by B. V. Larson
“Slay that mad dog,” choked Morgana. “Then have the hound lap up his blood and use it to heal me.”
Oberon’s eyes slid to her, then back to Trev. He cocked his head curiously as he looked down upon this helpless grandson.
“A bold move,” he said in a conversational tone. “But dishonorable. There can be no prison for you. It saddens me, as I took such great pains to create the circumstances of your birth. You have wasted your life, and thusly decades of my time.”
“No dishonor,” Trev gasped, struggling against the dozen hands that held him in order to speak. They held him so tightly, he could hardly draw breath.
“Kill him now!” hissed the witch. “Tend me!”
Oberon again slid his eyes to her, then back to Trev. He made a tiny motion, and the others loosened their grip so that Trev could speak.
“Do you know so little of our ways?” Oberon asked. “Is that your excuse, ignorance of the simple codes of honor? It will not save you, true or not.”
“No,” said Trev. “I know what I’m saying. She rules you. Your actions were not your own. This duel, therefore, was between me and her, not you and I, grandsire.”
“Ah!” said Oberon, removing his blade from Trev’s neck and tapping its red tip upon his tongue. “I see your point. You believe—incorrectly of course—that you’re fighting Morgana, not me. Absurd—but seemingly a real belief on your part. And the way you moved! I would have to say you have more elf in you than human, despite that crude barking noise you made at the end. Therefore, honor could be in your make up. And, even more surprisingly, your actions could be construed as honorable, given your delusions. Hmm.”
Morgana coughed, and redness spilled down over her white gown. She was beyond demanding aid now. Gasping, she collapsed to the forest floor and struggled to breathe. Trev dared to hope she would expire before he did. It was his fondest wish at the moment.
Oberon signaled his elves, and they grabbed Trev again, holding him fast.
Methodically, the elf lord grabbed one of Trev’s extended legs. He set something upon the ground then, something at Trev’s feet.
Try as he might, Trev could not turn his eyes downward far enough so that he could see the thing, but he suspected it was a small, evil-eyed hound.
Something fantastically sharp bit into his thigh. Warmth ran down his leg, and there was a tickling sensation at the ankle. Trev struggled, but he was held fast.
“Hold the wound open,” Oberon told his guardsmen. “I daresay I’ll need half his blood before I’m through here.”
For a time, Trev bled while the hound lapped. Oberon performed his foul magicks with the blood released and consumed. Morgana’s breathing became less ragged even as Trev saw his vision dimming. He despaired, as his final wish was not to be fulfilled.
When he lost his way in this world and stepped into the oblivion of unconsciousness, he thought he heard his grandfather humming a lively tune as he worked.
* * *
When Brand awakened on the hillock, he found Tomkin standing on his chest with his tiny hands resting on his hips.
“Tell me your dreams,” said the manling.
“Dreams?” asked Brand groggily. “I dreamt of things in the fog. Dark things, with arms like snakes and wet, hard shells over their bodies.”
“Tell me more. Did these creatures grip you?”
Brand came more awake, and frowned.
“Get off!” he huffed at the creature that stood upon him. He struggled to sit up, and found himself stiff and sore.
Tomkin bounded away from the hand that came up to swat him.
“How long was I sleeping?” Brand mumbled. His eyes were so bleary he could hardly see. The purple landscape of the Twilight Lands didn’t make it any easier to make out his surroundings.
Tomkin shrugged. “A day—or maybe three of them, I would say. We don’t really have ‘days’ here, you know.”
Brand stopped rubbing his eyes and looked at the little manling in surprise. “Three days?”
Tomkin sniffed. “What did you expect? You battled beasts few have ever seen, then thought to rest upon a mound with buried dead under your head for a pillow. It was all I could do to keep the sprites and wisps from tickling your nose.”
“I wish you hadn’t chased them off. They might have awakened me sooner,” Brand complained while rubbing his neck and trying to rise. He found to his surprise that around his waist, his chainmail was shot through with blades of twisted grass. With a growl, he ripped himself loose.
At that moment, looking at the grass that had grown through the Kindred-forged links, he believed Tomkin. He must have been lying there for days. He had to wonder then: what if Tomkin hadn’t been here? What if he’d been left to sleep forever in Twilight? Would he have died in his sleep? Would he have awakened as an ancient and decrepit man? He shuddered at the possibilities.
“All right,” he said at last as he pulled the final strands of grass from his armor. “I think I might have lain here for longer than three days, but as you say, it’s difficult to tell in this place. Have you figured out where the Trev and the dragon went?”
“Oh yes, this way.”
Brand marched off after his small friend and wondered why he wasn’t ravenously hungry. He suspected it was another trick of this strange land.
When at last they reached the center of the Great Erm, they found a mountain there, in the middle of it. Brand frowned up at the towering structure.
“Odd,” he said. “I’ve read of the Erm and seen primitive maps of the region. There aren’t any mountains like this noted. Look at those cliffs. There are strange growths everywhere.”
Tomkin didn’t answer. Instead, he hopped to one side, then back the other way, gazing and muttering to himself.
“What is it?”
