three sharp points for arrows. “Now all I need are shafts from the arrowwood plant. As for fletching, I’ll cut a bit off the bottom of my shirt and make rag tails.”
He pulled the spit from the fire and tore off a haunch and offered some to Flic, but the Sprite looked on in dismay and refused. “I neither kill nor eat dead things, my lord. Hummingbirds, though, eat mosquitoes and gnats, and at times both butterflies and bees feast on meat. Even so they are all my friends: butterflies, hummingbirds, and bees.”
Borel frowned and glanced at Buzzer and paused in thought and then said, “Are all bees your friends?”
“Well, I do not know all bees, Prince, but those I’ve met are quite friendly.”
“Could you ask them to search for Roulan’s estate or even for Lady Chelle? I mean, could you ask the bees in concert to look for her? Send messengers out and have all bees search? Or the hummingbirds, for they are swift?”
Flic shook his head. “Were it like in some stories, where a mythical ruler of all bees—or one of all hummingbirds—is repaying some favor, perhaps then it could be done. Hummingbirds, my lord, they keep to their nests and fields, and are quite territorial, and squabble o’er certain stands of flowers. They do care for their mates and brood, yet I know of none who cooperate with any others. And I know of no sovereign they have. But they do migrate, and perhaps they will have seen a turret with daggers about in which a demoiselle is trapped. I will ask those we come across.
“And as to the bees, some are solitary but most live in individual swarms, each with its own queen, and queens are quite jealous of one another, and oft there are wars between colonies. Hence, for bees throughout Faery to go on a quest is but an amusing tale told to younglings, or so I do think. Besides, I remind you, my lord, bees are loath to cross the twilight borders, Buzzer being an exception. No, in this task, if we are to rely upon a bee, it has to be Buzzer who leads the way.”
“I see,” said Borel, returning to his meal. He took a bite and chewed awhile and swallowed, then said, “I suppose the same is true of ants, eh?”
Flic smiled. “Most likely. Oh, one might convince a queen of a single colony of ants or bees or the leader of a school of fish or a flock of birds or a pack of animals or the like to send the entire group on a search within their own territory, but for creatures of a single kind—or even creatures of different kinds—to go throughout all of Faery on a hunt to repay a favor, well . . . that would be quite extraordinary; it might even require the gods themselves to intervene.”
Borel nodded and sighed and finished the remainder of his meal in morose silence.
As the nighttide deepened, Borel hobbled down to the river and washed his face and hands, then returned to camp and donned his now-dry clothes. He refreshed the fire with two more logs and, as the moon, two days past full, climbed into the sky, he wrapped himself in his cloak and settled down upon a bed of grass.
“Remember, my lord,” said Flic, “should you see daggers afloat in the air, you are in a dream.”
Borel grunted in acknowledgement and swiftly fell into an exhausted sleep.
As Borel’s breathing deepened, Flic watched. Then he took to wing and began searching by moonlight for blossoms and mosses and herbs most rare.
13
Turret
T he slender demoiselle stood across the chamber from him. She was dressed in a sapphire-blue gown with a white bodice. Her golden hair was twined with blue ribbons and white. Borel frowned, for there was a shadowy band across her eyes.
In the Old Tongue she said, “There is less than a moon remaining.”
Something tugged at Borel’s mind, something elusive, and then it was gone. “What do you mean, mademoiselle?” he asked, also in the Old Tongue. “Less than a moon till what?”
“I do not know, my lord. Yet something terrible looms, and you must help me, please.” She
He pulled the spit from the fire and tore off a haunch and offered some to Flic, but the Sprite looked on in dismay and refused. “I neither kill nor eat dead things, my lord. Hummingbirds, though, eat mosquitoes and gnats, and at times both butterflies and bees feast on meat. Even so they are all my friends: butterflies, hummingbirds, and bees.”
Borel frowned and glanced at Buzzer and paused in thought and then said, “Are all bees your friends?”
“Well, I do not know all bees, Prince, but those I’ve met are quite friendly.”
“Could you ask them to search for Roulan’s estate or even for Lady Chelle? I mean, could you ask the bees in concert to look for her? Send messengers out and have all bees search? Or the hummingbirds, for they are swift?”
Flic shook his head. “Were it like in some stories, where a mythical ruler of all bees—or one of all hummingbirds—is repaying some favor, perhaps then it could be done. Hummingbirds, my lord, they keep to their nests and fields, and are quite territorial, and squabble o’er certain stands of flowers. They do care for their mates and brood, yet I know of none who cooperate with any others. And I know of no sovereign they have. But they do migrate, and perhaps they will have seen a turret with daggers about in which a demoiselle is trapped. I will ask those we come across.
“And as to the bees, some are solitary but most live in individual swarms, each with its own queen, and queens are quite jealous of one another, and oft there are wars between colonies. Hence, for bees throughout Faery to go on a quest is but an amusing tale told to younglings, or so I do think. Besides, I remind you, my lord, bees are loath to cross the twilight borders, Buzzer being an exception. No, in this task, if we are to rely upon a bee, it has to be Buzzer who leads the way.”
“I see,” said Borel, returning to his meal. He took a bite and chewed awhile and swallowed, then said, “I suppose the same is true of ants, eh?”
Flic smiled. “Most likely. Oh, one might convince a queen of a single colony of ants or bees or the leader of a school of fish or a flock of birds or a pack of animals or the like to send the entire group on a search within their own territory, but for creatures of a single kind—or even creatures of different kinds—to go throughout all of Faery on a hunt to repay a favor, well . . . that would be quite extraordinary; it might even require the gods themselves to intervene.”
Borel nodded and sighed and finished the remainder of his meal in morose silence.
As the nighttide deepened, Borel hobbled down to the river and washed his face and hands, then returned to camp and donned his now-dry clothes. He refreshed the fire with two more logs and, as the moon, two days past full, climbed into the sky, he wrapped himself in his cloak and settled down upon a bed of grass.
“Remember, my lord,” said Flic, “should you see daggers afloat in the air, you are in a dream.”
Borel grunted in acknowledgement and swiftly fell into an exhausted sleep.
As Borel’s breathing deepened, Flic watched. Then he took to wing and began searching by moonlight for blossoms and mosses and herbs most rare.
13
Turret
T he slender demoiselle stood across the chamber from him. She was dressed in a sapphire-blue gown with a white bodice. Her golden hair was twined with blue ribbons and white. Borel frowned, for there was a shadowy band across her eyes.
In the Old Tongue she said, “There is less than a moon remaining.”
Something tugged at Borel’s mind, something elusive, and then it was gone. “What do you mean, mademoiselle?” he asked, also in the Old Tongue. “Less than a moon till what?”
“I do not know, my lord. Yet something terrible looms, and you must help me, please.” She
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