“I have not come here to slay you. I am here to parlay.”
“We have established protocols for such things. An emissary should have come to my gates. He should have waited there, upon bent knee and with bent neck, until such a moment as my guardsmen awoke to his presence. Then matters would proceed with proper decorum.”
“You are right, great king,” said Oberon, performing a flawless sweeping bow. Behind him, he was aware the first of the gnomes had appeared. Anger showed in the manner they ground together their huge stone fingers. They had been most rudely awakened from their thoughts, like ruminating old men dashed with cold water. They raged at his scoffing of their rules and customs. They wished nothing more than to grab him and tear his flesh apart into wet strips. They held back, waiting only out of politeness to their king, who was conversing with this tricksy intruder.
“You are right, and I apologize profusely for my rudeness,” continued Oberon. “I performed this unpardonable act in the interest of expediting our conversation. To follow proper procedure might have delayed our discussion by a year, perhaps longer.”
Groth was pacing again. He strode more quickly than before, and a tiny cloud of dust followed his heavy, crunching tread. Oberon sensed more angry gnomes gathering behind him. The corridors and hallways were filling with them. But still they made no move upon him, and he made no motion indicating he recognized their presence.
“I will allow you your life in this instance,” said Groth, speaking with slow reluctance. “But you must exit my city and kneel at the entrance properly until I have finished my long-thought and come to you.”
“Great king, why might I have come here like this today?”
“You question me? You seek to pose Fae riddles in my royal chamber? You refuse to obey my commands in the very seat of gnome power? Have you so little regard for us?” The huge gnome, as he spoke his list of angry questions, stepped for the first time out of his worn rut in the granite floor. He took several heavy steps toward Oberon as he spoke. Each step accentuated one of his questions with the resounding clunk of stone striking stone.
“I meant no insult.”
“We have taken insult, regardless. The Shining Folk are no longer a great people. You are the same as the rest of the lesser races. You have no Jewel. You have no magic. You should not take liberties with us.”
“Exactly. That is why I’m here. Both a great danger, a threat to the existence of your people and mine, has arisen. Simultaneously, an opportunity has arisen with this threat.”
“Speak plainly, elf!”
“Do you know that Pyros, the Orange Jewel of Flame, has been gained by the Kindred who reside only a league or two above you?”
Groth froze. Oberon knew he was thinking, and waited politely.
“We know of the Amber Jewel in the insane hands of the River Folk, strange though it might be that such a people could wield one of the Nine. We know of a slain dragon, but did not realize…”
“The dragon had a mate. That mate was the green wurm known as Fafnir. Brand of the River Folk slew the beast in the Earthlight, and the Kindred did regain the Orange Jewel from its belly.”
“Fell news indeed. I understand your words of a great danger, and can understand a wish to warn us. But what of this opportunity?”
Oberon shook his head. “I have not yet finished with the bad news. The truly grim news, the fact that I came to relay your people upon peril of my life is this: The Kindred have chosen a queen. That queen is none other than Gudrin of the Talespinners, the same person who has taken up Pyros and even now attunes herself to its power.”
Groth halted again. This time, the moment stretched longer than before. “They will march. They have met us in battle before, and neither has bested the other. But now they wield a Jewel and are led by a monarch. The Kindred will go mad.”
“Perhaps they will boil upon the surface,” said Oberon, “as might ants when a spade is thrust into their nest and that nest is overturned.”
Groth shook his head slowly. “No. They will turn their greedy hearts and picks deepward. This is their chance to annex the Everdark, to drive all contenders out of the region. The Orange Jewel… Flame magic. It is perfectly suited for warfare beneath the surface. They will melt my people to slag and drive us from our city. Their memories are nearly as long as ours. They have not forgotten who their true enemies are.”
“Just so,” said Oberon. His eyes were alight with cunning. He had placed the gnome king, as he had planned, at the point of shock and despair. “But I believe I believe I can aid you in your plight, and help my own people in the bargain.”
