by B. V. Larson
“Are there other agents like him?” asked Corbin.
“Aye, several, but it would not be good to speak more of them now.”
With a ritual of movements, Gudrin quietly closed her book, fastening the clasp and testing it. She then rewrapped the book in the waxed package and slid it comfortably under her arm.
The River Folk were quiet, each thinking his or her own thoughts for a time. Telyn was the first to speak. “Herla and his coursers are nightmares. But the Faerie, they seem at once wonderful and terrible.”
“They are,” said Gudrin, speaking as one would from experience. “They are both joyful and sad, young and ancient. It is beyond mortals to truly understand them.”
“It would seem,” said Corbin thoughtfully. “That our judgment of their actions should be based upon whether or not they benefit us.”
“This is one way to view them,” Gudrin admitted with a shrug.
“What about the Dark Bard? How did Herla meet him and enlist his aid?” asked Telyn.
“I want to know more of the merlings,” Jak interrupted, sounding disturbed. “How do they live? Where did they come from?”
“What interests me is the nature of these shades that were once human and seem to have taken an interest in us River Folk. You must tell us more about them,” said Brand.
Gudrin held up her hand. “Those are all other stories, which I will tell you some other time. Now we grow close to Stone Island, if I’m not mistaken.”
To the surprise of the River Folk, she was right. They rounded a bend in the great Berrywine River and the granite walls of Stone Island hove into view. Soon they busied themselves with the approach to the harbor.
This time, with the feast of the Harvest Moon this very night, there was no space at the public docks. They were forced to beach the skiff, drag it ashore and tie it to a gnarled old pine tree so that it wouldn’t drift away. All of them came splashing ashore, carrying their packs and the weapons they had brought with them. Brand felt rather silly carrying his woodaxe. He exchanged glances with Corbin and could tell that he felt the same.
“Perhaps we should leave these in the boat,” suggested Brand, lifting the axe to Jak. Before his brother could reply, however, Modi stepped close to Brand and laid one of his broad hands on Brand’s arm.
“Keep it with you,” Modi said.
Brand looked at the warrior’s huge face. He could find no mockery there, nor any humor of any kind. All he could do was nod.
They all toiled up the lane to Riverton under the watchful eyes of those Hoots and Silures that were not away working. For the most part, they were elderly men rocking in their rocking chairs and sucking on cheap clay pipes and old women, beating half-heartedly at filthy rugs. Their stares were more than unfriendly, they were shocked and downright distrustful. Brand could all but hear their thoughts: Now those Rabing boys are consorting with Fobs and Outsiders! Even Battleaxe Folk, no less! They should change their names from Rabing to Rabble! Huh!
Chapter Nine
Old Man Thilfox
It was a long walk uphill, but soon they came to the main cobbled street of Riverton. They halted at the Spotted Hog where they had had lunch just the day before. It seemed like a week had passed since then to Brand.
“We must find Uncle Tylag and Constable Hirck and tell him about the boat and Arlon’s disappearance,” said Jak.
“Yes,” agreed Brand, “Uncle Tylag used to be the chief of the Riverton Constabulary, he’ll know what to do.”
After a short discussion, they decided that Jak, Modi and Gudrin would report to the constable, while Brand and Corbin would find Tylag. As Brand had no doubt she would, Telyn wished to accompany the talespinner. They all agreed to meet up at the common, where most of the town would be in any case.
“Don’t forget about our business, Brand,” Telyn hissed to him as the two groups parted. She looked Corbin up and down critically. “You can come along as well, since I can see that you’ve wheedled the story out of Brand.”
Brand and Corbin exchanged grins as they went into the Spotted Hog, deciding to check there first. Inside, one thing led to another, and Corbin was soon ordering a large quantity of food for lunch. Brand huffed, but didn’t refuse the plate of smoked fish and fresh bread placed before him.
“She knew immediately,” Corbin said when he’d finished stuffing his lunch away.
“Of course,” replied Brand. “I never doubted that she would.”
“I think I know what you see in that girl.”
“And what would that be?”
