Haven 3 Shadow Magic (Haven Series 3)

by Larson, B. V.

  Myrrdin looked troubled, but he nodded. “Was there a wager to be reckoned?”

  “Yes,” said Brand.

  “Have we lost—anything?”

  “Oberon wanted Lavatis, but I wagered my head instead,” said Brand in a dead voice.

  Telyn sucked in her breath sharply in alarm. Modi gave a heavy grunt of approval. Brand realized for the first time the others were all listening intently.

  “It seems to me that you must have won the wager, given the stakes,” said Myrrdin.

  Brand nodded.

  “Who then was slain?” Myrrdin asked.

  Brand eyed the blood on his hands and flexed them experimentally. For the first time, he considered washing them, but doubted he could ever fully remove the stain. “A daughter of Oberon. I cradled her severed head in my hands.”

  “Ah,” said Myrrdin. He nodded in understanding. “It is a wicked feeling, is it not?”

  “Yes, wicked,” said Brand. He eyed Myrrdin, and the other looked to him like an ancient man, crooked and bent with years and hard times. Brand knew he thought of the farmer’s daughter he had danced to death, or perhaps of worse things that he had known over his long life. “I also slew the redcap that guards this place,” Brand added.

  Myrrdin bounded up from the bench. He stood over Brand. “You have slain the redcap of Rabing Castle?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” said Brand, not looking up from his hands.

  Myrrdin set to pacing then. He tugged at his beard ferociously as he circled the fire. “This event is three things at once,” he said, “amazing, good for the future, and terrible in the present.”

  “What do you mean, wizard?” asked Gudrin. Brand noticed for the first time that Gudrin had been scribbling notes of this entire conversation. He snorted softly, wondering if he would be the subject of a story in the Teret some centuries from now.

  “Amazing because the redcap is not easily overcome,” explained Myrrdin. “It is the vengeful spirit of this place, made here long ago by great butchery and empowered by the rage of all the victims of that butchery. Good in the long run, because all this area shall return more quickly to purity and usefulness with the absence of such a creature. Terrible in the present, because I believe the redcap’s presence kept alive the charm of warding upon this place.”

  “So,” said Gudrin, “with the redcap dead, Herla should soon be able to cross the fallen walls. This siege may soon become a battle.”

  “Exactly,” said Myrrdin, “we have little time left now, I should think.”

  Brand thought about Myrrdin’s words, and soon came to better understand Oberon’s choice of contest. He had caused Brand to slay the redcap, which would allow Herla to pass the walls. There would be a battle now for certain. Perhaps Oberon thought he might do better than to gain just one of the Jewels. Now there were many in play and there would be many chances for a wise player to snatch them up.

  “I have some small good news,” Brand said. He told them briefly of the armory he had found guarded by the redcap. They quickly agreed they should set out at first light to investigate the find and arm themselves for the coming conflict.

  “Too bad we have no army to supply with these arms,” said Modi regretfully.

  Brand blinked as a pail of steaming water was placed before him. He looked up to see Telyn there, smiling at him worriedly. He nodded in gratitude and she touched his brow with her lips before going to gather more wood. Brand began to carefully wash his hands. The spot where she had kissed him still tingled and it warmed him somehow.

  “What about all these green shoots you’ve had us gather for days, Myrrdin?” asked Corbin. “What will you make with these?”

  Myrrdin smiled at that. “You’ll see!” he said. “In the first light of morning, you’ll see what!”

  They talked for a while longer, but soon decided it was best to bed down again for whatever remained of the night. Modi was already snoring by this time. Corbin’s watch continued on the walls, and even Brand lay down and closed his eyes. Sleep didn’t come easily however, as each time his eyes shut he saw the child-like face of Oberon’s daughter.

  His eyes snapped open when the axe tapped his back some time later. He found that Tomkin crouched before him, head cocked to one side. He sat up and the manling hopped backward reflexively, then crouched again.

  “What do you want?” hissed Brand. From the sounds the others were making, it was clear that they slept.

  “Thy tale was woefully incomplete,” said Tomkin.

