“We’re never quite sure of the currents here ourselves. I think the tide is just beginning to rise, but ‘tis too early to show.”
“If you’re heading upriver we probably can’t help,” considered Gangoner, scratching his belly as he joined his companion. “We’ve lived all our lives here in Backwater, you see. No desire to brave the turbulent currents and salty tides.”
“I’ve never seen creatures quite like you before,” said Douglas, offering them bits of waybread.
“Ummm, good!” cried Pad Foot. “We are of the race of Goblins—”
“Goblins!” exclaimed Marbleheart. “I expect Goblins to have no interest in strangers, except as dinners.”
“No! No! We are Hobgoblins,” Gangoner said quickly. “We’re only distantly related to those wicked flesh-eating Great Goblins you’ve heard about. We’re true water Hobgoblins, rather. Goblins are ever so much larger and ever so much nastier.”
“We’re hardly nasty, at all,” added Pad Foot, earnestly. “Not the least bit, in fact. No, no. We like the retired, quiet life, although it is nice to meet strangers from solid ground once in a while, you know. This bread is really quite delicious!”
Douglas gave them both a bit more of the fairy food. Waybread is very difficult to use up. It tends to run out only when you fail to share it with every hungry thing that comes along.
The froglike Hobgoblins chatted for a few moments longer about their reclusive lives in Backwater of Wide Marsh.
Douglas wasn’t surprised to find they knew little of World, beyond the reed beds and hyacinth rafts. They had only a hazy knowledge of the long-ago Last Battle of Kingdom, part of which had been fought not far inland.
“My great-granddaddy told me that as many died when they fled in panic into Wide Marsh as died by sharp sword, swift arrow, and heavy battle-ax,” shuddered the gentle Pad Foot. “This place can be dangerous to those too big and burdened with cold iron to tread lightly in mud or swim the waters. On moonless nights you can still hear the warriors calling out in dread.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Gangoner, wrapping his long, thin arms about his shoulders and shivering. “Even boatmen are easily lost hereabouts, without a guide.”
“That’s our problem, isn’t it?” interrupted Marbleheart. “I could perhaps swim my way out in time, but Douglas here will have a hard, wet time of it, I think, unless someone helps us.”
The Hobgoblins munched Waybread thoughtfully for a moment before Gangoner raised a skinny, webbed finger.
“Aha! Jenny Greenteeth!”
“Just the person!” agreed Pad Foot, nodding vigorously. “Where do you think she is these days?”
“And who is she?” asked Douglas.
“She’s a Water Sprite who came here a century or more ago looking for her young husband,” Pad Foot explained. “He’d perished in Last Battle. She found his body in a common grave and reburied him under a willow tussock, here in Wide Marsh. She stays nearby to tend his grave.”
“Rather sad little lady, but I suppose friendly enough, all the same,” Gangoner added, pulling a long face.
“She goes as far as the Savannah country, upriver, I think. She’s told us of it, on occasion,” said Pad Foot.
“Could you possibly find her to ask her to guide us to the main channel so we can go on up Bloody Brook?” asked the Journeyman Wizard.
“We’ll try. That’s all we can do, can we, Gangoner? Jenny Greenteeth is hard to find if she doesn’t want to be found,” said Pad Foot. “Certainly we’ll try, won’t we, Gang?”
“Of course,” said the other Hobgoblin. “But we’ll have to begin at once, for it’s a bit of a distance away and I assume you don’t wish to be lost much longer, young Wizard.”
“As quickly as you can, please. We would appreciate it greatly.”
“Well, we’ve enjoyed talking to you and sharing your delicious, scrumptious bread. Ummm, a little more would be most welcome, eh? To see us on our way,” suggested Pad Foot, and Douglas broke off two generous chunks of Waybread and handed them over.
The Wizard and the Sea Otter sat in the gondola, talking quietly, unable to go back to sleep. The quarter moon sailed calmly to the top of the sky and started down the other side, making Wide Marsh a strangely beautiful nightscape, the stillness filled with distant calls and nearby murmurs.