“The fact that she can see right through you. It’s enough to intrigue any thinking man.”
Brand kept his opinions about Telyn to himself and finished his plate quickly. He noted that a fire was going now in the stone hearth at the back wall of the common room. Winter was upon them early this year. He knew from years of experience that Innkeeper Blunner would keep the flames going all day, every day, until spring.
“Well,” said Corbin after he’d finished a mug of warm mead. “I think it’s clear that my father isn’t here.”
Brand agreed, grinning, and the two of them settled their accounts and stepped out into the street again. The snow had melted off by now, and the sun was even shining weakly. It was good to walk on cobblestones instead of slush and mud.
All of Riverton was bustling in anticipation of tonight’s feast. A Mari Lwyd parade came up behind them, bells jangling and criers bawling for all to beware. Remembering when it had been their year to carry the Mari Lwyd, they stepped out of the way into the entryway of Yudo the Tinsmith’s shop and watched the procession.
First came the criers, girls all, wearing white dresses with wings made of sticks and gauze. Then came the smaller boys, hopping and leaping with agility, each wearing a top hat and a waistcoat of bright green, yellow or crimson and swinging their canes at the crowds with mock ferocity. Next came the huntsmen themselves, boys and girls nearly as old as Brand and Corbin. First came the biggest of the boys, bearing the Mari Lwyd itself, the ancient symbol of Herla, which consisted of a horse’s skull draped with white cloth and decorated with rosettes and colored ribbons. The eyes were of bottle-glass and the antlers were those of a stag killed long ago in the Deepwood. Behind this boy came the other coursers, riding mock horses of white or black.
Brand watched the procession go by, and for the first time felt some of the old excitement of the Harvest Moon feast run through him. “The children think it’s all a game, but there they are, imitating Herla at the head of the Wild Hunt. But perhaps I shouldn’t mention that name aloud….”
“I remember our year,” said Corbin in a thoughtful voice. “You bore the Mari Lwyd because of your great height, and I was one of your coursers.”
“To think that tonight we may catch sight of what we were playing at just a few years ago,” said Brand. “The whole idea is mad. We must try to stop Telyn. I have no interest in being chased down by Herla and skinned to make new boots and cloaks for his coursers.”
Corbin looked doubtful. “I don’t want to meet up with this Enemy either, but Telyn is not easily dissuaded from anything.”
Brand made a gesture of exasperation. “She wants to do something crazy, possibly risking all our lives or even more. We are well within our rights to stop her. She doesn’t know what she is toying with. After listening to Gudrin today and seeing Arlon’s boat and those bizarre footprints on the isle, I’m beginning to realize how important all of this is.”
“It’s far more than a child’s game,” agreed Corbin.
The two of them followed the procession to the gates of Drake manor. The high stone walls were scaled by green tongues of ivy. The boys passed between the rusted gates and crunched up the gravel walkway to the steps. As they approached the manor itself, both of them slowed somewhat. It was difficult to overcome their childhood fear and reverence of the place. It was here that the Drake Clan had built their homestead to house their many relations. Riverton had been built up around t
his one corner of the estate, which made up a goodly portion of Stone Island. The Drake lands stretched all the way to the western cliffs along the far shore of the island. To the north, the estate bordered the town common upon which the festival would be held and upon which the Offering would be made tonight. The manor house itself was an impressive thing, four stories high and rambling, with dozens of apartments big enough for whole families to live in. In fact, more than twenty families of the Drake clan still lived in the manor.
Brand hadn’t faced the Riverton Council since he was a child. He hesitated at the foot of the steps, then plunged ahead, swinging the knocker and sending an echoing clatter through the halls on the other side. After a lengthy wait Brand made ready to lift the knocker again. The door swung open even as he reached out his hand. He snatched it back hastily.
The man who answered the door was an elderly fellow with bushy white eyebrows and a squint. He took one look at them and waved them away. “You’ve come for courting early, eh? Anyone you boys would be looking for has already left for the common,” he said. He made as if to shut the door, but then leaned out to have one more word. “And watch that you don’t make free with the young ladies of the Drake clan tonight, gentlemen.”