  Brand was irritated at having been awakened. He rested his head on his hand and laid down on his side. “You should have tagged along if you wanted to know more,” he growled. “They are your people, after all. Why didn’t you just join the throng that circled me?”

  “And have it be my head that thee wrongfully severed?” chuckled the manling.

  His words caused Brand a pang of guilt that the creature couldn’t have understood.

  Tomkin continued talking unconcernedly. “I would be hard put at any rate to fit in with Oberon’s court. I’ve spent too much time with River Folk. Thy stink permeates my person. The others would have known.”

  Brand waved him away and tried to go back to sleep. This time, his axe gave him a sharp rap of warning. A sudden pressure on his ribs made his eyes snap open again. Tomkin now stood on his chest. The manling gazed down into his face like a presumptuous housecat.

  “What are you doing?” Brand asked in amazement. Brand shook him off and sat up. Tomkin hopped down and smirked at him.

  “Calm thy anger. We must speak plainly.”

  Brand was as surprised at the idea of one of the Wee Folk speaking plainly as he was to have been walked upon. He glared at the manling, but nodded for him to continue.

  “Dando had a dream, and I think it was a good one,” Tomkin said. “He wanted the Wee Folk to wield a Jewel and thus become more than sneer-worthy. I bear Lavatis, and thou art the wielder of Ambros. If we can strike a bargain of sorts, we shall be the ones to govern a new Pact and hold Herla at bay.”

  “But what of Oberon?”

  Tomkin sniffed. “The elf lord has no basis for power left. It is best to deal with those who wield power.”

  “But you don’t wield power,” pointed out Brand. “Dando tried and went feral. Oberon is already attuned to the Jewel and would do the best to balance things between the Haven and Herla.”

  “Ah, but he is also likely to give the worst terms for just those reasons, is he not?”

  Brand thought about it for a moment, recalling the Pact and the seemingly endless tribute of one seventh of their crops. At the time, such a bounty was unquestioned and reasonable, but now, with the expansion of possibilities, it did seem a lop-sided arrangement.

  “If a deal was struck between the River Folk the Wee Folk—given that we could properly wield Lavatis—our terms would be nowhere near so harsh,” said Tomkin.

  “But you don’t speak for your people,” object Brand. “You are only a spy from the marshes.”

  At this, Tomkin grinned. “Thou art mistaken,” he said. He turned, placed his fingers over his mouth in an odd configuration and performed a perfect imitation of the call of a night insect that infested this region of the swamp. An odd buzzing sound filled the gatehouse, but no one else took notice.

  “I’ve brought a companion.”

  There was a blur of movement and a creature very much like Dando sprang over the gatehouse wall and scuttled forward to join Tomkin. The creature tipped his hat to Brand and bowed low so that his coattails flipped up.

  “Piskin, at your service, sirrah,” said Piskin. He flashed a winning smile. His accent and speech were quite different than Tomkin’s, being both more modern and more eloquent.

  “Huh! Another spy!” whispered Brand. It came to him Modi would have said exactly the same thing. Perhaps he was beginning to think like a warrior. The idea made him smile grimly.

  Tomkin looked angry and opened his wide mouth to retort, but Piskin laid
a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

  “Not at all, sirrah, not at all,” said Piskin, taking Brand’s comment in stride. He paused his strutting in front of Brand, and gazed up at him steadily. Brand thought that perhaps the creature recognized him, but he could not recall having met him.

  “I’m an envoy in fact, for my people,” continued Piskin. “The Wee Folk have lords of our own, you see.”

  “Are you a lord of the Wee Folk, then?” asked Brand, putting his head on his elbow. He recalled once having been greatly interested in the Wee Folk, but now he just wished he could get some sleep.

  Piskin cleared his throat, touching a lacy handkerchief to his lips as he did so. “I am of noble birth, yes,” he said, “but let us speak of more worthy things—”

  “Are you from Herla’s pack? Do you run before the coursers?”

  “No! No! A thousand times no, sirrah!” said Piskin, horrified at the suggestion. “I’ve nothing to do with those hotheaded turncoats and runabouts. Not a brain between the lot of them, I’ve always said.”

  Brand smiled despite himself. He nodded to indicate that Piskin should continue.