And so he spoke of length of the rediscovery of the Red Jewel. The Red like the Green Jewel Vaul, was a living object. The others had all become inanimate things, such as the Axe and the Horn. The Green Jewel, embedded within a staff, grew forever a living covering of wood around it. The Red Jewel was similar, but its camouflage was a small bloodhound. The eye of the bloodhound was the Red Jewel. In a manner similar to the Green, the flesh that surrounded the Red always grew back. If you whittled the Green down to a toothpick, it would eventually grow back. The bloodhound had similarly been slain many times, but always the Red grew its mobile covering again and became the hound.
What Oberon did not discuss was how weak his hold was over the Red. He did not explain that his plans were balanced upon the miniscule skull of one Piskin of the Wee Folk. In his tale, the Red was well in hand and nearly attuned. Victory could be achieved, he told Groth, if only the proper allies could be mustered and called upon in need.
“The River Folk and the Wee Folk who follow Tomkin will march with the Kindred,” said Groth.
“And we must stand together against them,” came Oberon’s smooth response.
For several long seconds, Groth’s obsidian eyes stared unblinking, expressionless. “The gnomes will muster. A thousand stone fists will rise as one. We will march when you demonstrate you have power over the Red.”
“The Fae will muster,” responded Oberon with equal gravity. “A thousand bows will bend, each enchanted arrow tipped with squirming death. We will not wait for the Kindred to strike us. We will prepare now. What’s more, I offer to come to your aid, through our secret ways into your domain, should such a thing be needed.”
Groth nodded. “We will do the same, coming to your aid in the Twilight Lands, should you but open the way for us.”
Groth lifted his huge black fist. Around the wrist was a grayish line. Brand had severed that fist from his arm and Groth had reforged it in magma, but the king would carry the mark of Brand’s axe until the day he was ground down to bubbling dust.
Oberon’s tiny fist lifted to meet Groth’s. The two touched.
And so an alliance was formed in the dark, nameless city of the gnomes. An alliance of living stone and shining flesh. It would be the first such alliance among many.
Chapter Four
Myrrdin Returns
Telyn arrived at Rabing Isle around noon. Jak invited her in for lunch, but she didn’t make it to the table before Brand swept her up in his arms. They kissed long and fully, while Jak smirked over his lunch. Melon wine, rabbit stew and river greens were piled upon the table. It was a plain lunch; filling, but not extravagant. Brand was rich now, after having brought home a fortune from his journey into the Everdark, but he held back on fine living. He had bigger plans for his fortune.
Brand tried to turn his face away from her, the burned, scarred side, but she would have none of that. She pulled his chin back to her and kissed him fully. She had never shown any disgust with his scarred cheek and brow, not after the initial shock of seeing it after the dragon’s breath had done its work. If she did hate it as much as he did, she hid it well, and loved him enough to overlook it.
Brand let Telyn down easily, and they smiled at each other, foreheads touching. His beaming smile faded slowly. He sniffed. She smelled of wood smoke.
“A fire?” he asked.
Telyn’s face fell. She blinked back tears a
s she told him of Riverton’s disaster.
“That’s why Tomkin didn’t come with me,” she said. “He remains on station, in case more fires break out.”
Brand nodded. “Good thinking on his part.”
“Why would there be more fires?” asked Telyn. “Surely, there can’t be another fool in Riverton like that stable boy.”
“Perhaps not,” said Brand, looking serious. His good mood had all but vanished. He lamented that being a powerful person turned a person into a worrier. A person who was capable of making a difference in grand events had to think about them more deeply. “But then again, we can’t be sure it wasn’t arson.”
Telyn told him of the troll then, and of his last words.
“You did well to slay it,” said Jak. “Trolls! Disgusting things.”
“This one had someone he cared about more than his own life,” said Telyn. “He was dedicated to a girl. A farmgirl, of the Bowen clan. She’s been missing for weeks. Her mother had left her with a—a potion-vendor in the Haven Wood.”
Jak snorted. “A witch, you mean.”
