AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Someone like myself?
“Lady Strawberry,” Falcon said from the head of the table, though he wasn’t looking up from his plate, “don’t torment the help. My pet foreign sorceress may yet come in handy. In the meanwhile, since you are all bored enough with my feast to dredge up foolish stories to tantalize one another with, let us discuss our war strategy.”
Despite Falcon’s glowering demeanor, I welcomed this serious attitude. At last we would talk about the actual war and what the hell I was supposed to do. Enough of the frivolity. Falcon might be decked out in what appeared to be a medieval knight’s armor of mercury-bright silver—thank goodness for the soft candlelight or we’d have been blinded—but at least he seemed to take his generalship seriously.
“Now,” Falcon began, “we shall start off with several land battles—ones with lots of infantry.”
“And cavalry,” a man close to Falcon urged. He seemed to have a horse’s tail, interspersed with glittery strands, coming from his helm. “I’d like the cavalry to come to the rescue at the last moment, at least twice—maybe three times.”
Several people agreed to that, generating a small discussion of whose helm decoration would look best streaming through the air as they galloped ferociously at the enemy. Falcon agreed to add in several more cavalry charges at various points in each battle. Lady Strawberry expressed a desire to bring in her stable of monsters to be ridden as well. The table, after much gory storytelling, decided the monsters should be brought into the thickest part of any hand-to-hand ground fight, so as to maximize goring, trampling and the sight of bodies being tossed into the air.
“Lord Falcon,” said Navy Man. “You know I’ve been building my fleet of silver ships—when will we have the naval battles?”
Falcon frowned in thought.
“Now see the great military strategist in action,” Navy Man whispered to me.
“To have naval battles,” Falcon pronounced, “we will have to move some of the war to the sea.”
“Or a large lake would do in a pinch,” Navy Man offered helpfully. Falcon nodded gravely.
“So we will have to arrange to be pushed back to the sea—” he held up a hand when Navy Man took a breath, “—or a large lake. Perhaps after the cavalry charge comes in gloriously too late to turn the tide of battle?” This was greeted with great enthusiasm.
“I’m at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party,” I muttered to myself.
“We have not forgotten your role, Lady Sorceress,” Blush & Puce assured me.
“Lord Puck, of course,” Falcon continued, “will be in charge of all magic.” To which Puck nodded enthusiastically, beaming at me. “All magics will be as spectacular as possible and should only occur when the battle is nearly lost. Won’t that be glorious? But wait! Lady Gwynn has no uniform at all. Puck! Why isn’t she in uniform?”
“We’ve only arrived today, Lord Falcon,” Puck said. “I’ll design her and Lord Darling uniforms tomorrow.”
I could just see what Puck would come up with for me. No, no, no.
“Actually,” I inserted quickly, “in my land, the sorceress never wears a uniform, but rather a magic gown.” Falcon and Puck frowned uncertainly. “To set her gloriously apart from the fighters,” I added, which smoothed the group’s expressions into happy agreement, with several offering me suggestions for appropriate magical garb.
Then the raucous hilarity fell into abrupt stillness. In one of those uncanny sea changes, the crashing waves of their merriment ceased. They turned their faces all in one direction, apparently staring at the tent wall.
I listened, skimming the thoughts around me for a clue, then heard shouting from outside. Their grave watchfulness ignited into delighted interest. With shouts of merriment, everyone piled out of the tent, knocking over chairs and spilling wineglasses, to see that, just down the hill, one of the enchanting tents was blazing afire.
Chapter 15
In Which I Discover Some Truths
‡
The tent silkwhooshed and billowed with the flames. A number of brightly dressed people gathered around it like college students at a homecoming bonfire, toasting the conflagration with sparkling glasses and shouting advice to one another. With much pointing and excited exclamations, they sent a small servant dashing in through the blazing arch made by the tied-back flaps.
Burning pillows came flying out of the tent, flaming marshmallows flung from the end of a roasting stick. They made bright comets against the night, and the spectators dodged the missiles with whoops and mock-terrified screaming. Once the flaming missiles plopped onto the ground, someone would jump upon it, to the wild encouragement of their fellows, sending sparks flying and puffs of acrid smoke to cloud the night. Falcon’s party all galloped down the hill, crying out incoherently.
My heart pounding a greasy sweat out of my pores, I followed more slowly, my soft silken slippers no match for the stones and broken vegetation that poked the soles of my feet. The fire blazed hot on my face as, with a sickening whoosh, a neighboring tent flared with a roman candle of flame. More cries, like the singsong baying of dogs, greeted the spreading fire. I realized then that none of the words made sense to me because there was no meaning behind them. Blazing pillows continued to sail out of the tent, while the game of dodge and stomp intensified. No fire brigade appeared. No one seemed to take any useful action.
My head spun. The surreality of it all hit the back of my brain and rattled around. I wanted to shield my eyes, to crawl under a blanket, to scream out loud.
An especially large pillow rolled out of the first tent.
Oh, gods.
It was the page they’d sent in, burning as brightly and ferociously as the tents and cushions, probably decked in the same billowing silks as the rest. A thin piteous wail came from it, keening with a pain that turned my stomach.
