by B. V. Larson
Somehow in the darkness, Brand lost Corbin and Telyn, who fled on ahead. It was not their fault, he realized. In the darkness they had not understood that Jak was injured. Blindly he and his brother stumbled forward, Jak limping, Brand holding his arm across his shoulders and half dragging him. After a time they came to a place where the land seemed to bottom out. There was no clear way to go that was downhill. Brand realized that they were lost and he all but despaired. He listened for a moment, but heard nothing of Telyn or Corbin or the goblins. He could hear only their labored breathing and the night sounds of the forest. Crickets chirped and a chill wind rattled the finger-like winter branches.
“Come on, Jak. We've got to get back to the common,” he whispered. Jak made no reply. Brand helped him up and started forward. Jak was limp now, he was only dragging him. He stopped, realizing that his brother must have passed out. With hands fumbling in the darkness, he felt his brother's body, searching for wounds. He found one arrow in his leg, another in his breast. The wounds were sticky with blood he couldn't see. Should he pull out the arrows? No, he thought, not when he could not see to staunch the blood.
He took a moment to try and think. Blind panic would probably lead to both their deaths, he told himself. He had to think. Where were the goblins? In which direction lay the common?
Of the goblins there was no sign. He hoped that this did not mean that they had gone after Corbin and Telyn instead of him. He reasoned that if he just kept on in any direction, within a mile or so he should come out of the trees. He was on the corner of an island, after all, much of which was inhabited. This section was perhaps the most wild, due to a natural tendency of folk not to live too close to the faerie mound, which was the only place that the Fair Folk could appear on Stone Island that he knew of. The forest was not endless, he had to come out somewhere along the line.
So Brand picked a direction, heaved up his brother, feeling very glad that he had outgrown him, and set out. The going was hard. There were thickets of berry bush to be crashed through or circumvented. Everywhere the trees blotted out all but a rare gleam of moonlight. Soon his legs were wooden and his arms as heavy as lead. Jak grew heavier and wheezing coughing fits wracked his body. Brand walked on as if in a dream, wondering if Jak would be dead in his arms when he won through the forest, as the farm girl had been in Myrrdin's arms so long ago.
He wept for a time in fear for his brother's life and for all the Haven, but kept going all the while. Blinking and stumbling as if in a waking dream, he became aware that he was not alone. Someone was pacing him, off to one side. He pressed forward, not knowing what else to do. He cast about as he went, but could find no suitable weapon. He bitterly recalled Modi's words when he had sought to relieve himself of his woodaxe. Keep it with you, the warrior had said. Better words had never been spoken.
The thing pacing him was stealthy. Whoever or whatever it was, it made almost no sound. Fortunately, it seemed content to simply walk through the forest, shadowing him, no more than a stone's throw away. Every now and then he caught sight of a glimmer or heard a tiny sound from this shadow. Brand worried and fretted, but tried not to show it. Was it a goblin captain? Was it Voynod, toying with him? Or worse yet, the Enemy himself?
Finally, he could stand it no longer. “Speak, shadow!” he commanded angrily.
“Hush! Sing not aloud for the Dark Ones. They hunt thee still,” came the reply. It was a soft, odd sound. Words such as the winds might speak, if they had a voice.
“Are you friend or foe?” whispered Brand, refusing to be commanded to silence by another of the haughty Faerie.
“I am thy friend, and thy foe, both and none.”
Brand was in no mood for riddles. “Then you must serve my enemies. Begone!”
“I serve none but myself,” came the reply.
“Then why trouble me?”
“We hath both lost something precious. Thou hast lost thy way through the woods, and I have lost something of perhaps even greater value. We hath this in common, among many other things. My future is intertwined with thee. Thou art a potential ally and foeman, both together.”
They walked on a while, Brand pausing every so often to see if Jak still lived. Each time he heard his brother take another gasping breath, he felt both relief and pain. He wondered if the forest would ever end. He estimated he had been slogging through the trees for an hour or more. The only possibility was that he had taken the longest possible route, missing the cliffs and all roads, walking across the wild back end of the Drake estate. Another idea struck him: could he be walking in circles? Perhaps that was this creature's foul game.
