Haven Magic

by B. V. Larson

  “Excuse me, lord Axeman,” said Old Hob. The huge goblin’s eyes were fixated upon the bejeweled horn which now lay upon the grass before Brand.

  Brand nodded. With his gauntleted hand, he pointed at the horn. “I give you Osang, goblin, as was our bargain. But know this: the axe is a greater power than the horn, and the humans will ever defeat the goblins should you choose to wield it against us.”

  Old Hob took several half-strides closer, knobby hands working together. A single long string of liquid dripped from beneath his cowl.

  When towering goblin had dared come close, Brand brandished the axe and let it glow in Old Hob’s face.

  “Treachery!” wailed Hob.

  “No,” said Brand. “A clarification only. This is the boon I ask: You must marshal your goblins and their rhinog offspring and quit the field. You must withdraw and allow your goblins to make no more rhinog offspring with human women.”

  “As thou wishes,” said Hob.

  Brand nodded and stepped back.

  A vastly long arm with a twisted hand and six long fingers stretched forward. With wickedly-curved nails at the end of each finger, the hand snatched the horn from where it rested on the grass.

  Brand allowed it. He had no desire to touch Osang. He had already dealt with two of the Jewels at once. The very idea of placing his hand upon a third Jewel was unthinkable. He was certain that the burden of it would break his mind completely.

  Hob took a huge breath and slowly let it out. He clutched Osang tightly to his chest. “Ah, the power of it,” said Hob. “It throbs and trembles against my breast, as warm as a fresh-caught maiden. Your debt is forgotten, Axeman. My wisps are freed, but I no longer hold you accountable for their loss. I will marshal my goblins and their children and march them from this place.”

  Shuddering from the power of Osang and salivating with the joy of holding it in his lumpy green hands, Hob hurried downhill. He vanished when he reached the misty bottom of the mound.

  Brand sighed, finding himself all alone in the silvery lands of the Faerie. “I suppose I must circle this mound nine times more to get back to my land,” he said aloud to no one.

  A flittering golden ball of light came up to him then, and he recognized the wisp whom he had released for a second time this night. He smiled at her exquisite beauty and she lit up his face with her yellow glow. She blushed and curtsied in the air.

  “I will lead thee,” she said, her tiny voice squeaking in his ear.

  He startled to hear her, and she flittered backward in concern. “You can speak?” he asked.

  She nodded. “My voice is too faint for a human ear in thy lands.”

  Brand nodded in return. He followed the floating golden mote that was the wisp down the slope.

  * * *

  While Brand walked the Twilight Lands, Telyn again found herself feeling restless. The battle was over, her young man was gone to places unknown and the combination was too much to be borne. She helped with the wounded for a full day, every few minutes gazing out toward the mound where Brand had vanished. Was he alive or dead? Did he lie in silver grasses, wondering if he would ever see her again?

  Telyn took to heading out to the mound at odd hours, usually at dawn and twilight. He was most likely to return then. Sometimes, wisps appeared and twittered at her. She ignored them, not impressed by their ethereal beauty. Somehow, when one was truly worried and heartsick, the wisps were less enchanting to gaze upon.

  On the second night of waiting and checking for Brand, she heard a strumming lute. She stiffened, but kept walking. The chords were lovely, and the sound filled the night air with a warmth that was unnatural for this time of year. Her head filled with the scents of lilac and honeysuckle. She knew of these tricks, however, and did not falter in her step. She turned away from the mound and headed back toward the ruined castle with an even stride. She promised herself she would not stop walking, nor would she deviate from the path until she reached safety.

  The lute and presumably the player followed her. She did not look around over her shoulder, although she burned to do so. Every dozen steps she reached up and touched her ward—making sure she had not somehow lost it. The grasses beneath her feet took on the silvery quality of the Twilight Lands, and she looked up to see the moon was riding high and was no long obscured by clouds.

  The player came to walk with her across the lonely field.

  “Lovely night, is it not, darling?” asked Puck.