At last, Tomkin turned back to him. “That’s isn’t a cliff, or a mountain. It’s a tree!”
Brand gaped at him, then turned back to the thing that loomed overhead. He laughed, then stopped and stared.
“I think you’re right. How can that be? There’s never been something so big. Not in all the legends I’ve ever heard.”
“No,” said Tomkin. “You’re right. It can’t be—but it is.”
“Dare we approach it?”
“This is the direction that Trev went. Do you want to give up the chase?”
Brand grimaced and rubbed his bearded chin. “No. Let’s see what’s what.”
They marched on, and before they reached the foot of the fantastic growth, which towered up halfway to the clouds themselves, they were stopped by an unexpected guardian. It was another large, and this one could walk. It was big, but not nearly so large as the monstrous growth it tended.
“What do you want here, Axeman?” asked a voice from within the tree.
Brand peered in surprise. He knew the voice, but the attitude was new and hostile.
“Myrrdin?” he asked.
“I once went by that name. Now, answer my question.”
“Myrrdin, we came to seek your counsel. I see that you’re alive—and I hope you’re well.”
“I am as you find me. And my health is excellent, thank you. Now, state your purpose and be on your way.”
“Have you seen a boy of the Haven named Trev? He might have been traveling with a dragon.”
Myrrdin rattled his twigs and thumped closer on his roots.
“Perhaps. Why should I give you any information? What is in this exchange for me?”
“Peace, life, and liberty.”
The tree creature nodded thoughtfully. “Spoken like a true bully. You are a true lord now, Brand. At least you’re acting like one.”
“We two possess the Blue and the Amber,” Brand said. “You can’t stand against us with only the Green. Not even if you make this monstrosity you’re growing here walk of its own accord.”
“You don’t know what you’re speaking of.”
“Yes, I think we all do. Let’s have no conflict. We aren’t ask
ing you to cease your questionable activities. This is Oberon’s land, and it is up to him to police those who live in it. We have no problem with you and your trees, Myrrdin. Just tell me about the boy.”
Myrrdin made a strange, rasping sound. After a moment, Brand figured out that he was laughing.
“You were thusly described just two dozen years past, Brand. Do you realize that? To me, you are still a boy.”
“I do realize I’m younger, but I’m no fool. You were sane back then as well. Let’s think of those better times. Tell me what I wish to know, and I’ll not bother you further.”
“Oh but you will, now that you know where I am and what I’m doing. You walked in near the end of the great project. See here, the fruits of my labor? I’ve revived the greatest living thing in all history on any of the known worlds.”
“That’s admirable,” Brand said, “but irrelevant. Will you tell me what I want to know?”
“So hasty. So quick to throw away a golden opportunity.”
“What do you mean?”
“That we have similar goals—similar problems.”
Brand looked around the forest carefully. He wondered to himself if Myrrdin was talking in riddles to delay him. Distraction was often followed by a stealthy attack. Seeing no new threats, he turned back to Myrrdin.
“Explain yourself, man.”
Myrrdin began to pace then, back and forth. A path as wide and deep as a cart’s wheel ruts was quickly cut into the forest loam by the writhing roots. Brand thought it was a very odd thing, watching what amounted to a very large walking tree brood as it spoke.
“We have much in common now. You have the Haven, which you must nurture and protect. I have this tree in an enemy forest. Both of us are under threat, and I think we should help one another and share what we know.”
“Fine. You speak first.”
More raspy laughter. “Such distrust and cynicism! Unsavory in one so young.”
“I’m a child no longer, Myrrdin. Tell me what Trev is doing and then we’ll talk about alliances.”
“Very well. The young half-elf reminds me of myself, but he’s not a mage. He’s a fighter, and I would daresay he takes after his father more than his mother.”
Brand smiled. “You have a point there, but then you may not have met his mother. She’s as tough as nails in her own way.”
“I’m not surprised. In any case, Trev came through here a few days back and I directed him to Oberon’s camp.”
“Did you deceive him concerning the nature of his visit?”
“No. He was to be my spy.”
“Why would he agree to such a thing?”
Myrrdin pointed upward toward a distant glow. Brand and Tomkin craned their necks back and looked up the trunk of the tremendous tree. There, high above, was a reddish flickering.
“What’s that?”
“The dragon, in its cage. Trev seems inexplicably fond of the creature. I used that weakness to my advantage.”
“What a cruel thing you’ve become, Myrrdin,” Tomkin said, entering the conversation.
“On the contrary. I could have killed him, but instead gave him his life and a worthy task. Can you seriously be feeling pity for a dragon?”
Brand lifted his hands to stop the bickering. “All right,” he said. “Fine, you sent Trev to Oberon as a spy. What has he reported?”
“Sadly, nothing. He has been gone for too long—I’m beginning to feel concerned.”
Brand stared at him, then chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t tell me you’re now going to try to send me after the boy? Where one dupe fails, perhaps the second will succeed? I’m the Axeman now, wizard. You’d do well to remember that.”
“I would have difficulty forgetting. But in any case, I’m not forcing you to go. I will say this, though: I think it would be in your best interest to figure out what is happening in our two worlds and to learn the truth with haste.”