“I will be stalked by you no further,” he said, halting. “Either come forth and try to kill me if you dare, or leave me to my suffering.”
The other stopped for a minute as well and both fell silent. Brand had begun to wonder if his shadow had fled, when it spoke again. “I have decided. I will neither kill you nor leave you to die. I will point the way.”
Suddenly, the figure revealed itself to Brand. Brand took an involuntary step backwards. The Faerie appeared as a boy of perhaps twelve, but with pointed ears and eyes that held wisdom and great age in them. He was as white-skinned as fresh milk. Despite the bitter cold he wore only a pair of soft leather pants. Even his feet were bare.
“Look there!” said Oberon, for Brand knew in his heart that it must be the Faerie lord. He pointed over Brand's shoulder and into the depths of the trees.
Brand looked, and thought to see a tiny glimmering light, like that of a single candle in the distance. He felt relief flood over him. The candle meant home and hearth, a house and other human beings. Perhaps Jak would live through the night.
He turned back, but his shadow had fled. With only a moment's pause, Brand stumbled forward, toward the light. He knew he could be walking to his death, lured into a trap by trickery, but he had run out of options. The forest could have gone on for miles, and he doubted he could bear his brother through the whole of the frozen night, even should Jak live so long.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jak
Half dreaming, Brand made his way toward the beacon. Although at first it seemed that it must be very near, he trudged on and on without end. Only very slowly did he approach it, as if it were at the end of a long, long tunnel through the night and trees. Jak grew heavier with each step. Now he no longer checked to see if his brother lived, for if he had died, he knew he wouldn't drop the body, so it didn't matter. As it was, only dogged determination saw him through the hours, putting one foot before the other, then repeating the process. Nothing else mattered to him. His head soon dipped to his chest, coming up only after every score of slow steps to see if the light yet burned ahead. Each time it was still there and it would seem a trifle brighter, giving him heart. After he had traveled this way for what seemed the entire night, he came into a stretch of bog. The muck slipped and slished beneath his tired feet, and it was all he could do to struggle onward. He groaned aloud, but was barely aware of it. The light did indeed seem brighter now, and only its promise kept him going.
The moon waned and began to set, making the darkness of the forest total. Up ahead in the dimness, he thought he heard something coming. He halted, swaying, and listened. The clopping sound of a horse came to him. He let Jak sag down to the wet ground. Could it be help? More likely, he thought bitterly, it was some other of the Dark Ones, perhaps Herla himself, leading his coursers forward to finish the hunt. If it was the Wild Hunt, he sorrowed that he would give them little sport, for he was utterly spent.
The horse came closer and a lantern shone in the night. Brand now wondered if it was the lantern of Old Hob, the eldest and worst of the goblin lords. Was this the light that he had spent the night trying to reach?
The horseman wandered near and passed, not seeing him where he stood motionless in the dark. He seemed to be looking for something, and there was a familiar shape to him beneath his cloaks. Brand straightened, but before he could hail the horseman,
the other had cupped his hands to his lips and shouted, “Brand!”
Brand tried to speak but couldn't. Only a dry croak issued from his throat. He swallowed, coughed, then tried again. “Corbin!” he rasped.
The rider halted in surprise, then turned and saw him. The rider came closer and Brand saw that it was indeed Corbin, straddling the shaggy brown pony, Tator.
“Brand! We thought that the goblins had taken you back to their land forever!” shouted Corbin, dismounting and coming to meet his cousin. He halted when he saw Jak's crumpled form. “Is that Jak?”
Brand only nodded, too weak to speak. Corbin wasted no more words. He lifted Jak as gently as he could and placed him in the saddle, where he was forced to hold him in place. Together, they set off.
“How did you come here?” Corbin asked him. “I've only just set out, and I didn't think to find you for miles. We all thought that you were lost in the wilds of the Drake estate.”