  “It is cold and the air smells like stumpwater,” she replied. She was lying, but she did not want to give him the pleasure of knowing his enchantments were working.

  The elf chuckled. She still did not look at him, but she could see out of the corner of her eye that he was living up to the name of the Shining Folk. He glimmered brightly in the moonlight as if filled with soft radiance.

  “You are a stubborn one!” he said.

  “If you must talk, tell me something useful,” she answered. “Tell me of Brand.”

  “Must we discuss a boring river-boy?”

  “You could leave me in peace instead.”

  “Ah, but I sense you came here for love! If Brand does not return, will you not dance with me? I could make you forget him.”

  Telyn broke her vow to keep walking. She stopped and drew her knife. She raised it to the elf, and he backed away, throwing himself down upon his knees.

  “Oh please!” Puck said mockingly. “Put away your blade! Do not sever my head from my shoulders. I will make amends.”

  Telyn huffed and began walking again. Suddenly, the elf was at her other side, whispering in her ear. “I can tell you about Brand, if you will tell me something first.”

  She stopped again and looked at him. He was lovely to look upon. The very opposite of crude, craggy-faced river-boys. He was refined and sculpted and—almost perfect.

  “What do you want to know?” she asked.

  “Tell me of the Blue Jewel. What will be done with it?”

  Telyn nodded slowly. “Ah, I see now why you have come. You are your father’s lackey. You are here to wheedle and plead for his foolishly lost bauble. Well, I don’t have it, and I’m not in charge of its keeping, either.”

  For a fraction of a second, the elf registered anger on his face. He stared at her, and his lips twitched as if they wished to pull into a tight snarl. She tightened her grip upon her knife. At his side, she noted now, he did carry a rapier. If he drew it and lunged, she was not sure she could defend herself.

  Puck watched her closely. After a moment, he regained his composure and went back to pleading. “Lovely lady, you wound me with your scornful words.”

  Telling herself to stay more civil, Telyn began walking toward the castle once more. It was difficult to turn away from him, to force her feet to begin moving again. Hadn’t she made a pledge to herself? Ah yes, she recalled it now. She was not going to speak to the elf. She was not going to pause in her journey or be turned to another path. So far, she had not kept her pledge. Her jaw set itself, jutting forward, and she forced her feet to move. Once she was walking again, each step became easier. She wondered at the elf’s power. Surely, without her ward, she would have been swept away and become his plaything. She shivered, although the night air was not truly cold.

  Puck followed, pacing alongside her again. “My offer stands,” he said. “Tell me something of the Jewel, and I will tell you something of Brand.”

  “I don’t know anything special,” she said. “Tomkin wielded the Blue and called the Rainbow. When he lost control of it, he handed it over to Brand, who commanded the Rainbow, as I’m sure you witnessed.

  “Did the Wee One die?”

  “No, he had a hard time of it, but he managed to survive.”

  “Interesting. Did he hand over the Jewel willingly, or was it taken by force?”

  “He was very weak at the time, but he did not fight.”

  “Hmm,” said Puck. He did not sound happy with her answer. “And what of Brand?”

 
“He wielded the Jewel in Tomkin’s stead. Have your people no eyes? I would think you knew this story by now.”

  “We have eyes everywhere,” said Puck, smiling oddly. “Sometimes, we even share your own with you.”

  Telyn shuddered, and again had to force herself to start walking. She had unaccountably stopped.

  “What I want to know,” said Puck, “is whether Brand wielded the Jewels both together?”

  Telyn considered it. “Yes, I would say he did. But not quite at the same time, since he could only see out the Rainbow’s eyes or his own at one time, not both together. Still, they were both actively affecting him.”

  “Very interesting. Now, I see the hour is late, and we are near your encampment. I will take my leave now, pretty maiden—”

  “No,” she said. “I will not permit it. You will tell me of Brand, as you promised.”

  Puck’s answering smile was wide, but insincere. “Of course,” he said, speaking through two rows of perfect teeth.

  “Where is Brand?”

  “In the Twilight Lands.”

