. The big warhorse was another gift from the king, and the squire had immediately taken to calling him ‘House-’ “Because he’s as big as a house!” she had explained. Perched on top of a battle-trained beast, complete with barding, Yaél looked even smaller than she actually was.
“And I never did see it,” Dame Etoile broke in. All three of them were riding in a second rank just behind Trist and Claire, along with Anais, his wife’s maid. “Hard to imagine now, just from the wreckage.”
“They opened a gate right over there,” Trist explained, pointing to the spot as they rode past. “And used arrows to start the fire.”
“Don’t worry, m’lord!” Hywel, the village smith called from behind the riders. “We’ll set it all to rights soon enough.”
Trist turned to acknowledge the yell with a nod and a smile. “That we will,” he said, loud enough for at least the first few wagons to hear. He didn’t need to move to perceive them, of course; but he found that it set people at ease when he behaved as they expected. It let them pretend that the cloth over his eyes was just for show, he guessed.
A train of wagons stretched back along the road from Rocher de la Garde, half a mile or more in length. Trist and Claire had used their first year’s pension from the Crown to purchase supplies for rebuilding the village, and for feeding the people over the winter. Claire had also insisted on compensation for the wagon loads of Iebara-wood that had been brought to Rocher de la Garde after the siege was lifted, and then been used to build the siege engines that Lionel fielded at Lutetia.
Trist and the others reined their horses to the side, and watched the wagons trundle past them north to where the two streets that made up the town crossed. There were wagons full of construction supplies, including great barrels of nails, more than Hywel could forge in a week of working all day long, as well as glass paned windows carefully wrapped in cloth. There were hammers, and saws, and the axes of the woodsmen.
Behind, there were loads of canvas tents, originally used by the army to set up an area for surgeons to work. Now, they would serve as shelters until homes could be repaired and rebuilt. Sacks of flour, turnips and onions, and barrels stuffed with salted fish would see them fed through the winter, Trist hoped. He knew they would need to supplement what coin had bought with fish and eels from the River Rea. He doubted there would be fruit to gather in the forest, after so long without sun, but with any luck there would be nuts, and wild game to hunt. Henry and his father would take the lead on that, but Claire had also brought a pair of hunting falcons from her father’s castle.
“Where do we begin, m’lord?” Hywel asked. The smith, along with James the Miller, William Chapman, Henry’s father Robert, and Brother Alberic all had peeled off from the procession to join them. On the green at the center of the village, Brother Hugh and the other monks hauled the monastery’s great iron cauldron out of a wagon and began to make preparations to cook stew for an evening meal.
“James, Hywel,” Trist began, sliding down out of his saddle and handing Cazador’s reins to Yaél, “go have a look at the mill and see how badly damaged it is. That is our first priority. We will need more coin than I have to rebuild everything, and coin will not come until we are selling lumber again. See what needs to be done to get the mill running, and use whatever men you need to do it. “William, keep a tally of all the supplies we need as we go, and mark off what we use from the wagons. You are in charge of supplies. Robert, Henry, take any man who can hunt and see what you can get us. Venison, quail, rabbit.”
“I will go with them,” Claire offered. “I want to put these hawks to the test. Yaél, why don’t you come with me? A lady should know how to hunt.”
Yaél’s eyes flicked to Trist, and he nodded. “You and Ettie, both. I would not be surprised if there are deserters somewhere in the Arden, hiding from the king’s men. Better to be safe.”
“I cannot imagine there will be anything more threatening than facing down a daemon,” Claire said with a smile, then leaned down to kiss Trist on the cheek before she rode off with the others. Her maid, Anais, followed on her own palfrey.
“And me, m’lord?” Brother Alberic asked. “Should I help with the cooking, then?”
Trist considered. “Take a moment to look over the monastery. I do not know whether the fire got that far. If the kitchen is functional, then starting tomorrow you and your brothers should use that instead of the green. It will make it easier to prepare food in the amounts we are going to need.” Alberic inclined his head and hurried off.
For a moment, Trist was alone: a point of stillness amid the bustle of hundreds. He’d known these people, and this town, for as long as he could remember, but he was no longer the boy running down the woodsmen’s path into the forest in search of adventure, nor even their lord’s son. Now he was a Baron, and he could not help but notice the distance between him and them had increased in some barely perceptible way.