Toward false dawn the water beside them erupted, and there, perched on the upturned prow, appeared a green-glowing Water Sprite with long, lustrous green hair, sad green eyes, and, yes, green teeth!
“Jenny Greenteeth, I presume,” said Douglas, with a courteous bow.
“Too right!” sighed the green-toothed Sprite with a shy smile. “My friends Gangoner and Pad Foot have asked me to guide you to the mainstream through this marshy maze. Is this so?”
“Yes, we asked Pad Foot and Gangoner to seek you out,” said Douglas, gravely. “Can—and will—you help us find our way?”
The Sprite leaned into the boat and stroked Marbleheart’s sleek sides and back languidly.
“I’ll not help the enemies of my dear, dead Casimar,” she said flatly. “If you are of the Last King’s party or of the Dark Powers, I am not available.”
“No, I wasn’t born by about two hundred summers when Kingdom fought its Last Battle,” Douglas assured her. “I am Douglas Brightglade, a Journeyman Wizard. My master, Flarman Flowerstalk, did fight in Last Battle, though, as a member of the Fellowship of Wizards.”
“Ah, yes,” said the tiny Sprite, nodding her head. “I remember hearing of that Fellowship. They did all that was mortally possible to win the day for the Confederation of Light. I have little love for Faerie, however, if you are one of that kind of Being.”
“I count Faerie Queen Marget and her consort, Prince Aedh, among my friends,” Douglas replied, honestly. ‘They were, more recently, very active in defeating the wicked Ice King, Frigeon. You have no reason to distrust them, I think, Mistress Greenteeth.”
“Perhaps not, if a Wizard says so,” begrudged the green girl, shaking her head. “I was told they turned and ran away during Last Battle, causing many deaths among Men and Sprites, especially.”
“As I was told the story by Flarman Flowerstalk, it was an honest mistake, such as often happens in confusion of battle,” said Douglas. ‘They have more than made up for any error they may have made, in the Battle of Sea, two years ago.”
“I hadn’t heard of that fight. It makes no difference,” said the maiden with a shrug. “I’ll guide you, young Wizard, for your sake and for the sake of your brave Master. Although I can’t understand why anyone would willingly to go up Bloody Brook.”
Douglas told her of the Witches’ Coven in the Far West. The little Sprite listened in absorbed silence until he had finished.
“Well, then, let’s begin,” was her only comment. “The way isn’t short or easy, I’m afraid. You’ve got yourselves into a tangled, twisted reach called Backwater. But I can put you on the open river above the marsh in three or four hours, if all goes well.”
The Sprite was as good as she was gloomy. By midmorning the gondola floated freely on rippling, open river once again. They were still surrounded by tall reeds and papyrus flowers, but there was a clear watercourse ahead leading toward rising ground and tree-clad, low hills.
“Douglas Brightglade,” sighed the green Water Sprite, not the least bit tired by her long swim, “I’ll leave you here and return to my love’s grave side. Fresh flowers, purple hyacinths, and yellow lotus, I place there every morningtide, and in the evening we sit and talk, my love and I, until the moon rises or rain comes down.”
“Are you happy here?” Douglas asked in sympathy.
“Happy? Not at all! Content? I suppose so. The spirits of both the good and of the wicked who fought here are often held captive in this existence by the violence and terror of their destructions. You’ll see many signs of them as you pass through Old Kingdom. I do what I can to ease the ages-long suffering of my brave Casimar, whose true wife I am. Our clan
was drummed to war and he must go, you know. I hope that he will pass to his final rest someday. And then I will follow him there.” She sighed even more deeply.
“Jenny, is there anything a Wizard can do for you?”
The Sprite shook her head, but managed a wan smile.
“No, I really suppose I am happiest, after all, to be here. If you have loved, you will know what I mean.”
“I... I see,” responded the Journeyman, softly. “I might do the same, were my love lost to me in such a manner.”
“Then you understand,” said Jenny Greenteeth, and without further ado she slipped gracefully back into the river. “Have care on your voyage, Douglas Brightglade. This land is haunted by its past. Many evil and troubled spirits are still abroad.”
She was gone without a ripple.