  “I represent the high-born and—” here he glanced sidelong at Tomkin, “—and the low-born amongst the Wee Folk. We feel that we’ve never been given a fair shake. We’ve never been taken seriously as a political force. This has changed, now that first Dando and now Tomkin have gained and maintained possession of the Blue Jewel. Clearly, although Dando wielded it prematurely in his own defense, the Wee Folk can and will defend their right to this source of power.”

  Brand yawned. Piskin reminded him of the lawyers that old man Silure had sent to try to argue them out of Rabing Isle. He was only two feet high, but he was clearly a stuffed shirt.

  “So, I’m here to bargain on behalf of my Folk,” Piskin continued. “We will soon be in the position to summon the Rainbow in our defense—and control it.”

  “But Lavatis is staying here for now,” said Brand. “We made a deal to that effect with Tomkin, who possesses the Jewel.”

  Piskin cleared his throat again. He paced back and forth before Brand, twirling his walking stick with easy grace each time he turned around. “This is an unfortunate detail,” he admitted. “Let me come to the crux of our offer. We wish to form a new Pact with the River Folk. The new Pact shall be one of mutual defense. You shall retain the axe and wield it in our joint effort at the head of a respectably-sized army. We shall provide information about the enemy and wield Lavatis as our part of the defensive effort.”

  Brand frowned in concentration. This was serious business, he realized. It sounded attractive, but he didn’t like the idea of enraging Oberon, nor the idea of depending on the Wee Folk for the Haven’s defense. Still, he was in need of whatever allies he could garner.

  “In principle, we’re in agreement,” said Brand. “I would propose something perhaps less grand and more immediate.”

  Piskin leaned forward intently.

  “We both need to survive this siege by the Wild Hunt. If we work together, I think the Wee Folk are more likely to retain control of Lavatis and we the axe.”

  Piskin paced a bit more. When he stopped, his eyes narrowed, and he took on the more cunning look that Brand had so often seen on the faces of his kind. “What is to keep us from taking the Jewel away to safety right now?”

  Brand shrugged. “Tomkin has given his word. And as I understand it, any of the Fae would sooner die than break their word.”

  Piskin pretended to cough into his hanky. “Indeed,” he said, “well, what if others, shall we say, decided that Tomkin wasn’t the best guardian of Lavatis?”

  “What are you getting at?” asked Brand. Tomkin too, seemed suddenly more interested.

  “What if Tomkin were to ah—lose the Jewel?” asked Piskin. He gave a suggestive twirl of his cane, ending in a light rap upon his skull that dented his top hat.

  “Thy hands would be severed first,” growled Tomkin.

  “I’m but one agent of the Wee Folk,” admitted Piskin. “But as the River Folk say, where there is one Wee Folk in sight, in the brush there are another dozen.”

  Brand frowned and Tomkin glared, but both realized that he could be telling the truth. If any type of creature could slip into Rabing Castle unnoticed, it would be the Wee Folk. There could be a small army of them nearby and they would never know. Their presence standing in front of him showed that the charm that kept out the Wild Hunt had no effect upon them.

  Tomkin snarled and crouched, eyeing the brush around him with sudden suspicion.

  “Okay,” said Brand, “you could take Lavatis away right now. That would help the Wee Folk. But still the Wild Hunt would be on your heels. And you would have abandoned us and all hope of a Pact with the Haven. Worse, Herla might well overcome us and the axe would be lost as well.”

  Piskin thoughtfully smoothed out the dent in his top hat. “Sirrah, you make a fine point.”

  “Will you work together with us, to gain our trust?” asked Brand.

  Piskin pursed his lips and nodded. “Agreed,” he said. He replaced his top hat upon his head and twirled his walking stick once. “There is much to be done.”

  “What exactly—” began Brand, but he was speaking to the night air. Piskin had bounded over the walls and away. Tomkin, running in a crouch, followed a moment later.

  Brand lay under the stars and thought about how strange the world had become. Sleep soon overcame him, despite his worries.

  Chapter Eight

  The Living Wall

  Tomkin sprang after Piskin and although the other was surprisingly spry, Tomkin managed to catch him as they passed over a thorny mass of blackberry bushes. He grabbed hold of the other’s foot and they went rolling in a squabbling heap.