The women and some of the older men were occupied raising the great canvas tents on the green. Trist hoisted himself back up into Cazador’s saddle, and left them to it, and the monks to their stew. He turned the big warhorse east down to the river, where he got a look at the damaged mill. The stone foundation was whole, but much of the rest of the building was fire damaged, and already James had a crew of woodsmen using their axes to break off the burnt timbers and clear the way for new construction.
Something stirred at the edge of his awareness; Trist was surprised it had taken so long. He rode back west, past the green, and then along the forest path until he reached the clearing where the last logging had been done, more than a moon before.
“Greetings and welcome to the King of Shadows and his court,” Trist said, drawing Caz to a halt.
Auberon sat on a horse as dark as his hair, with Niviène and Osma to his left, and Cern and Acrasia to his right. Even the wrinkled old faerie Lurdane, from the Church of Saint Abatur in Falais, was there, and Cern’s wolves paced about the party, sniffing at the brush.
“My shadows whisper to me that your mortal king has appointed a new Baron of the Ardenwood,” Auberon called back. “You know the story, I trust, of the last man who was fool enough to accept such a title.”
“I do,” Trist answered. “I know also that I have no intention of trying to force the wood under my control, nor would I have the men to do it even if I wished to. My charge from King Lionel is not to attempt to subjugate you, or to drive you out, but to instead be the king’s voice to you. To serve as an envoy between your court and his, so that our two peoples might live in peace. To see to it that the woodsmen and hunters do not violate your territory.”
“So you say,” Cern growled. “I knew you for an oathbreaker when first I saw you with my sister.”
“And yet, since then, have I not done what I promised?” Trist asked him. “I went to Vellatesia, as you charged me to do, King Auberon. I broke the Gate of Horn, and slew the Sun Eater and half a dozen more bound daemons besides.”
“Not all of them,” Auberon pointed out. “Several have fled into the wilds.”
“Then we will work together to hunt them down,” Trist offered. “I set Acrasia free from our Accord, as I pledged to do. I gave up the greatest part of my power, I gave up being an Exarch, while yet the war raged.”
“What he says is true,” Acrasia said, and it was strange to hear her speak for the first time in a moon or more. It sometimes seemed that she had been a voice in his ear forever, haunting his thoughts and dreams, but it had only been a very brief time in truth.
“Is there anyone else among my people who you would rather see in this role?” Trist asked. “If there is someone else who has learned from Queen Niviène and bathed in her pool, who has hunted with the Horned Lord, who has brought your Graal back to you, name them, King of Shadows, and I will happily step aside. I did not seek this. I wanted only to come home again, now that the fighting is over.”
Auberon’s steed pawed at the dirt of the clearing. “There are those you care for who owe Tithes to my eldest wife,” he observed. “I could collect those now.”
“You could try,” Trist said, placing a hand on the hilt of the blade of ice that hung at his side.
“No,” Auberon said, slowly, and shook his head. “I do not think that I will. Do you know what is better than taking revenge with your own hands, Baron Trist?”
“What?” he asked.
“Outliving your enemies,” the Faerie King answered. “You have served my purposes well. So many of my enemies are dead, and you hold most of the responsibility for that. Adrammelech and the Addanc; Agrat and Sammāʾēl and all the rest. Even two of the Angelus did not survive this war. The power of the daemons here is broken - not merely sealed away. And the Angelus are too weak to ever enforce their will on my court again. With the Gate destroyed, there will be no more of them coming.”
Auberon swung the head of his horse around, and the other faeries turned toward the forest as well, but the wolves did not let Trist out of their sight. “It was something of a surprise to see the tool outlast the task,” he called back over his shoulder as the shadows gathered about the company.
“Very well. You will stand as the bridge between faerie and mortal. I will send Cern to speak with you about hunting what daemons remain in the wood. Tell your mortal king that I accept his baron.”
The shadows of the trees swelled once, swallowed up the faerie host, and then were gone, leaving only an empty clearing. Trist removed his hand from the pommel of the Winter Queen’s sword, and turned Cazador about to ride back into town.
After all, there was a great deal to be done before autumn came.
