“Few human hunters are here to break open their lodges and slay their young,” commented Tomkin. He bounded ahead, crossing two or three of Brand’s paces from one flotsam to the next without so much as soiling his boots.
“Fair enough,” muttered Brand.
Morning shifted into afternoon, then approached evening. Taking few breaks, they began hunting for a relatively dry and wholesome place to pass the night.
“What’s that?” asked Telyn, pointing off into the deepening mists of twilight. A darker shadow hulked among the skinny web-work of tree trunks.
“Looks like a building of some kind,” replied Brand. “Ruins, doubtless.”
“Better to spend the night in a tree,” said Tomkin, looking at the ruins with distrust.
“Well said for you, but I weigh more than a skinny housecat,” replied Brand. “These trees are too frail and rotten to support my weight, to say nothing of comfort.”
Tomkin only shrugged and smiled with his unsettling rows of sharp white teeth. He followed them toward the ruin, but now no longer led the way through the marsh. Brand forgave him his cowardice; he was no stout warrior, after all.
The ruin was that of a fallen tower they surmised after inspecting it in the failing gray light. Raised mounds running off to the north and east indicated that walls had once been attached to it.
“These old walls once faced the river,” commented Brand, patting the blackened chunks of stone that still protruded like broken teeth from the ground. It gave him a certain sense of pride mixed with sadness that humans had once built such structures.
Tomkin still stood at the foot of the dry land that bordered the ruin. He fidgeted there uncomfortably.
“Come on, Tomkin,” called Brand. “There seems to be nothing to fear. The knights all died centuries ago.”
Tsking in irritation, Tomkin bounded up the slope. “We’d best leave here,” he said. One of the ancient blocks of stone crumbled a bit beneath even his light tread. He skittered back from the falling stone nervously.
“Ha!” laughed Brand, putting his hand on his waist and grinning widely. “A human creation that makes the Faerie nervous! I like this place!” he declared.
Indeed, he did like it. It had a feel of home to it, a feel of something lost that he’d never felt the loss of until now, when he’d rediscovered it. The axe too, liked it here. He could sense its moods now, after bearing it for several days. It seemed buoyed up in his knapsack, almost floating of its own accord, rather than weighing him down like a great stone across his back.
Tomkin studied him closely for a second or two. He nodded curtly, making a decision. “It is a human place. Tomkin will not stay.” So saying, he bounded back down into the marsh and toward the sounds of the river to the west.
“Wait!” called Brand. “Ho there, what of our bargain?”
“Tomkin will return on the morrow!” cried the disappearing figure. Already he was only a faint moving shadow in the mists. “If a morrow there will be for thee!”
As Tomkin vanished into the fog and his voice became faint with the muffling effects of the clinging mists, he cried the final words, “Watch for redcaps…”
Telyn appeared at Brand’s shoulder and they looked together after Tomkin, who was gone. “Perhaps we should find a better place, Brand,” she said in concern. “I don’t know what a redcap is, but I don’t want to find out.”
“Nonsense,” snorted Brand. “I’ll not be put out of the only dry land in ten leagues by the words of a coward such as that.”
“Is the axe affecting you?” she asked quietly. She looked up at him in concern and he softened.
“A bit, perhaps,” he admitted, “but aren’t you curious about this place? This is a lost piece of our history. It is a part of us, Telyn.”
Telyn’s eyes traveled the shrinking circle of space that she could see in the growing darkness. She sighed. “We’d best be getting a fire going before we lose all of our light.”
“Right,” he agreed, almost giddy at the prospect. He slapped his gloves together and knocked the muck from them. “Ah, but it’s good to not be sliding with every step I take.”
They made camp quickly inside the broken tower. The walls only rose up twenty feet or so at the highest, but inside they were relatively warm and sheltered from the winds that came up along the river. They built a fire and the light flickered upon walls that had perhaps not known such a human presence for many long centuries.
“There must be a reason why we have never heard of such a place in the Haven before,” said Telyn after they had eaten such rations as they had left.
