Gudrin frowned into the fire. She did not answer immediately. Jak brought out two steaming mugs of coffee, and Brand thanked him. Brand asked him to sit and listen to their talk, but Jak begged off, saying there was work to be done on the east side of the island.
Gudrin and Brand looked after him as he left. “It is the same way with Modi. They have strong opinions, and don’t trust themselves not to blurt out their thoughts at such a meeting.”
“Where is Modi?”
“Outside, watching the river for trespassers.”
Brand nodded. He was quite used to Modi’s paranoia by now, and he had learned to approve of it. “You still have not answered my question.”
“True,” said Gudrin, sighing. She fumbled with her Teret, but then put it aside again. “I can’t think of a single passage that would help in making this decision. Let’s list the possibilities. You could keep the Jewel, or give it to another of the River Folk. This would make you strong, but also create new enemies, namely the Faerie and the Wee Folk.”
“Exactly my thinking.”
“You could return it to Oberon, asking to remake the Pact in a new form. This restores the balance of power to what it once was, and has the benefit of stability.”
“I’m sure that is what Myrrdin wishes me to do.”
Gudrin nodded. “Besides that? I’m not sure. Find a neutral party you trust? I’m not sure I know of any.
“What if I gave you the Jewel, Gudrin?” asked Brand, eyeing her intensely.
She looked surprised. She laughed and sputtered. “I can hardly think of a worse fit for one of our breed than that of Sky Magic! Imagine! A creature that lived fully forty years before she first felt a raindrop trying to master the Rainbow!”
“I think you have the strength of spirit. Commanding the Rainbow isn’t like mastering the axe, it doesn’t drive you mad with bloodlust.”
“Perhaps not. You aren’t overcome with the berserkergang, that’s true, but you are quite easily driven insane by it. In case you hadn’t noticed, Brand, all of the Jewels are somewhat mad. Possessing any of them inevitably affects the mind of the bearer.”
Brand nodded, admitting what she said was true. Twice, the Wee Folk had tried to wield the Blue Jewel and had been overcome by Sky Magic. Dando had died, and Tomkin would have died as well had Brand not been there to interfere.
“So,” he said, “you don’t desire the Jewel.”
She sighed. “I’m too old. The burden would be too great.”
“There is one other option you have not mentioned….”
“What? Do you think to buy off the merlings and end your conflict with them with this gift? I don’t think they have the strength to wield a Jewel, Brand. They would only lose it to the first one strong enough to come and take it.”
“No, no,” Brand said, shaking his head. “Not the merlings. I’m thinking of the Wee Folk. Tomkin, most likely. He gave it to me as a matter of trust. And he survived his first attempt with the Jewel.”
Gudrin looked at him as if he had gone quite mad. “The Wee Folk? And a wild one at that? Brand, I can hardly think of a more chaotic bunch. The merlings are organized in comparison!”
Brand nodded, frowning deeply.
“I can see this decision weighs heavily upon you. But I’m afraid I’m here to make matters worse, and worse still after that.”
Brand looked at her unhappily and gestured for her to get on with her news.
“First of all, the Riverton council asked me to tell you they have officially declared you to be the Champion of the Haven. This is a new title, and makes you a lord. In fact, you are now the only lord of the River Folk.”
“A lord?” asked Brand, aghast, “we have no lords in the Haven. We swore off such things…long ago.”
She nodded and sighed. “Nevertheless, you are now a titled lord.”
“No, that simply won’t do. Do they plan to provide me lands and a tower and retainers? That is simply not the way of the River Folk. I’m not even a clan leader.”
“It hasn’t been your way for many years,” Gudrin conceded, “but you have to understand that everyone will feel better about your possession of the axe if you are a lord. You can’t be a person of great personal power and refuse the title of lordship. People expect it, they desire it. They want you to be a personage of greatness, so that there is an easy, understandable reason for why you are special.”
“Fine,” Brand grunted. “You can tell them I’m Lord Rabing, and I’ll take as my land the ruined Castle Rabing. That, at least, I feel I’ve earned.”