  “I demand you unhand me, sirrah!” hissed Piskin when they were both standing again.

  “What’s all this then about my losing the Blue Jewel?” demanded Tomkin. He studied the other with narrowed eyes. He’d only just met him, and he had seemed a harmless, overly talkative sort. Now, after having listened to his proposals to Brand, Tomkin was not so sure Piskin was on the same side as the rest.

  Piskin shrugged and straightened his top hat with excessive care. He pushed out each dent and smoothed the creases with rapid, irritated strokes of his fingers. “You can’t be serious about wielding the Jewel yourself, can you?”

  Tomkin’s lips uncurled, showing rows of ice-white, triangular teeth. He was gratified to see mild alarm on Piskin’s face at the sight of them. “I’m serious when I say thou shalt not wield it!”

  Piskin tried to smile, but it was a flickering expression. “Let’s not bicker, brother!” he said. “Now is not the time for squabbles. We shall stand united as a Folk. We shall hold onto this Jewel for all Wee Folk everywhere. Who wields it is immaterial. What matters is that we are now a force to be reckoned with. None shall sneer at the Wee Folk after this day!”

  “I can hold with those words,” Tomkin agreed cautiously.

  Piskin’s manner changed on the instant. He was again wreathed in smiles. He reached to clap Tomkin on the back, but at the other’s snarling reaction, he withdrew his hand like a snapping turtle pulling its head into its shell.

  “No matter!” he said. “No matter at all! Let us head onward now, we are late for the gathering.”

  “What gathering?”

  “Why, have you not heard?” Piskin asked, incredulous. “I can’t fathom it! And you being the guest of honor!”

  “Speak plainly, fop.”

  Piskin’s lips quivered again, but he regained his composure. “Such rough manners! I constantly find I must remind myself of your upbringing. No fault of your own, it was, I know, I know.”

  Tomkin glared at him suspiciously.

  “Well, to continue: the gathering is in your honor, as the new bearer of the Jewel. As Dando sacrificed his whole being, we hope it won’t be the same with you. The gathering is not far from here.”

  “Where
is it?”

  “Did I mention there will be ladies there?” asked Piskin turning suddenly with eyebrows riding high. “Yes, many lovely women of our kind are attending. Rare they are in these parts, I understand.”

  Tomkin licked his lips. In truth, he had not laid eyes upon a member of the opposite sex since Dando’s party in the marshes long ago. He felt temptation tugging at him—but still, he was wary.

  “Where is it?” he repeated.

  Piskin sighed with a burst of exhalation. It was a sound of bemused exasperation. “Persistence is a virtue!” he said. “But in your case, you might be taking things too far! Allow me to give you a word of advice: don’t inspect every gift given too closely—or you might find people stop giving them to you.”

  Tomkin blinked, then tilted his head. “Where…is…this…gathering?”

  “Very well, if you must know, it is atop mount banning in the Red Rock range. We’ll be there in a trice, if you would only follow along like a good fellow.”

  Piskin arranged his hat on his head, twirled his walking stick twice and hopped off into the night. Tomkin did not move. He stood staring downslope at the other’s retreating back.

  Finally, as Piskin reached the edge of the marshland, the border where the territory of Rabing Castle’s walls once stood, he halted and looked back in surprise. “Hullo? What’s the hold up?”

  “I’m not going,” said Tomkin.

  “WHAT?” Piskin cried, and came hopping back up the slope. His hops were small, rapid and irritable. “How can this be? How can a bumpkin refuse the hand of a dozen maidens who might otherwise be unwilling to grace his lumpish face with their spittle? This is your hour, man! This is your moment. You simply have to make the most of it.”

  “No,” said Tomkin.

  “Why?” hissed Piskin in utter vexation.

  “Because I will stand here with the River Folk. I trust them more than I trust the likes of thee.”

  “Fool!” said Piskin through clenched teeth. He hopped in spun in angry circles around Tomkin, who watched him closely all the while. “You will do no heroics. You will die here, as did Dando. You are even less attuned to the Jewel. You will be forced to use it, and you will die, and they will take it from us. Can you not see, brother?”