And so it was that faeries entered our world in nocturnal processions. They moved through wild moorlands, their silver and blue garments sparkling in the moonlight. They crept along the eaves of dark woods, their lanterns dimly aglow, danced through starlit pastures, and walked cloaked through snowy meadows. Most came quite close indeed to human habitation, while a few even moved silently through the hushed upstairs corridors of sleeping households. They kept at their task until they fulfilled their mission. Each and every ring was hidden to await the child who would find it in due time.   

Victoria’s heart skipped a beat when she heard a soft click, and saw the bookshelf silently turn sideways in its frame. A set of tight spiral stairs curved upward into the darkness. Victoria stepped closer, wide eyed. The flame of her candle danced fitfully in the breath of stale air that swept down the dusty stair. She clutched a second candle as a spare and placed the matches in her pocket. Then she took a deep breath and ascended the stairs.

She did not hear the bookshelf silently swivel shut to close the way behind her.

Victoria’s shadow danced fitfully along the wall as she crept up the stairs, going round in tight spiral turns. It seemed to be a very long way, and she was desperately afraid that the candle would blow out and leave her in darkness. 

Finally, it grew brighter as she came around the last turn into an open space. She stood wide-eyed, one hand clutching the banister at the top of the stair, the other trembling as she held her candle high aloft.

FROM CHAPTER III

Finally something unsettling occurred to Victoria. “Then where are we now?” she asked.

“We’re in America, in the state of New Hampshire, in a town called Alton Bay.”

“Then I’ve somehow crossed the sea, haven’t I?” Victoria breathed deeply, and then she was quiet for a long time. At length she said, “Elliot, you mentioned something called World War One. Did England fight in it?”

“Yes,” said Elliot. “England, France and Germany, and later America as well.”

“What year was this war fought?” she asked, her voice quavering slightly.

“I think it was 1914 or 1918, something like that. A long, long time ago.” For a moment Victoria looked as though she was about to cry. Then she steeled herself and put on her bravest face. “Elliot I am eleven years old. Three or four hours ago, when I went to bed in Northumberland, it was 1890. What year is it now?”

FROM CHAPTER IX

From the topmost spire of Pendrongor a long black and purple pennant rippled in the chill wind of the eclipse. It was a signal that Ulricke, Queen of the Realm of Lorinshar, was present and holding court.

High in the Queen’s tower, two of her handmaidens stepped out from the eastern door onto the balcony.  They were flawless young women, seemingly possessed of every grace, witticism, and sophistication that life at court could demand. They were clad in the costliest garments, the rarest fabrics, and the finest jewelry. Their hair swept upward in a fashion both regal and becoming, affixed in place by pins and combs of sparkling gemstone. 

But their hands were another matter entirely. If Victoria had seen them she would have been reminded of a drawing of a wicked faerie she had once seen in a children’s book. Just the image had given her unpleasant dreams for a week and even her unflappable governess had refused to read from it. For the hands of Ulricke’s handmaidens were dirty, filthy even, and their clever, tapering fingers were grotesquely elongated, equipped with large bony knuckles and sharp black nails.

The handmaidens approached the railing which overlooked the crenellated battlements. Each carried a large wicker basket. They rested their baskets upon the polished marble of the railing before them, then turned about to face the door. The lamps at each side of the doorway illuminated their serenely sweet faces.

Then Queen Ulricke stepped from the doorway, moving out upon the balcony to join her handmaidens. Upon her head was a black crown, fashioned of a metal strange to behold.  She moved so smoothly that she appeared to be gliding rather than walking. Her long skirts rippled out across the polished floor in all directions, terminating in long, ragged tendrils that appeared to have life all their own. Her gown was such a deep shade of black that it made every other color of black seem but a shade of grey. Her sleeves were long, and as she walked she kept them tucked into each other, so that her hands were concealed. Her dress was trimmed with the finest embroidery and studded with black onyx. Pale moonstones graced every swirl of the patterns repeating at sleeve and hem.

But the most remarkable thing about Queen Ulricke’s gown was the lamps that it bore. Five vertical points rose upward from folds that began about her knees, rising in high ripples of utter blackness all about her. At the peak of each of the five folds was a small pointed lamp, fashioned of the same dark metal as her crown. Each lamp enclosed a writhing black flame.

A long chain was fastened around Queen Ulricke’s neck. Suspended from it was a black orb fixed in the center of a starburst pendant of purest silver. The orb grew larger as the queen stepped forward across the paving stones, in the darkness of the eclipse—and a purple flame at its center burned the more fiercely.

Queen Ulricke’s face was youthful, possessed of an extreme and flawless loveliness. There was a sweet and fastidious quality to her beauty that at first glance appeared almost childlike. But her skin was alarmingly pale, especially in contrast to her long straight black hair.  Her eyes were a vivid red and the combination made her appear quite alarming indeed.