“Sir, excuse me,” said Brand, stepping forward. “We are looking for Tylag of Clan Rabing, sir.”
“Eh, what’s this?” asked the man. “Tylag?”
“Yes sir, he sent us to look for Myrrdin.”
“Myrrdin?” asked the man in surprise. His eyes slid back and forth between the two boys and then narrowed suddenly. “Is this a joke? We don’t take well to jokes here. I’ll have you whipped off the estate!”
“No sir,” said Brand, taking a step back in surprise. “We aren’t joking.”
The man squinted at Brand closely. “You’re Jan’s boy. Jan Rabing’s boy. Only Jan could have had a son so tall.”
“You knew my father?”
“Of course,” he snapped. Then he eyed Corbin. “And this great lout must be Corbin Rabing. Well, well.”
“Is Tylag here, sir?” asked Corbin.
The man made an impatient gesture. “Of course,” he said. He turned and walked away quickly. A crooked finger over his shoulder was the only hint they had that they were to follow. They stepped into the entry hall and shut the door behind them. The hall was everything that Brand had remembered, but perhaps with an extra layer of dust on it. The mosaic floor was a spiral pattern of black and white that gave one the impression of falling into a whirlpool if you stared at it too long. The grand staircase that swept down into the hall from the second story was of carven stone and heavy oak beams. It was up these steps that the old man currently disappeared.
Hustling after him, the boys took the steps two at a time. In the sudden presence of wealth, they were now hotly aware of their simple clothes and muddy boots. Brand began to self-consciously stuff his shirt into his pants.
They reached the top of the steps and for a moment thought they had lost their guide. “There!” said Corbin, pointing to a door that was just swinging shut at the end of the nearest hallway. Brand marched for the door down a hall of dark stained wood. Embroidered tapestries of various heroic acts performed by Drake clan leaders lined the walls of the dark hall. Brand grabbed hold of the door handle and twisted. They walked into the room beyond.
They blinked in brilliance. The entire back wall of this room and much of the ceiling was made up of stained glass. Brand stood in wonder, recalling the colored lights of the council chamber from when he was a boy. The floor was carpeted with several huge silver wolf pelts taken from the Deepwood. An oval table of great size sat in the middle of the room with twenty-one chairs arranged around it, one for each of the clan leaders.
There were only five people in the room now: the man who had answered the door, Tylag, Gram Rabing, old man Tad Silure and Irva Hoot. Brand could tell that they weren’t getting along.
“Sorry about the delay, gentlemen,” said the man who had let them in. “These louts of yours, Tylag, seem to have returned early—and without Myrrdin.”
“Well, it was a long shot, Thilfox,” sighed Tylag.
“Thilfox?” asked Brand, stepping forward. “You’re Thilfox Drake?”
The old man made an impatient gesture. “Of course, boy.”
“I apologize, sir. I didn’t...” Brand began, but the others were all talking, ignoring them. They were trying to decide who should perform the ceremony of the Offering. Old man Tad Silure and Gram Rabing seemed particularly bitter, while Irva Hoot looked bored.
Brand stepped forward, but Corbin took his arm. “Perhaps we should just go.”
“No, we must tell them about the Kindred and about Arlon.”
“Eh? What was that?” demanded Thilfox suddenly. He rose up and approached them. “Did you say something about the Kindred, meaning the Battleaxe Folk? What would you boys know of such wanderers?”
Brand was a bit taken aback. Thilfox seemed at times deaf and at other times possessed of the keenest hearing. “I—I would like to tell you that we have brought with us Gudrin of the Talespinners and Modi of the Warriors. Gudrin has much craft and lore, I believe she may be well qualified to perform the Offering.”
“Oh you do, do you, boy?” asked old man Tad Silure, rising to his feet. He was a balding man of exceptional age and vitality. He had a habit of smiling and sneering at the same time, which revealed his long yellow teeth. “Who are you to make the council’s decisions for them? Like everyone in your clan, you think you own the River itself.”
