Amber Magic h-1

by B. V. Larson

  “You serve a new lord then?”

  The manling shook his head. “The new lord is even less to my liking.”

  “Are you still loyal to Oberon then?”

  The manling looked about the barn, as if seeing things invisible to the two men. Which perhaps he did, reflected Brand.

  He appeared to come to a decision. He bent forward conspiratorially. “I speak for Oberon. He would bid thee to run from this place, man-child.”

  “Why? Where should I go?” asked Brand, stepping forward and lifting his lantern higher.

  The manling squinted into the yellow light. “Join the Kindred, help them find Myrrdin and learn what must be done. The Wanderer will explain matters.”

  Brand nodded. “Thanks for the advice. Can I call the Wee Folk friends?”

  The manling's face grew sorrowful then, he shook his tiny head and tsked at them. “Ever it is so with thy folk,” he sighed. His face grew long and mournful. A hint of his true age showed in his cheeks then, which grew new wrinkles, and his bright, black eyes, which dimmed. “Ever thou wouldst mistake the slightest aid for friendship. True friendship is something which must be earned and which is never given. So big thy kind growns, yet thou hast the minds of children.”

  Still making tsking sounds, he bent down and began brushing away the straw at his feet. Brand watched in confusion as he cleared away the yellow straw from what appeared to be a patch of dark fur. The manling glanced at them, and tsked further at their incomprehension. With a sudden sweeping movement and a puff of breath blown through his thin fingers he revealed what was hidden in the haystack.

  It was Sam's head.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Dando

  Sam's head had been severed at the neck. The eyes were open and staring, the mouth sagged. The manling was standing atop the head, the dark fur that flipped and curled over his pointed shoes was Sam's hair.

  Shock froze the two men. The manling watched them with keen interest. Brand felt disconnected from the real world at that moment. It couldn't be that Sam was dead, but his cousin's severed head was undeniable proof. He looked at the manling, and wondered what alien thoughts were in that tiny creature's mind. He seemed very curious at their response, as if he were studying them. Perhaps, for the manling, human grief was a mystery.

  Corbin was the first to come to life. Without a word, he stepped forward and made a sweeping cut with his woodaxe at the manling. The manling, ready for such a response, bounded straight up into the air and did a complete spin as he came down, landing again on his gruesome perch. Corbin swung again, and this time the manling performed another impossible leap, bounding up into the hayloft overhead. Brand came to life as the manling flew over their heads and he snatched up a pitchfork. Grimly, not speaking, the two of them clambered up the shaky, steep steps to the loft. Corbin reached the top first and he made a soft sighing sound and fell to his knees. Brand rushed to him, wondering if he had been stricken. He followed his cousin's gaze and found himself staring at the rest of Sam. The headless body, looking oddly incomplete, lay at the edge of the loft. Clearly, the head had been lopped off and had tumbled out of the loft to fall on the haystack.

  “Look, he took one with him!” said Brand grimly. He pointed to Sam's thick-fingered hands. In the grip of his dead hands was the dark, furred neck of what could only have been a rhinog. The rhinog was dead, its neck broken.

  “Sam must have surprised it in the barn,” said Brand aloud.

  They became aware of a scrabbling sound. The manling was trying to pry back a loose board and escape the barn. Corbin rose swiftly and advanced in a crouch. He held his axe at the ready. There was a low growling sound emanating from his throat.

  The manling looked up in alarm. “I didn't do it!” he squeaked. “It was the goblins and their rhinog offspring! They follow the Dark Bard! He is in the bogs even now! We must flee him!”

  Corbin continued his advance and the creature fled with great flying bounds, like those of a hare when a fox's teeth are right behind it. He darted beneath a pile of wooden crates. Corbin demolished them with heavy blows of the axe.

  Shrieking, the Wee One bounded about, circling the loft. Corbin layed about with the axe in wild abandon. Brand made a calculated thrust with his pitchfork and managed to catch the creature's deerskin boot, pinning it to the rough wood of the loft.

  Corbin roared in triumph. The manling shrieked in terror and struggled to free himself.