“Possibly so,” said Telyn huffily. “Anyway, the woman was murdered and the suspicion was that something like a troll did it.”
“Where did you get this information?”
“From Corbin.”
Brand nodded, having a friend inside the constabulary had worked out nicely for him. Corbin had worked his way quickly up the ranks, his connection with Brand helping him as well.
“So, what do we have then?” asked Brand, rubbing his chin. He needed a shave. “A mystery? A troll that uses his dying breath to request salvation, not for himself, but for a River Girl. Could she be a witch herself? Could the troll be her creature, and so could it have been under her orders that he slew the old woman in the forest?”
Telyn told him then the last detail. She told him the troll had named his enemy, and the name he’d given was Piskin.
“Ah!” shouted Brand, reaching for his axe reflexively. He had to lower his arm by force of will. That name, the name of the treacherous Wee One, brought unbidden images of murder into his mind.
“That devil!” shouted Jak, standing suddenly. He jostled the table and a jug of Broadleaf melon wine spilled. Telyn snatched it up before it could splash more green wine over the table while the men gestured excitedly.
Both of the brothers knew the name of Piskin well. Tomkin had told them about the changeling, the very one who had taken the place of Lanet’s son and foully used her confidence. Brand had wished many times he had moved more quickly that day, when he and Old Man Thilfox had chased the changeling from Lanet’s apartments. One flick of his axe on that occasion would have saved them all a lot of trouble.
Jak put his hand on Telyn’s elbow. His brow knit into a stern frown. “Tell me that little monster isn’t in Riverton now, stalking my Lanet and her babe yet again.”
Telyn shook her head and put a hand on his chest to calm him. “I don’t think so. This morning, when I left, I heard that a boat was missing, and that a Wee One was seen leading a pregnant girl to the docks. I think he stole the boat and took the girl Mari with him.”
“Did no one think to stop them?”
“There was a fire raging at the time,” said Telyn, “and Wee Folk are supposed to be our allies now, they’ve been granted free passage in our streets.”
The two brothers nodded, scowling.
“Could that little monster have set the fire just to cover his escape?” asked Jak thoughtfully. “I wonder what he wants with the maid?”
Brand took a deep breath. “The troll asked us to go after Piskin? To save the maid?”
“He did,” said Telyn.
“Then regardless of his reasons, I think we should honor his final wish. Trolls are foul things, but they are clean and honorable compared to the likes of that changeling, Piskin.”
“Tomkin said much the same thing,” said Telyn. “But remember he has a special hate for Piskin.”
“His hate is as nothing next to mine,” said Jak, all but growling. “Perhaps this trip, I should go with you, Brand. My leg is healed, and I would enjoy a chance at vengeance.”
Brand nodded. “Unfortunately, we don’t even know which way Piskin went.”
“He sailed south, we know that from witnesses,” Telyn told them.
“South? Right past Rabing Isle?” shouted Jak, scandalized. “Too bad I didn’t see him. I would have put a bolt into his conniving head.”
“He can’t be traveling too quickly,” said Brand. “He’s only got one hand and Mari can’t very well pole along if she’s heavy with child. He’ll be using his sails only.”
“He’s only got a day’s sailing on us. Let’s go tonight,” said Jak.
“Jak… What of Lanet?” asked Brand.
“She’s in a Riverton. She’ll be safe enough there until we’ve dealt with this bounder.”
Telyn cleared her throat. She looked at them both and winced. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”
“What?” asked Jak, growing concerned.
“Nothing bad. At least, I hope you won’t take it that way. Lanet’s on her way here. She’ll be here in the morning, with her family members.”
“Old Man Thilfox?” asked Jak, growing pale.
“The fire and the sighting of Piskin set her onto her own quest. She’s coming here to marry you, Jak Rabing. In the morning. It was supposed to be a surprise, but I can’t see how that was going to work out.”
Jak looked appropriately stunned. “We were going to wait for the first day of summer,” he said weakly.