“Good enough,” she said, and then she gave him a hard look. “Have you already decided who will have the Jewel?”
“No. Not yet.”
Brand studied his mug of coffee. He didn’t like this title, it sounded more like a job than an honor. “They mean to send me hither and yon seeking out evil, don’t they?”
“You are indeed getting wiser,” she chuckled.
“In a way, that is probably a good thing,” he said. She watched him, not offering any comment. After a moment, he continued. “It’s the axe. This thing doesn’t want to sit still. Never. It craves adventure, and if I ever sit still, as I’ve been doing these last few days, it grows ever more concerned about every fly that taps at my window. Every deer seen nibbling at the melon leaves causes the axe to jump about in paranoia.”
Gudrin snorted. “I’m not surprised. We had the axe for a long while in our keeping, and we kept it far from any of our hands. All our folk who wielded it managed to slay great evils, but ever would they turn back upon our own people and slay them as well until brought down. Many eventually took their own heads with the axe.”
“Ah,” Brand said wryly, “I see now why you brought it to Riverton. Dupes abound here.”
She laughed, but turned serious soon after. “Lord Rabing,” she said, using his title for the first time and smiling at his alarmed reaction, “there is one last thing the Kindred would ask of you out of friendship.”
“We have no greater friends than your people. Ask,” he said.
“The goblins and their rhinogs have withdrawn from our mountains. But our problems are far from at an end. If you find you have a peaceful moment here, and the axe desires adventure, please come help us beneath our mountains.”
Brand nodded without hesitation. He felt the axe shift excitedly on his back.
“I will most certainly do so.”
Chapter Twenty
Telyn’s Kiss
Gudrin didn’t stay the night, but rather returned with Modi, who tirelessly rowed her back to Riverton. She said she planned to return to Snowdon with the good tidings of Brand’s victories and his plans to come aid them in the future. She bade him not to wait too long.
The axe, for its part, was enthusiastic about the idea. It wanted nothing more than to head off for a new adventure in a new part of the world. The more enemies encountered on the way, the better.
Brand quelled it and his own wanderlust with some difficulty. He still had not decided what he would do with the Lavatis, and the end of the week was approaching. He felt determined to give Tomkin an honest answer by then. He felt he owed the Wee One that much at least. But by midweek, he had still come to no decision, and the stress of it combined with the restlessness of the axe had put him in a foul mood.
Telyn showed up at the door as darkness fell over the island. A light dusting of snow came down behind her as he opened the front door and smiled to see her. She had a shawl wrapped tightly around her head, showing only her smiling face. The knife she had found back in the redcap’s armory was still ready at her belt.
Brand let her in and took the liberty of brushing the snow from her shoulders. Once the door was shut with a grinding of frost, she leaned close. “Are we alone?”
He shrugged and smiled. “Jak is about, but he is probably reading upstairs in his room.”
She looked scandalized. “Corbin isn’t here? I thought he was supposed to be your faithful second!”
“I didn’t think that meant he should follow me about like a hound,” said Brand shrugging and smiling at the idea, “he’s back with his parents in Riverton. Aunt Suzenna needs more looking after than I do. Her grief is all the worse with winter falling around us.”
She looked somewhat upset still, but the expression quickly dropped. She grabbed his tunic and kissed him by surprise. It was a hard, full kiss and his pulse quickened at the feel of her lips.
The axe interrupted by rustling and thumping his skull lightly. All but snarling, he pulled the pack from his back and tossed it onto a waiting easy chair by the fire.
Telyn cocked her head at him. “Is that axe a she? I sense jealousy.”
Brand laughed. “The axe is upset by squirrels in trees. Jealous yes, but I don’t think of it as female.”
“Does it move while it’s alone?” she asked, eyeing the pack on the easy chair, “can it move by itself?”
Brand shook his head and rubbed his chin, looking at the thing. When it was further from his body, he felt less irritable, but even so he was annoyed that Telyn had halted kissing and started talking about the axe. Perhaps, he thought, this was the thing’s evil plan all along. Perhaps, it had gotten what it wanted by distracting her.