  “Wait, Corbin!” shouted Brand. “Don't kill him! We need answers!”

  For a moment Brand feared he had not gotten through to his cousin, who was now not like the boy he had grown up with. His wrath was something terrible to behold. Brand felt that he understood that uncontrollable fury. It was the same feeling that had gotten him through the previous night and allowed him to save Jak. He understood that Corbin was beyond reason, and may well kill the manling in his grief, even though he had not committed the crime.

  The axe descended, and the manling cried in fear. The blade thunked into the old planks of the loft, making the timbers shudder. Corbin had spared the creature.

  “Do not play with our grief, manling,” Corbin told the quivering creature. He jabbed a finger into the manling's side.

  A dark look crossed the manling's sharp features, and Brand thought that he hungered to play a trick on them, perhaps thinking to singe Corbin's finger or turn the offending nail black and rotten. But he didn't dare.

  “Now we shall have some quick answers,” said Brand, squatting and setting down the lantern.

  “Ever it is with River Folk,” said the manling. “Always blaming the messenger for bad tidings.”

  “Tell us your name,” demanded Brand.

  The creature paused and looked as if he were about to fabricate a name. Brand moved the lantern very close to him, so that the heat of the fire inside could easily be felt. The manling shrank away in discomfort.

  “I am Dando.”

  “Where are the rhinogs that did this?” demanded Corbin.

  “Outside, in the forest, in the bog, wherever their masters lead them.”

  “They are led by goblins?”

  “Of course. Rhinogs will only follow their sires.”

  “How many of them are there?”

  Dando shrugged his small shoulders. “Three goblins have brought their broods. They each have ten or so offspring with them.”

  Brand frowned. “The goblins have so many human women to breed such numbers of rhinogs? Don't the rhinogs have families of their own?”

  Dando looked at him as if he were a fool. “Rhinogs are mules, boy. As to the prolific qualities of goblins, they are legendary. It is not uncommon for a birthmother to gestate six spratling rhinogs at a time.”

  “What a hellish life those poor wretches must lead,” said Brand.

  “We must do something for Sam,” said Corbin.

  Brand turned to him. “We will, cousin, but first we need to know what we face.” To Dando he said, “Since the people of the River Haven have long been off limits I suppose that most of the women have been taken from the wagons of the Wandering Folk.”

  Dando nodded. Brand noted that now that the manling was forced to answer, he was speaking quite openly. He seemed to be enjoying the interrogation, as would the town gossip. What strange creatures were the Faerie.

  “Why do they plague us, manling?” asked Brand.

  “Ah, good question!” said Dando. His eyes shone with the reflected glow of the moon. His broad smile revealed many white teeth. “Why indeed? I'll tell thee this: they hunt for something lost, and care not one whit for thee nor any others of the River Folk.”

  “Enough of this!” growled Corbin. “We must get back to the house.”

  “Hold, cousin,” urged Brand. “So, what is their next move? If there are thirty or forty of them, why doesn't Voynod just lead them against us and burn us out now?”

  Dando laughed, some of the swagger returning to his manner now that it was clear that they w
ere not going to kill him out of hand. “That is not the way of the goblins. They are raiders by nature. They value their offspring and would rather isolate and kill thee one at a time without endangering themselves.”

  “So we would be the next easy prey, as we are out here on our own,” said Brand. He glanced at Corbin, but his cousin was no longer listening. The shock of his brother's death had glazed over his eyes.

  There came a sound from outside then. It was a splashing, slapping sound, such as large, flat feet would make in the bog. Then came a human cry, a high-pitched one, like that of a child or a young woman in trouble.

  Corbin and Brand rose, taking up the lantern and the woodaxe again. Brand looked down at the manling, who was furiously tugging at his pinned foot.

  “Before you go, Dando, tell us what we hear outside.”

  “It's a goblin trick, fool man-child! Hast thou not heard their mocking voices before?” he hissed. “Now free me!”

  Brand eased up the pitchfork, and Dando sprang free. He bounded to the edge of the loft, and then glanced back over his shoulder. “Remember, if thy fate is to survive the night, find Myrrdin!” he cried, then sprang out into space. Brand watched him sprint down the far side of the haystack and out the door.