“There is,” said Brand, eyeing the walls. He reached out and ran his finger around one of the great stone blocks, drawing its outline. Dry moss peeled away at his touch. “I believe we are just outside the borders of the Haven,” he said quietly.
Telyn gasped. “You’re right. Somehow, I don’t know how, but I know that you’re right.”
“There’s no need for fright,” said Brand lightly. “Since the Pact ended, one side of the Haven’s border is as safe as the other.”
“Perhaps,” said Telyn, sounding less than convinced. She huddled forward as if trying to gather more heat from their tiny fire.
The night passed uneventfully until Brand awoke with a start sometime after midnight. He wondered groggily what had awakened him until he felt another light rapping upon his shoulder.
He turned with the beginnings of a smile. Perhaps Telyn had changed her mind about waiting and wished for his attentions, clumsy and oafish although they might be. He groped behind him, but found that Telyn was not there.
The haft of the axe shifted again, right before his eyes, rapping him on the shoulders, once, twice. Then it lay still. With a sharp intake of breath, he came more awake, but didn’t cry out. He was used to its fitful slumbering by now.
Lying there, he wondered vaguely what had disturbed it. Had a field mouse threatened the campsite? Perhaps it had sensed a low-flying owl or a croaking frog.
As he laid there, almost dozing off again, he became aware of a sound. It was a wet, lapping sound—very quiet. It was not unlike that of a pet cat drinking from a saucer of cream.
He rose to one elbow slowly, quietly, and looked about. The fire had burned low, but still cast good light. The red coals reflected heat from the tower’s walls. Telyn was on the other side of the fire, asleep. Brand frowned at this. It should have been her turn at watch, unless she had fallen asleep and had never awakened him for his turn. But that was unlike her, she was not the slothful type and seemed to rarely sleep in any case.
His eyes widened as he saw the thing bent down before her. It resembled one of the Kindred, but was smaller. It definitely wasn’t a goblin or a Wee Folk, being heavier-built than that. In one hand it carried what looked like a small mace. In its free hand was an object of some kind, which it was dipping down toward Telyn’s arms.
With a roar Brand heaved himself erect and lunged for the creature, stepping right through the dying fire as he did so. The fire flared up as he passed through its heat briefly. Sparks and smoke shot up around his boots, and he was glad all in an instant that he had not removed them to sleep more comfortably.
The thing turned and snarled at him. It was a manling of sorts, but with far less human features than Tomkin. It’s face was charcoal, its eyes a sickly yellow. It raised its small mace in challenge and struck at his knees. Surprise and pain flashed through Brand; the creature was much stronger than it looked. Then he fell, and the thing was on him. He grappled with it, trying to keep it from his face. Growling like a feral dog it snapped and swung his mace at him. There was no time to free the axe, so Brand dug his thumbs into the corded muscle that served it for a neck.
There was a deafening crash and his vision left him for a second. The creature had brained him with its mace. He clung to consciousness and strove to shake off the blow. He squeezed harder, while it sought to bite his hands and tear with its claws.
Brand felt
it gouge his hands. He rolled the thing into the fire, still holding it at arms length. It made a keening sound and struggled free of his grasp. A shower of sparks and looming flame gave Brand a good look at its face. It seemed mad, animal, even demonic. Telyn’s blood flecked its dark lips. Once free, it climbed the walls of the tower like a squirrel and crouched there, glowering down.
Watching it, Brand checked Telyn’s wounds. He saw with great relief that she was not dead. Her chest still rose and fell. Blood spilled over her cut wrist. The creature had been dipping its cap into her blood and drinking it. Besides the blood running from her wrist, which he quickly stanched with a tourniquet, there was a sticky spot on the side of her head. It was clear that she had been knocked senseless.
Brand made ready to draw forth his axe should the creature show any signs of attacking again. He tossed its small mace into the fire and added more wood as well. The creature had also left its cap behind, the only scrap of clothing that it appeared to wear. The cap was thick and wet with Telyn’s fresh blood. Brand was disgusted to think that the creature had dipped its cap into her blood to drink. Brand tossed the cap into the flames to burn with the mace. Something in the shadows above him hissed in hatred.