Marbleheart broke the wistful mood of their parting, crying cheerfully, “Well, what to do now, Wizard? Rest? Or move on, now that we can see our way clear?”
Douglas shook off the sadness of the little green wife’s plight. Taking up the long sweep, he fitted it into its rowlock and began to swing it side to side, driving the slender gondola swiftly up the mile-wide, slowly flowing river.
“If you fear Witches and Sprites, Goblins and Ghosts, all wicked and fierce things that go about in the night,” he said to the Sea Otter, “then I will understand if you decide to return to your home.”
“My goodness, no!” exclaimed the Otter, flipping himself over the side of the boat into Bloody Brook. “It’s getting more and more interesting all the time. I wonder what’s next?”
“Some rowing, a swim, perhaps, and a couple of hours’ sleep,” decided Douglas, swaying rhythmically and sending the gondola knifing up the middle of the stream. “And after that...who knows?”
By midafternoon they had passed the last of the Wide Marsh reed beds and meandering water mazes. The banks here were gently upsloping grasslands dotted with groves of wide-spreading trees making pools of deep, blue shadow in the green-gold landscape.
The weather, which had been chilly and wet since Douglas had left Valley, now turned warm. A pleasant spring like breeze blew the scent of opening wildflowers and new-sprouted mead grasses across the broad savannahs.
“There are some pretty weird-looking beasts swimming in the shallows ahead there,” reported Marbleheart, reappearing beside the gondola after an hour of exploring the riverbanks. “They’re watching us.”
Douglas, who had given over rowing for a rest, stood on his thwart and shaded his eyes with his hand.
A herd of white and chestnut brown horses, standing belly deep in the stream, turned to face the approaching gondola, unmoving but alert.
He made a hand signal to the right and the boat veered slightly to bring them closer to the grassy north bank. A great dappled gray stallion moved toward deeper water but the other horses—his mares, Douglas presumed—waded ashore and disappeared under overhanging willows.
“Ahoy!” called Douglas, waving. “We’re harmless travelers going upstream to Pfantas. No need to fear us!”
The stallion continued to move toward them, swimming easily with his proud head arched high out of the water. Douglas stopped the gondola, not wishing to alarm the beautiful animal. The dappled gray halted about twenty feet off.
“I must be forgiven,” he said in cultured accents, “for doubting the innocent purposes of anyone going toward Pfantas. It seems to me that only Black Witches and other evil-looking beings go that way these days. We avoid contact with them as much as possible.”
“I am a Fire Wizard,” admitted Douglas, introducing himself and his companion. “We’re on a mission upriver for the Fellowship of Wizards, you see. Any Black Witches we meet would probably consider us their enemies.”
“Not all Witches are wicked, I’m told,” said the horse. “But you are wise not to believe any Witch friendly or filled with good intentions, at first meeting.”
“We don’t mean to bother you, sir Horse,” said Marbleheart. “We’ll just pass on our way up the stream, if that’s what you prefer.”
He was uneasy at the size of the animal, it was obvious, and he moved close to Douglas for support.
“Not at all!” objected the stallion, tossing his long mane. “My wives will never forgive me if I don’t make you welcome and offer our hospitality. Hospitality is everywhere a hallmark of good breeding.”
They accepted his invitation—out of curiosity, mostly—and followed him out of the water and into the willow grove, where his mares awaited their arrival with nervous but keen interest.
“We live peacefully on these lush grasslands,” the stallion explained as they drew near. “We come to the river to bathe and drink, of course. There is not much traffic on the Brook and none at all on old Greenfern River Road. As you can imagine, we’re always eager to hear the latest news, if strangers seem well disposed to us.”
He gracefully introduced his ladies in order of age as they crowded around, eager to greet the Man and the Otter.
“Mocking, Stocking, Truelove, Rachael, Rusty, and her twin Misty. This is Gerda, and this is my youngest wife, Winnie. And I am Finnerty,” he said. “We are Savannah Horses now, but our ancestors carried Warriors of Light and the Fellowship of Wizards into Battle.”