  He paused at the doorway and there was a blinding flash of blue light. Where the manling had stood a large barn owl now hopped into the air and took flight. On silent wings it vanished into the night.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Rhinogs

  “The owl,” said Corbin. “Was that the bird you saw at your window two nights ago? Has that changeling been haunting our barn for weeks?”

  “Forget it,” said Brand. “We have to run for the house!”

  “What about Sam?”

  Brand squeezed his shoulder. “We will have to do what we can for him in the morning.”

  Corbin nodded grimly and followed Brand down out of the loft. They left the lantern in the loft so that it might appear that they were still there. Signaling each other with gestures, Corbin took Brand to a small side door that led into a toolshed. Moving carefully, they opened the creaking door an inch or so to peer outside. When their eyes had adjusted to the starlight, they could see that dark shapes crept about the foundations of the house. Now and then one of the creatures would raise itself to a window and take a quick, furtive look inside.

  The rhinogs were much larger than goblins, but smaller than the average man. It was difficult to see just what they looked like as they seemed to carry shrouds of darkness with them, or perhaps it was only that they excelled at crouching in the deepest pools of shadow available. From their general forms Brand made out that they had long arms, overlarge hands and crooked legs that seemed permanently bent backwards at the knees, not unlike the hind legs of crouching wolves. Their eyes were two glittering rubies of evil swimming in the darkness enclosed within their drawn hoods.

  There were more movements, at the front and rear of the barn. Clearly, the enemy lay in ambush, waiting for them to come out into the yard. Brand squeezed Corbin's shoulder, they exchanged glances and set themselves. They would have to make a run for the house. Brand's legs tensed as he readied himself to sprint across the yard.

  Together they launched themselves at the front door of the house, hoping no one had locked it since they left. They knocked an old rainbarrel aside as they tore out of the barn. In the still night the sound of it clattering to the ground seemed deafening. An odd hooting sound of rage went up behind them. Brand could sense rather than hear their pursuers. Dark, hunched shapes that sulked beneath trees and huddled against the house rose up and turned toward them.

  Brand focused on reaching the door of the house before they could halt him. A dark shape scuttled close and reared up before them. He caught sight of glittering red eyes. Corbin swung the woodaxe wildly, there was an awful thunking sound and a squeal rent the cold air. As they scrambled past the rhinog, a clawed hand caught at Brand's boot. He kicked at the thing and jerked away. Talons scraped and dug into leather, there was another snarling sound, then he was free.

  Brand reached the porch and the door first and all but fell into the house. They slammed the door in the leering faces of hunched shapes that mounted the porch steps behind them.

  “Modi!” shouted Brand, his chest heaving. For a moment no answer came, and a new fear gripped Brand. Had the enemy taken the house already? Had he risked all only to enter a new trap? Visions of Telyn and Jaks' headless corpses came unbidden to his mind.

  Heavy footfalls came down the stairs then, causing Brand to heave a sigh of relief. Only Modi had such heavy boots.

  “Enemy?” questioned Modi as he emerged from the darkened hall.

  Brand nodded. “Rhinogs. They chased us from the barn.”

  Modi looked to Corbin and frowned. “Is he injured?”

  Brand followed his gaze and saw Corbin's ashen face, drawn tight with lines of grief. He shook his head. “It's his brother-Sam. The rhinogs killed him.”

  Modi nodded. He moved to look out a window, and that's when the door seemed to heave against their backs. Brand and Corbin were still leaning against it, and on the far side the rhinogs had gathered, whispering and hissing. It wasn't as if the door had been shoved, but rather as if it had suddenly come alive and taken in a great swelling breath.

  “They work a cantrip!” shouted Modi. “Away from the door!”

  Brand and Corbin staggered away from the door and it burst open behind them. The hinges came loose from the doorjamb and the lock shattered into metal shards. Beyond were the smoky, dark shapes of three rhinogs. Long serrated knives gleamed in their clawed hands. Red eyes gleamed beneath their cowls.