  “Has he been wounded?”

  “Several times.”

  Telyn sucked in her breath. “Is he mortally wounded?”

  “I should think not.”

  She sighed in relief. “What of Herla?”

  “That creature has sadly passed on.”

  She cocked her head and regarded the elf. “You feel sadness at the passing of such a monster?”

  Puck drew himself up. “The Dead are merely in another state of being. We among the Faerie do not judge them as harshly as your folk tend to.”

  Telyn shook her head and laughed. “We find bloodthirsty Dead to be unredeemable and thoroughly evil.”

  “Nonsense!” said Puck, and she thought there was a ring of honest outrage to his words now. Perhaps with this topic she had somehow struck past his fawning façade. “There is no true evil—only the pleasant and the unpleasant.”

  “Well then, I would most definitely say the Wild Hunt qualified as unpleasant.”

  “A difficult point to argue,” he conceded.

  The two walked together until they’d reached the foot of the crumbling walls.

  “Good bye then,” she said as the elf lingered.

  “Can I not be rewarded with token of affection?” asked Puck.

  Telyn looked at him and shook her head. The elf was positively incorrigible. He stood expectantly, hopefully, and she found herself weakening. She straightened her back and thought of Brand’s face.

  “No,” she said.

  “Not even a single, chaste kiss?”

  “Never,” she said, but she smiled at him as she left him at the walls and walked back into the encampment.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Homeward

  When Brand left the world of twilight and returned to the world of sun and stars he found the area around the Faerie mound deserted. It was morning, as best he could tell from the bluish cast to the sunlight. How long could he have spent in that other place, he wondered? Perhaps, he thought to himself with a chill, it had been much longer than a single night.

  There were a few rhinog bodies laying about, stinking in the sun. He thought they had a great stench about them, living or dead, but that in death they were probably worse.

  He trudged wearily, wounded and sore, toward the damaged keep. The bright sun and his fatigue caused his eyes to squint. But even with his eyes half-open, he kept them sliding from side to side warily. Who knew how things had gone during his absence? Hob had promised to withdraw, and Herla had fallen, but there were still the merlings and the Faerie who might attack him.

  After he had gone no more than a dozen heavy steps and had begun to consider removing at least some of his armor, someone hailed him.

  “Oh hey! Brand!” shouted Corbin. He came up behind him and clapped him upon the shoulder.

  Brand turned him a tired smile. “I’m very glad to see you made it.”

  “I feel the same. I’ve camped upon that hill, waiting for two days now. The nights were hectic, let me say.”

  “Thanks for waiting for me. Had it been a century, I would hope you would have given up.”

  “Never!” beamed Corbin, “but seriously now, you must tell me how things went. We know that the Wild Hunt vanished. Soon after that the rhinogs withdrew, marching in the direction of the Black Mountains. They flew a white ribbon, so we let them go. I hope this was the right move.”

  Brand nodded. “It was indeed.” He told Corbin the details of his adventures in the twilight lands.

  “So, you gave Old Hob the Horn of Shadow?” he asked, worriedly.

  “I know, not the best of enemies to empower. But I needed his help to beat a greater evil and we struck a bargain. If you don’t keep your word with these creatures, there is little basis for ever achieving peace.”

  Corbin nodded, for once he kept quiet about his own opinions. He turned to helping Brand remove his armor and bandage his wounds. None were life-threatening. Brand reflected that he made an excellent second. There was nothing the axe needed more to help balance a man than a trusted, cooler head.

  Brand enquired about Myrrdin and of course Telyn. Myrrdin had never returned from the Faerie mound after the night Brand had told him he would not remake the Pact. None had seen him or Oberon from that day to this. Telyn had been sick with worry about him and had taken shifts upon the mound, as well attended Corbin’s. She had kept busy helping the wounded, hunting for food and scouting for the army.

  Others of the River Folk army soon joined them as they marched to the ruins. The news of Herla’s destruction spread quickly. When Brand arrived at the encampment, the army was in fact packing up to march homeward. They had lost nearly a third of their number, but at least some kind of happy news was theirs to report.