“Ahh! The darkness of totality is by itself quite enough to delight one’s soul!” she exclaimed in greeting her handmaidens, who curtsied deeply, holding their servile positions until Ulricke’s small elegant hands appeared from her flowing sleeves to bid them rise. The five lamps upon her gown guttered and flickered as a chill and cheerless wind swept across the balcony between the iron rails. Queen Ulricke’s hands sported contorting twisting rings fashioned of the same black metal as her crown.

“And how are my dear sweet angels?” the Queen inquired. “They must be simply famished!” She stepped further forward, joining her maidens to peer over the polished balustrade. Each crenellation of the gallery sported its own rusted iron ring, driven deeply into solid stone. From each ring ancient chains looped across the filthy straw strewn flagstones. Imprisoned at the end of each were hideous beastly forms, some with their paws outstretched, and their tongues lolling from gaping jaws. Others sat back on gaunt haunches, their huge heads hung low, but their furtive eyes directed upward toward their mistress.

These were Queen Ulricke’s were-beasts. Many of her Knights and Lords had become werewolves and wereboars long ago, and some could become worse things during the various lunar phases. But during a total eclipse they were in beast form entirely and kept in chains—both for their own safety and for the safety of their Queen’s other subjects.

Off to the side by itself lurked a hulking shadow exhaling blue phosphorescent vapors with every icy breath. The more one looked directly at it, the more it wasn’t there at all, but it loomed vast and frightful nonetheless, on the periphery of one’s vision. It was an undefined form of menace, an apparition haunting the shadows of one’s consciousness. Even Queen Ulricke’s handmaidens feared it greatly and were scarcely able to look upon it.

This creature was Lord Sarton, Queen Ulricke’s second in command, a being of such dreadful power that he was oft times only half in the physical realm at all. Ages ago his sorcery had transformed him into an astral shapeshifter. He was bound with two chains, a physical one composed of iron links, and another, glowing, and half transparent that kept him from wreaking havoc in the astral realm. 

“Oh my dears! My sweet children! My lovely angels!” exclaimed the Queen, looking down upon them fondly, her pale little hands resting delicately on the rail before her. “Feed them their dainty morsels at once, for they are famished,” she ordered.

With angelic smiles the handmaidens reached down to grope in their baskets. Then, up from the depths of their baskets, came their grotesque hands, bearing slick wet jiggling bits of mystery flesh, long stringy gobs of organ meats and bladders—quivering, dangling and dripping blood.

The handmaidens relished the feel of the wet, foul meats in their grasp as they held and squeezed them, making them squelch and pop before tossing them over the balcony rail. The uproar was immediate and intense. Growling, howling, yelping and gnashing ensued as Queen Ulricke’s famished beasts leapt into the air, snapping their fangs. They lunged and leapt to the limit of their chains, heedless of the bite of cruel iron about their necks.

Most of the foul morsels were devoured in mid air before they even hit the straw covered flagstones. The few pieces that did manage to reach the ground were fought over and torn to shreds by baleful phosphorescent eyed monsters that snapped lunging at one another, slavering and roaring in their bloodlust.

“Oh how simply lovely! How perfectly divine!” exclaimed Queen Ulricke. She laughed delightedly, extending her arms to embrace both handmaidens. The trio stood still, riveted by the spectacle below, beatific smiles pasted upon their faces. After several minutes of relishing their sport, Queen Ulricke stirred and reluctantly tore her eyes from the scene below.

“And now to business! The sacred ceremony of the dark of the sun must never be neglected!”

         The Ice Dragon overshadowed Victoria, his head towering high above her. He was a vast, cold dead thing of unutterable age emanating the most dreadful power. The very air around him breathed menace and peril.  Victoria clutched her cape tightly about herself, for she felt chilled to the bone and close to fainting.

        "What have you done with everyone?" Victoria asked, noticing that a vivid orb was  suspended from about his neck on a chain, dangling above her.

        "They were insubstantial my dear," the dragon answered smoothly as his tail coiled, repositioning itself soundly back in the shadows of the cathedral's nave. "It was a simple matter to make them disappear. After all, I am a very great sorcerer."

        And as he spoke his eyelids drooped momentarily, as though perhaps he had lapsed briefly into dream slumber once more, and in that brief interval Victoria sensed that the phantom terrors of his dreams were congealing thick in the air about her. Suddenly it became very difficult for her to think clearly. She was strangely taken with a mad urge to cast herself down upon the cold stone floor before the Ice Dragon and beg him for mercy.   
       He addressed her once more with a velvet-smooth and reasonable voice. "How would you like to come away and learn magic from me? I sense that you are gifted and when it comes to spells and arcane lore I could teach you much. I could make of you a potent sorcerer renowned all throughout the interwoven worlds. After all, I have done such a thing before, long ago!"