  Modi strode forward with his battleaxe raised. “Return to your dens! I am Modi of the warriors, and many of you will I slay before this house falls!”

  A puff of smoky darkness seemed to obscure the three shapes, and Brand knew sorcery was at hand. He steeled himself for their charge, but instead of attacking, the three shapes seemed to fade from sight. After a moment the magical darkness faded and the porch beyond was empty.

  “Have they given up?” asked Corbin.

  Modi shook his head, scratching his beard. “It is not their way to fight openly. They have no stomach for it. They are assassins and footpads by nature. Their goblin sires will pull back and devise some new cunning trick.”

  Telyn and Gudrin came down then to join them and everything had to be explained. Modi lifted the battered door back into place and used spikes from the woodshed to hold it in place again. Brand armed himself with another woodaxe and helped the others rearrange the furniture into a barricade.

  Suddenly, Telyn raised a hand to stop their talk. Brand's mouth opened to ask her what she meant, but then he heard it too. A crackling noise, coming from the back of the house. Moments later smoke poured out of the hall.

  “They've fired the house!” hissed Telyn, voicing everyone's thought.

  Upstairs, Jak cried out hoarsely and there was a thumping on the floorboards overhead. Brand felt sick, his brother was trying to get out of bed and had fallen. He rushed into the smoky hall.

  “Brand!” Telyn cried after him. The smoke-filled hall was a cavern of hanging gray tendrils. His eyes burned immediately and his lungs rebelled with a choked cough. He ducked low, moving in a crouch and it was better, the air cleaner. He passed the kitchen and saw the lurid glare coming from the woodshed. They had fired it, and smoke was pouring into the house. Yellow tongues of flame licked up at the cabinets above the woodshed door. A rack of towels near the sink caught and flared brightly.

  Then he was on the stairs and the smoke was worse. He could hear his brother upstairs, coughing and dragging himself across the floor. At least they hadn't crept in the upstairs windows and killed him yet, he told himself.

  He found his brother mostly by feel on the floor of the upstairs hall. The lamps had gone out somehow. He set down his woodaxe and groped in the dark. He got a hold of Jak under his arms and heaved him up. A
groan of pain escaped his brother's lips.

  “Brand?” Jak whispered. “They're up here, Brand.”

  Brand caught a fluttering movement in the front bedroom.

  “I'm getting you out, Jak,” whispered Brand. He reached for a lamp, thinking to relight it. To his surprise he burnt his fingers on it. Looking closely, he saw that it was still lit, but that it gave only the barest glimmer of smoky, gray light. A lump of ice grew in his stomach as he realized he faced magic. The choking smoke was fogging his mind a bit, but in a flash he realized that they had lured him up here, not killing his brother, but making Jak cry out. That had succeeded in drawing two apart from the others to slaughter them in this inky smoke.

  Brand began to drag his brother to the stairs, when he thought to hear a stealthy sound behind him. He looked back and saw the assassin. Visible only as a patch of deeper darkness in the hallway, the rhinog glided with an oddly inhuman, scuttling gait toward his exposed back, a long silvery knife poised low for a killing thrust. There was no time to reach his woodaxe, so Brand did the only thing he could think of, he grabbed up the hall lamp from its bracket on the wall and hurled it at the creature.

  The lamp exploded into yellow flame, the glass oil-vessel shattering and soaking his attacker. A horrible keening erupted from the rhinog and it sunk down, engulfed in flames. To Brand's eyes it seemed to melt like a candle tossed into a roaring fire.

  He dragged Jak past the burning creature, which soon fell silent and stopped thrashing. At the top of the stairs he got Jak to his feet and drew one of his brother's arms around his shoulders. Struggling and coughing, trying not to stumble, he headed down the stairs.

  At the bottom of the stairs he looked back. A second, smaller shape now stooped over the smoldering remains of the rhinog. It was the lithe form of a goblin, and Brand knew in his heart he faced the dark creature's sire. He and the goblin met one another's gaze for a moment, and never had Brand felt from another such vile hatred.