“Why don’t we all control ourselves and hear what they have to say, Tad,” suggested Tylag, checking his own anger with an obvious effort.
“Yes boy, make your report,” said Irva Hoot. She adjusted her clay pipe so that it poked from the opposite side of her mouth and peered at them dubiously.
Brand explained at length what had happened to them for the last couple of days, including their encounters with the shade, the Battleaxe Folk and Arlon’s boat. He left out any mention of Telyn’s odd candle, or her plans for this evening. When he was finished, Thilfox eyed him oddly.
“Arlon, you say?” Thilfox asked. “Did you find the boat on the shores of the Deepwood?”
“No sir. We found it on Rabing Isle.”
“Could it have been cast adrift so it floated your way?”
Brand considered it. “Possibly.”
Thilfox told him then that Arlon had been reported missing in the Deepwood, and the fact that his boat had traveled to Rabing Isle was quite strange. Brand agreed. An uncomfortable pause followed.
“That’s all you wish to say, Brand?” asked Thilfox.
Brand looked down. “That’s all, sir.”
“Then we will discuss this shade at greater length later,” said Thilfox, turning away from the Brand. “Right now, all that matters is that the Pact is maintained.”
The clan leaders began to debate the issue heatedly. Only Gram Rabing stepped over to the boys and asked them a few questions about Jak and how they were faring out on the Isle alone. She tipped her head back toward the others. “They will come up for air shortly. In the meantime, why don’t you boys go find these friends of yours?”
“Why are they fighting so fiercely, Gram?” asked Brand.
“None of them want to perform the ceremony, but neither are any of them willing to entrust another. That’s why Myrrdin was so helpful. He was always a neutral party. Now, why don’t you boys move along? There isn’t a lot of time left before the event. Be back by twilight. By then they will be desperate to get anyone to do it.”
They turned to go, and found Thilfox holding the door open for them. As he let them out, he gave the boys a rare thin-lipped smile. “You did well to bring back the Talespinner. If she is as you say, it might just save the Pact. Now don’t dawdle! Flirt with the girls only sparingly!”
Shaking their heads, Brand and Corbin trotted down the gravel path to the street and turned toward the town common. The snow had almos
t all melted away, except for occasional white mounds beneath trees and sheltered by boulders. On the common the celebration was in full swing beneath the great domed tents and out on the playing fields. Children laughed and capered in circles, making faerie rings of their own in the icy grass. Young girls, wearing multi-hued dresses and mock wings of gauze chased one another in the wooded area. Vendors hawked sweetmeats and rainbow-sticks, which bore ribbons of every color that would flutter in the wind or when a child ran with it held aloft. Wheelbarrows loaded with cider and gingerbeer moved through the crowds, making frequent sales.
“Too bad we are on such an urgent mission,” said Corbin regretfully.
Brand agreed. The two of them searched through the crowds. Brand wondered if the mood of the people would have changed if they knew that it still had not been decided who was going to make this year’s Offering.
After they had searched for several minutes, Brand felt a tap on his back. He whirled to find Telyn smiling up at him. “You never do look back, do you?” she asked.
“Telyn! It’s good that you found us. Gudrin needs to go to the council right away.”
Telyn led them to the second great dome tent, where the livestock for the Offering were kept. There they found Jak, Gudrin and Modi. Modi had already downed several mugs of ale and wasn’t pleased to have to leave the festival. Gudrin quieted his complaints with a gesture.
Sometime later they all arrived back at the door of Drake manor. This time Modi did the knocking. The door was flung open almost immediately. Thilfox ushered them in and up to the council chambers.
Irva Hoot and old man Tad Silure were the most reluctant to accept Gudrin as a genuine authority. They seemed to think that the Rabing clan had brought her in to upstage them somehow. Tylag quickly grew exasperated.
“Here, here,” said Gudrin finally, holding up her hand. Her voice was such that it carried to the limits of the chamber and brought quiet with the power of its volume. “I will tell you a bit of what I know of your Pact. Recall that for the Kindred, only a handful of generations have passed since the Pact was made. Our memories are therefore fresher.”