“What do you mean?”
“What kind of dreams have you been having, Brand?”
Brand hesitated. He thought of the monsters in-between worlds. They’d claimed to be a part of him. Were they real? Or just phantoms from his tortured mind that were conjured up by that tortured place?
“I’ve seen strange things in my mind. I’ve fought between the worlds and won my way back to this one. I’ve struggled with beings who claimed to be from my dreams, and—I do vaguely recall having seen them there.”
“Ah-ha!” Myrrdin said, lifting one long finger like a walking stick. “I know what has plagued you, and me. It is Dream Magic, the power of the last Jewel.”
“Which one is that?”
“The White, of course. The Sunstone.”
Tomkin interjected a high-pitched snort of derision. “A myth! A legend!”
“Perhaps it once was a myth,” said Myrrdin. “The White has been called many such things and worse. But it is real enough today, nonetheless.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Myrrdin related to them Trev’s tale, and the tales of other he’d heard concerning the sorceress.
“She twists minds as easily as her own hair,” Myrrdin said. “I sent Trev to learn more of her as well as of Oberon’s doings. I feared the sorceress and my sire were in league somehow. But Trev has not returned, and I now must assume he has failed in his mission.”
“And now I suppose you want me to march to your father’s village and thrash the truth out of him.”
“No, not today. I have my tree, to which I must tend. It is young yet and vulnerable. And you, sir, have been gone too long from your home. The people you care about are calling for you, and it can’t be to tell you good news.”
Brand frowned. “How do you know this? I’ve heard nothing.”
“I’m called a wizard, remember? That’s not because I rule more Power with the Jewels than any other does. But I have some power outside the reach of the Nine Eyes. You know this.”
“Yes, it is why they call you or anyone else a magician.”
“Humph. Magicians are charlatans. But in any case, I can see the efforts your people have been using to call you. Here, let me help.”
Myrrdin walked two dozen paces toward the great forest. Brand and Tomkin followed him warily. His strides were so long it took them a hundred steps to catch up.
At last, Myrrdin reached up and spread two branches apart, asking them to gaze through the middle. They did, and they were surprised at what they saw.
A tiny candle burned in space. It hung there, impossibly far from any source of fuel or support. Like a tiny white light suspended in open air.
“A beacon,” Brand said. “It must be Telyn. Why does she burn a beacon?”
“To call you home. You must go and protect your brood, as I fear I might need them, and you might need me.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That we agree to support one another—should things go badly, and we both need it.”
“I have a castle, a people, and an army. What do you have to offer?”
Myrrdin let the branches weave together again, and indicated the great tree with a wave of his highest branches.
“I have…my new body.”
Brand looked from him, to the massive tree, and back again. He nodded. “I understand. An army of one.”
“Exactly.”
“But what about Trev, and the Witch of the Wood?” demanded Tomkin.
Myrrdin turned his great body to face Tomkin, who looked at them both in sudden alarm.
“Whoa!” he said. “I’m not anyone’s dupe.”
“No,” Myrrdin said. “You are a member of this alliance. But your people are scattered and wily. They can’t be taken out in with a single stroke. Brand and I have things to protect. You are freer of action. I would ask that you join us, and for your part, you go to learn the truth of the matter. What has happened at Oberon’s village? Is the sorceress in league with him?”
Tomkin huffed and fumed, but in time he was convinced. With m
any complaints, he darted off into the trees in the direction of the elf stronghold.
Brand looked after him in concern. “I count him a friend. Will he be alright?”
“I’m a wizard, not a seer.”
“Very well. I must be off. Which way will take me most quickly to the Haven?”
Myrrdin marched alongside him through the trees where a small, forgotten mound encircled with black mushrooms sat. Brand didn’t like the place, but supposed it would do. He began to walk the circle, when Myrrdin put up a cautionary branch of warning.
“Have a care. Watch the mushrooms. They will poison your breath if you brush them with your foot. They grow over the corpses of past careless travelers.”
Heeding the advice, Brand walked among the mushrooms very carefully indeed.
Chapter Thirteen
Tomkin’s Surprise
Tomkin, like all Wee Folk, prided himself on his swift feet and his tricksy mind. As he followed the trail through the Great Erm he soon realized where the course was going and veered from the path. He didn’t want to approach the elf village head on. That was not the Wee Folk way.
There was never night nor day in this place, so there was no reason to wait. He traveled around the village when he came to the region and circled it twice before daring to get closer.
He saw the elves were up to something as he approached the great walls. He wrinkled his thin, candle-stick nose at the flavors of smoke in the air—what was that? Burning meat, but he could not assess the source. Elves didn’t often eat meat, and when they did they preferred light fare, birds, shellfish and the like. This didn’t smell like that. It smelled like a heavy, fat-filled meat. And there was the acrid taint of burning hair in the midst of that smoke as well, he would swear by it.
At last, his curiosity forced him to creep closer. Wee Folk are even more alert and stealthy than forest elves, but they have their limits. Tomkin was nervous and wide-eyed as he reached the outskirts of the village proper.
His mouth opened in surprise, forming a perfect O. What was this? Did they playact?