“That’s before a quarter of Riverton burned down. She wants to be here, Jak, on Rabing Isle with you and Brand. I think she will feel protected here. And her father wouldn’t let her move here without being properly wed.”
“Of course not,” said Jak, blinking.
“And they know you can’t very well hang around Riverton all year, you have a crop to plant. Anyway, she was very insistent that the wedding be immediate.”
“Well,” said Jak, at a loss. “I won’t say no to that!”
“You had best not!” said Telyn, smiling again. Brand could tell she had been worried about Jak’s reaction. He was taking it well, and everyone felt relieved.
Brand privately wondered if Lanet might have realized Jak was likely to go after Piskin, and quite possibly get himself into one of Brand’s dangerous adventures. This was her way, perhaps, of intervening before he escaped and went off chasing Piskin.
Jak’s mood, after the initial shock, turned to one of elation mixed with panic. He nearly forgot about Piskin in his desperate need to clean the place and make ready for his in-laws-to-be. Brand and Telyn pitched in and helped, putting fresh sheets on every bed and beating the winter mud out of every filthy rug. Everyone knew that the Thilfox clan was the wealthiest in the Haven and they expected things to be just so. None of them wanted to be found out as the country rubes they felt they were.
And so they decided to let Piskin float away up the river for another day. By all reports the maid Mari Bowen had gone with him willingly, and he had not yet harmed her. Brand suspected his plans consisted of replacing her child with himself when it was born. Disgusting, but it was unlikely to happen in a single day. Certainly, he had to be stopped, but he wouldn’t miss his brother’s wedding over it.
Later, he would come to regret his decision.
* * *
On the following morn, a thumping began at the front door. It was quite early, just after dawn. Brand climbed out of a dream and awakened. He found himself in one of the big chairs in front of the dead fire. He reached down and grabbed up his pack, which carried the axe. But he did not draw it forth. It twitched in his hands like an anxious dog as he carried it to the door and shook the sleep from his head.
“One moment,” he cried.
No answer came. The knocking ceased, but no one spoke.
Brand paused, instantly alert. His first thought had been of the wedding party. They co
uld not possibly have come so soon, however, not unless they had sailed through the middle of the night. No one did that, not unless it was an emergency. The Berrywine was a friendly river, but was not so forgiving as that.
He paused with his hand on the heavy bars that they kept down over the thick door. Who would come to Rabing Isle at dawn and thump upon their door? It could not be good news. He mentally insisted that he put in a spyhole of some kind for just such occasions as these. As the Champion of the River Haven, he’d found many an occasion of late where he could have used one.
He threw the door wide, and his axe squirmed in its pack.
There stood, of all people, Myrrdin. He scowled at the wizard, and the wizard glared back at him. Neither spoke or gestured for several long seconds.
Finally, hearing Telyn coming downstairs behind him, Brand nodded and roughly waved the visitor inside. As a host, it was his duty.
Myrrdin passed him and sat on one of the easy chairs.
“Will you take tea, Myrrdin?” asked Telyn.
Myrrdin nodded, but still said not a word.
Brand followed Telyn into the kitchen. A whispered conversation ensued.
“Did you invite him to the wedding?” he hissed at her.
“No,” she said shaking her head empathically. “I doubt he even knows about it.”
“Who will be doing the ceremony, then?”
“The Village Friar, from Hamlet. The one from Riverton was busy repairing damage from the fire.”
“Where’s Jak?”
“He was up before dawn, fixing up the property. I think he’s nervous, Brand.”
“Well… Go join him, please.”
She gave him a dark look, but nodded her head. “Just promise me that you won’t try to take Myrrdin’s head off this time.”
“Fine, fine,” Brand muttered. He took the mugs of tea from her and carried them back to Myrrdin. The last time the two of them had met, matters had come to blows. They had removed the roof of the place they’d been staying in. He sincerely hoped that no such fate was in store for his home. He told himself that no matter how provocative the wizard was, Ambros would be left in his pack.
Haven 5 Blood Magic BOOK Page 3