The rest of the night passed uncomfortably and sleeplessly. Brand watched the tower walls all night in nervous anticipation, but the redcap did not return. By dawn Telyn was conscious and Brand no longer cared for the ruins.
Chapter Eighteen
The Dark Bard
“A merry good mornin’ to thee!” cried Tomkin, coming through a breach in the stone walls. The first pink light of dawn was at his back. He grinned at them.
Telyn and Brand jumped at his greeting. They still watched the tower walls with bleary-eyed suspicion. “Thanks for the warning,” said Brand bitterly. “The red cap nearly killed Telyn.”
“Oh, did it now?” said the manling with mock concern. “Ah, and I see thou hast learned the reason for its curious name.”
Telyn tugged at her crude bandage, reworking it in the brightening light of day. She had very little fresh cloth left as they had spent so long in the marshes now and the muck seemed to penetrate everything.
After they made no reply, the manling continued on, “Tomkin’s never seen a redcap up close, but there are many legends of them. Believe it or not, thy luck was good last night that thine eyes can see the morning today.”
“No thanks to you!” shouted Brand. “You could have stayed on, helped us guard against the beast, but no, you could think only of yourself.”
Tomkin looked honestly surprised. He hopped forward and perched upon a tumbled stone block that was big enough for a Wee Folk dance floor. “What of it? Kinfolk of mine would expect no more, so why should thee?”
“What good is a companion that knows of danger yet skips out with barely a warning at the first sign of trouble?” asked Brand, seeing that the creature really didn’t understand and seemed curious about his reasoning. “A group, a team, works together for the benefit of all.”
“Why? This is one of the things most puzzling about thy breed. Such an arrangement might work well for sheep, but what could possibly keep thinking beings from abandoning one another in the face of any real threat to the—herd?” asked Tomkin, eyes glimmering in amusement.
Brand frowned at the reference to people as thoughtless sheep, but tried to ignore it. “It is as you say, our Folk stick together. We are social and trustworthy by nature, and despise treachery as among the worst of crimes.”
“Fascinating!” exclaimed Tomkin. “So the natural act of any thinking creature is considered a wrongful thing.”
“In a sense, yes,” admitted Brand. “For the good of the group, each individual suffers something. It is like an unspoken bargain between us all.”
Tomkin nodded. “This explains somewhat why thy Folk could maintain the Pact. Ever it has seemed a mystery to the Faerie.”
Brand nodded. This time he was surprised. He had not considered Tomkin a thinking creature. He had seemed more animal than anything else before, but now seemed to be intrigued by the philosophies of humans as much as any of the Faerie he had encountered. Brand was beginning to wonder if the Faerie were as curious about and mystified by humanity as humans were by them.
“Since we seem to be trading questions again, Tomkin has one,” said Tomkin offhandedly.
Brand glanced at him, and then nodded.
Tomkin crept closer, crossing his stone block perch to the very limits and leaning over the edge toward them. “Did thee, by chance, wield the Eye of Ambros again last night?”
“No,” replied Brand.
Tomkin studied him for a moment then retreated again, frowning. Brand wondered why he looked dissatisfied. Could it be that he had set them up, wanting Brand to be forced to wield the axe again? It seemed far-fetched, but Brand stored the thought for the future. Tomkin, if there ever was a doubt, couldn’t be trusted beyond his own self-preservation.
After a meager breakfast of waterleeks from the river and safe mushrooms from the marsh, Telyn declared herself fit to travel. She still looked a bit pale in Brand’s critical eye, but he supposed it was better to move on than to stay in the ruins. They broke camp and followed the mounds that were the fallen western walls of the ruins. As they marched upriver, their backs crawled with the scrutiny of unseen baleful, eyes. Brand felt sure that the redcap watched them from some dim crevice among the tumbled stone blocks.