“I have followed a light all night. Am I not on the Drake estate? Where are we? Is there shelter near? I fear for my brother's life.”
“Shelter indeed, cousin. Look!” said Corbin. Brand looked up and halted. Before them stood the rambling house of Tylag and Suzenna Rabing. Somehow, he had won through to Froghollow, and never had a sight been more welcome to him.
“There, there is the beacon!” said Brand, pointing to an upstairs window. But even as he spoke, he realized that the window was shuttered, and that no light issued forth, nor could any have possibly done so.
“Scraper's candle,” said Corbin as he helped Brand along with a guiding hand. Tator moved with delicate steps, almost as if he were aware of his injured rider. “She lit it again tonight, for you and Jak. Perhaps she is a fledgling sorceress after all.”
Brand was too weary to answer. Now that they had made it to shelter, his strength left him. Corbin shouted and brought all the household out to meet them. Brand was vaguely aware of a swarm of concerned faces and questions, to all of which he only blinked in confusion.
Gudrin appeared and took charge of Jak. “Aye, he lives yet, but only just. We must remove the arrows and hope fortune is with him tonight.”
Aunt Suzenna cried aloud at the sight of the black-feathered arrows that had pierced Jak. “If you have the craft to heal him,” she told Gudrin. “I will be your aide.”
Gudrin nodded and prepared for the surgery. She shouted orders for all the lanterns, oil lamps and mirrors in the house to be gathered into the kitchen. They arranged the lights and the mirrors to concentrate the light upon the table. Finally, when all was ready she and Tylag bore Jak away to the kitchen table while Corbin saw to the horses.
“I imagine you have quite a tale to tell yourself, boy,” said Modi, who had come and taken Brand's elbow. It took Brand a moment to realize that the warrior was leading him toward a couch, not into the kitchen where Jak lay dying. He protested, but Modi's grip was like that of a boulder shaped into a hand. “You need rest, boy. You listen to me-this time.”
Brand met the warrior's eyes, and they were stern, but not unkind. He let himself be led to the couch where he collapsed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Elf-Shot
Well after daybreak, he slowly became aware of someone bathing his forehead with a cool damp cloth. His eyes fluttered open to find Telyn bent over him, her face pinched in worry. He thought he had never seen a lovelier sight, not even the Shining Lady could move him the way this tanner’s daughter could. “Telyn, does Jak live?”
“Of course,” she answered, her face brightening. “He is feverish, but should recover. Gudrin is a miraculous healer. There are so many crafts I could learn from such as she.”
“The shafts have been removed then?” he asked.
Her face clouded. “Yes, but-”
He gripped her arm. “But what?”
She pressed him down again, and he let her do it, for in truth he felt as weak as a kitten. “You must rest, Brand. You are not well either. You strove mightily with the Faerie last night, and such things take a grim toll from mortals, to say nothing of dragging your brother through miles of forest.”
“Ah, yes,” said Brand, remembering the long night. “I saw your beacon Telyn. It was my only hope when all else was lost. It was your sorcery that saved us.”
Her hands plucked idly at the damp cloth she held. “No, it was all my fault that you got into this in the first place. Jak is almost dead because I wouldn't listen to reason. It's fine for me to endanger my own skin, but I can't forgive myself for nearly killing us all with my rashness.”
Brand sat up, although it was a mighty effort. He put his arm around her. “I'll not have that! I was the one the shade began tracking in the first place. I could just as easily say that the breaking of the Pact was on my head!”
“What utter foolishness,” said Telyn, but he could hear the gratitude in her voice.
“Now, tell me the whole truth about Jak.”
She cast him a concerned glance, then looked back to the cloth in her hands, which was now wound into a knot. “The shafts came out easily, Brand, but the heads did not.”
“What do you mean?” asked Brand, feeling cold inside.
“I mean that the arrow points are still in him, somewhere… Brand?”