  “We will return here one day,” Brand told the assembled men when they had finally stopped cheering him. “We will make this place green again, and it will be part of the lands of men.”

  The cheering was muted and more ragged as he talked of returning. Many of the men looked as if they would rather never leave the Haven again. Some, however, roared approval for his fighting spirit.

  “I will say this last,” said Brand, pulling out the axe again. It provided him a burst of energy and good spirit. “We will not have the Faerie or any other folk as our masters again. The Pact was an arrangement of tribute. It was a servile, pathetic state for the River Folk. We will not buy peace that way again. By the Golden Eye of Ambros I do swear this!”

  He lofted the axe and it flashed. Everyone there felt a ferocity of spirit overtake them, and their voices rose up to a roaring shout. They cheered and slammed their palms together until they stung. The walls of the ruins rang with the sound.

  Brand marched to the boats and the army followed him. Brand saw Tylag and Corbin exchange glances, but he didn’t care. Not one whit. For he meant his words, Axeman or not, he would live and die by them.

  They sailed home and none dared to delay them.

  Brand’s heart grew heavy, however, as they approached Riverton. He feared, somehow, that the town would have been fired and ruined in his absence. Perhaps everyone he knew, save those on the boats with him, had perished in some attack while the army was away.

  Corbin and Telyn had asked him about his dark mood, but he didn’t tell them what he was thinking. Best to let them enjoy the feeling of victory for as long as possible, should despair be waiting for them at home.

  So it was, when Stone Island hove into view and everything looked right about it, his face split into a grin. Only Corbin caught on.

  “You thought perhaps we were coming home to something awful, didn’t you?” he asked quietly as the boats all jockeyed to be first to the docks. The River Folk on the docks cheered to see the returning army. Soon half the town turned out, fluttering handkerchiefs and colored ribbons at them.

  Brand shrugged. He knew there was no dodging Corbin’s mind. “Oberon and Hob were missing from
the battlefield. Not to mention the merlings. Our army wasn’t home to protect our people and I didn’t know where the enemy might be.”

  “You feared they may have attacked here,” said Corbin, nodding, “now that I think about it, the thought makes me shudder. Do you really think that our enemies might have fallen upon our civilians out of spite?”

  Brand snorted. “How do you think the Dead Kingdoms came to have their name?”

  Corbin nodded gravely but clapped Brand upon the back. Brand winced from the wound Herla had given him. Somehow, it seemed to hurt more as the days passed and it began to heal.

  “Forget all those worries! They must have feared our vengeance too much to dare it!”

  Brand thought about that as the celebrations began. As usual, there was wisdom in Corbin’s words.

  After the celebrations, however, certain key questions remained. Everyone wanted to know the answers. Chief among them was the question of what was going to be done with the Blue Jewel. People seemed to accept that he was the Axeman now, that the Amber Jewel should be Brand’s to keep. But the second one, no one knew what to do with it. They all seemed to want to talk about the subject, however.

  One night in a remote parlor of Drake manor, Tylag and Corbin discussed it with Brand. Tylag was of the opinion that it should be taken to the Riverton Council and there a decision could be made properly, in accordance with Haven law. Brand rejected this idea.

  “I’ll not give it to a crowd of River Folk elders. No offense, Uncle, but they wouldn’t know what they were dealing with. Can you imagine Old Tad Silure with a Jewel of power? He’d drill a hole in it and sell it as a ward.”

  Tylag had to laugh at that, but his manner was uneasy. Brand could tell his Uncle was handling him delicately, so as to not set him off. Ironically, just the thought of his Uncle having to dance around with words like that made him angry. He fought to control his temper, and the axe rolled around on his back restlessly. He had, by now, gotten a much heavier pack of thick black leather and metal studs to stow it in. He dared not carry it on his belt, it was just too dangerous. If even a child walked up and ran a finger down the blade, well, that would be a nine-fingered boy who went home that day.