The walls went on for a great distance, and Brand began to wonder at the size of the place. It seemed bigger than all Riverton! “I believe all the people of the Haven could reside within these walls, if this one we march along is matched in length by the others.”
“‘Tis true, thy breed is far less common now than in olden times,” agreed Tomkin.
“We are mice rattling about in the bones of dead giant,” said Telyn.
For a time they trudged in silence, the only sounds were those of their boots scuffling on mossy stone and dead leaves. But then something else drifted on the wind to their ears.
“What’s that sound?” asked Telyn.
“‘Tis music!” declared Tomkin, springing up with sudden energy. “It took thee long enough to pick it out!”
“Yes, I think it is music,” said Telyn. She stopped marching and turned toward the river.
“I still hear nothing,” said Brand, straining. He was not in the least surprised to learn that his ears couldn’t match Telyn’s. He’d known that since childhood.
Then part of the natural sounds of the world around him shifted. It seemed that the wind’s random sounds melted in to the chatter of the water passing over rocks and the creaking of the swaying trees. Slowly the music grew until it became clear to him—a dark melody of somber beauty. It spoke of death and decay and the rebirth from the dark soil of new green shoots. Vaguely, he knew that this couldn’t be the work of men or merlings. None had the craft it took to make music that was so entrancing.
Abruptly, the music stopped. All of them blinked in surprise. There before them, at the water’s edge, shrouded in white mists, stood a tall figure on a horse of dappled gray. It was the dark man that Brand had seen days before on the cliffs above the river. It was Herla’s lieutenant, the bard of the Wild Hunt.
“The dark bard,” whispered Telyn aloud.
“Pleased to meet you all,” replied Voynod. His voice was courtly and rang with even tones in their ears.
Brand looked around to see if others of the Wild Hunt were possibly approaching, but saw nothing. In fact, he saw nothing of Tomkin, either. Evidently, the Wee One’s sense of self-preservation had taken precedence once again.
“I wish a word with you, if I might,” said Voynod.
“We are on a journey, sir, and must be off,” said Brand. He shouldered his pack and began to make his way along the fallen walls. After a moment’s hesitation, Telyn followed him.
Voynod walked his horse along the shoreline of the river, pacing them. Brand wondered if he knocked the bard fr
om his mount if he would truly turn to dust as Gudrin’s story had foretold.
“I wish to discuss the axe,” said the bard after an uncomfortable silence.
“Do you speak for your master?” asked Brand.
“I do.”
“What message do you have from him?”
“My master wishes to know if you account yourself the Bearer of Ambros…or the Wielder of Ambros.”
Brand hesitated only a moment before replying. “Gudrin was the Bearer of Ambros. I am the Wielder of Ambros.” Upon his back, the axe seemed to shift slightly, and even lighten itself somehow. Yes, definitely—Brand felt lighter on his feet. He wondered if it was changing its own weight or perhaps giving his legs more strength. As his legs still ached from the night spent on the tower’s stone floor, he suspected the former.
“You realize that you are but a boy of the Haven?”
“Yes,” admitted Brand.
“You’ve had virtually no training at arms, nor have you had much time to attune yourself to the Jewel. Declaring yourself a Champion seems a trifle—shall we say—overreaching.”
Brand shrugged. “How is it that you know so much of me?” he asked, attempting to apply the lessons he had learned from Tomkin. The trick of conversing with these beings was to gather more information than you gave.
“A sprinkle of silver, a sprinkle of fear. A few muffled screams in the night. Such information is easy to obtain.”
Brand felt a chill. For the thousandth time in the last week he wondered what events now transpired back home in Riverton and across the Haven. What evil deeds had Herla and his huntsmen performed in pursuing him and his companions?
“Do you wish to discuss the formation of a new Pact?” asked Brand on impulse.
Voynod laughed. “Surely you jest. My master has worked for centuries to end the last one!”
“Yes, but a new Pact with different terms may be more to his liking,” said Brand.
Brand was startled by a quiet voice that erupted seemingly at his feet.
Have 2 Sky Magic (Haven Series 2) Page 16