But she was talking to his back, for he had already started for the kitchen. There, in the brightly lit room which he had supped so many times so well, Jak lay. His flesh was bloodless and white, but his breathing appeared regular. Brand gripped the doorjamb for support. Gudrin held something pinched in a pair of tongs which she held aloft to the light. It was a tiny flint arrowhead. She rubbed her chin then dropped it into a pewter pitcher. The water in the pitcher bubbled and hissed briefly, then fell silent.
“That's one,” grunted the talespinner. She eyed Brand gruffly, but didn't order him from the room.
“Is that from his chest?” asked Brand.
Gudrin nodded. “The other has gone deeper still. I only just decided he was mended enough to go for them, and it was critical that I did so now.”
“Why?”
Gudrin gestured to the pitcher. Brand stepped forward and peered into it. There was no sign of the arrowhead. “What happened to it?”
“The arrowheads are enchanted. There is no question about it, your brother was elf-shot.”
“Elf-shot?” Brand echoed. Stunned, he looked at his brother's leg wound. “There is still one of them in him?”
“Yes, worming its way to his vitals. Were you attacked by the elfkin?”
“No, goblins only. At least, we saw no elfkin.”
“Strange,” said Gudrin. She shook her head and prepared to dig into Jak's flesh to remove the other arrowhead. She stepped to the sideboard for a moment, where her book lay open, and read a page or two before returning to her work. Brand noted that her rucksack was stowed carefully beside her book. “That's what the others said. But it is for certain that these arrows are elf-work. Goblins have not the craft. Either there are elves in league with our Enemy, which is fell news indeed, or these arrows were stolen. We have no way of knowing which.”
Gudrin began her digging and cutting then, bidding Brand to hold his brother still. Even in his unconscious state, Jak moaned and writhed in pain.
“Make sure he doesn't reopen his chest wound!” ordered Gudrin. The work was bloody and it was all Brand could do to keep from retching. Modi and Tylag were finally called in to help, while Aunt Suzenna did what she could to make her nephew comfortable. Brand wondered if he could ever enjoy a meal at this table again.
Forcing himself to watch, he looked into the splayed flesh of his brother's thigh. There was a black shape, buried down near the bone. Gudrin reached for it, but it wriggled and half vanished into red bloody flesh again.
“The River save us!” breathed Brand.
Finally, Gudrin got a grip upon it, and lifted it up. “There's the little cursed thing.”
Aunt Suzenna, who was the best and fastest with needle and thread, set to s
ealing the wound. Jak's agonized moans subsided. Gudrin and Brand stepped aside and examined the arrowhead.
Gudrin reached out and touched the river stone around Brand's neck. “A River ward, after the fashion of your folk. Hmmpf. Well-made, too. Your work?” she asked Telyn, who nodded. “You have an eye for the craft. If it was not for these wards, or if the goblins had used normal weapons, you would have all been killed. Notice, the arrows struck only Jak, who wore no such ward.”
At this point she yelled aloud and swore in the tongue of the Kindred. She dropped the tongs she had been holding aloft and clutched at the hand that had held them.
“What's wrong?” asked Brand, but Telyn had already snatched up the tongs and grabbed Gudrin's hand. The palm was pooling with blood. Only a stub of the arrowhead was still visible as it burrowed into the talespinner's flesh.
“It got away from me! I'm a fool! An old fool! Can you get it, girl?”
Telyn made no answer, but instead thrust the tongs into the open wound. Red blood spilled and splattered the floorboards. Gudrin grit her teeth and hissed through them, but did not pull away. Brand suddenly became aware of Modi, who was standing very close, watching everyone intensely. His knuckles stood out white upon the haft of his axe.
“Got it!” shouted Telyn, pulling the tongs free. With two quick strides she took the arrowhead to the pitcher and dropped it in. The water bubbled and hissed and soon the cursed thing was no more.
Gudrin swore again, wrapping her hand. “I should have done that in the first place. Thank you, girl.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Warriors All
“How can we stand against weapons such as these?” demanded Brand aloud.