Douglas told them of his own background. Finnerty nodded vigorously, and exclaimed, “The names you mention, Barman and Augurian and even Frigeon, are well known to us, although the last of us who remembered Last Battle is long since gone to the grave. These names are the stuff of legends among us, and now we’ll add Brightglade and Manstar, Bronze Owl and Marbleheart the Sea Otter, and even Bryarmote the Dwarf—although we warhorses have never been very fond of Dwarfs, I must admit. As for the Faerie folk, we love them best of all.”
“How we would love to see Queen Marget of Faerie!” cried the mare Rachael. “She, we revere most among all Near Immortals from the old tales and our own long history.”
“I know and love Marget well,” Douglas told her. “When I see her again, I’ll ask her to drop by some time and greet you, for you are all so beautiful—and loyal as well, I see.”
The younger mares squealed with excitement and wanted to know as much as Douglas could tell them of the Faerie Queen, but the elder ladies calmed them down with a few gentle words, and shortly the herd and their visitors moved inland a way so the horses could graze on the fresh spring grass.
Douglas spent the rest of the afternoon and evening telling the Stallion of the recent war against Frigeon, which was news to the Horses of Savannah as it had been to the Waiters and Jenny Greenteeth, too. When night fell, Douglas retired to the cushioned thwarts of the gondola and there slept soundly, while the Horses and the Otter went to play in the river by gibbous moonlight, leaping and sliding and diving until it set.
“What lies upstream?” Douglas asked Finnerty after breakfast.
“Black Witches and their Warlocks, that’s for certain! We’ve watched from hiding as a half dozen or more went up the river in recent years, flying low on their haddocks—their broomsticks, you know. We’ve heard rumors from the waterfowl that they are up to dire mischief, somewhere in the west. Nothing you could put a forehoof on; just gossip and rumors.”
“We had report of it from a former Wizard’s Apprentice named Cribblon,” Douglas said. “Have you heard of him?”
“No, that name means nothing to me,” said the horse, shaking his head and mane. “In fact the only name we’ve heard from the water birds is that of the Witches’ leader. Her name is said to be Emaldar. She’s titled both Witch Queen and the Beautiful. I heard those names also from a dirty, disreputable old Warlock on whom we took pity some months back. He said he was off to join something he called a ‘coven’. If you know what that is, I don’t.”
“I know what it might be,” admitted the Journeyman. “What was his name, this tramp Warlock?”
“He never said, which didn’t surprise me. We harried him out of the Savannahs when he tried to catch and ride poor Rusty
. We sent that rustler hustling, I can tell you!”
“Good for you!” cried Marbleheart. “Do either of you want some of these freshwater oysters? They’re delicious!”
The Journeyman and the Stallion said, “No, thanks.”
Marbleheart fell to pounding the oyster shells furiously on his pink marble disk, making such a racket that Finnerty nudged Douglas with his muzzle and they walked slowly up the bank to a slight rise where they could see the river for some miles in both directions.
“We don’t usually care to be ridden, now, you see. I guess we have become somewhat feral over the years. But I feel that we, once servants of the Light in a small way, should offer to help you on your mission. I would be willing to carry you on my back—”
“No, no, thank you, and I really do appreciate it, Finnerty. There are several reasons why I refuse your very kind offer. Our gondola, not being a live thing, can be sacrificed to circumstances if the need arises. It’s quite fast and comfortable, and never gets hoof weary or needs fodder. Besides, I should think your mares and the new foals, when they come—I notice several of your ladies are expecting—will need the freedom of the Savannahs and your protection.”
“There is that,” agreed the horse, with some relief. “But if you had needed us, we would be willing and happy to oblige.”
“Thank you,” repeated the Journeyman sincerely. “Stay here and keep an eye on any other travelers going up Bloody Brook. Is there a way you could send word to me if, say, more Black Witches come along?”
The horse considered this for a moment, then nodded.
“Yes, we are on friendly terms with the Whooping Cranes and the Teals, who make their summer homes in Wide Marsh.
They would be pleased to carry word to you, anywhere you might be in Old Kingdom.”
Marbleheart, having had his breakfast of oysters, was waiting when they returned to the boat, and Douglas prepared at once to shove off.
Aquamancer (mancer series Book 2) Page 7