“Now, where were we?” he asked, pulling her close.
They kissed for several minutes longer. Brand reflected that he had never had time like this to really be close and alone with Telyn. He enjoyed it thoroughly.
Finally, she stopped him with a soft hand to the chest. Brand looked down at the gently pushing hand with disappointment.
“Brand Rabing!” she said, laughing quietly, “You have changed! I recall being the one who chased harder.”
Brand smirked. He had his hands on her elbows.
“I have a confession to make,” she said, “I didn’t come here just for this.”
“No?” Brand tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice.
“I am enjoying it, don’t get me wrong. But there is something bad going on, down south along the Deepwood border. There’s a giant, Brand.”
Brand pulled her a fraction closer. He shrugged. “There are always giants in the Deepwood.”
“Of course, but this one has been raiding a pig farm in the Haven.”
“A pig farm?” snorted Brand. He managed to sneak in another kiss and she responded briefly.
“Yes. A farm owned by my cousins. A Fob farm.”
Brand sighed and let go of her. He put his hand to his face.
“What is it?”
Shaking his head, he walked over to his pack and strapped the axe to his back again. It shifted about excitedly. “Fine,” he said, “if that’s your purpose, I’ll be off. Just tell me where it is, and I’ll bring you this giant’s head for your father’s mantle down in Riverton.”
She pouted. “You are mad at me?”
“Not at all.”
“Liar.”
“Did you even want to kiss me?” he asked, suddenly feeling a pit of depression coming over him. All everyone wanted was his service. He had become the rich man Gudrin had described. Even his love wanted something for every favor.
“Oh, Brand,” she said, sensing his mood, “of course I did. Don’t be upset. We can go in the morning. Just because I came to you for help doesn’t mean I don’t really care about you.”
Brand thought about that, and took a breath. Perhaps the axe heightened every emotion, not just anger.
There were two easy chairs in front of the fire. The axe soon occupied one, while they occupied the other.
Chapter Twenty-One
Twrog’s Hunger
Twrog was back, barely a week after the second raid on the farm to ponder his third. He had his club, but he had run out of ham hocks. He had promised himself this wouldn’t happen. He had counted the hams several times, each time resulting in a different total, as often happened to him. But he was fairly sure he had about a dozen of them. This should have lasted him nearly two weeks, if he had only stuck to his promise to himself. He had sternly resolved to eat no more than one a night.
The very first night, of course, he had broken the promise by consuming two. He forgave himself this weakness. After all, it had been the very first time he’d tasted ham in so many years. Could he really blame himself for his lack of control?
The second day had gone poorly, however. He had consumed one ham for breakfast, figuring that after all it was indeed a new day. This left him starving by lunchtime of course, but he had managed to sate himself with a rather stringy black bear that he had dug out of its lair where it tried to hibernate. By evening, he lost control and gorged himself on the fourth and fifth hams.
And so it went throughout the week. He had miscounted, fortunately, and had several more than the dozen he had estimated. But they were all gone far too quickly. It was with great sadness that he gnawed on the heavy bone of the last one. He cracked the bone and used the shards to pick at his teeth dismally.
Within a few days he found himself eyeing the farm again. His foot hadn’t even healed over, and there had been no less than seven arrows and bolts he’d had to pluck from his hide. What horrors would he find waiting for him if he raided the farm a third time? He felt a new sensation as he eyed the farm this time. Twrog felt afraid of the River Folk and their wrath. Singly, they were helpless against him. But they were tricksy, and working together as a pack, they were dangerous and could cause him a great deal of hurt.
But his hunger would not leave him alone. The hams were forever in his mind now, his memory of their flavor sharper than before. He dreamt of them. Standing under the Rowan tree, he slavered over the heavy smells of the last pigs that still milled about the pens. He had to have them.
If only he could come up with a plan. He spent the night with his great arms wrapped around his knees, staring downhill at the farm.
The next morning at dawn he woke with a start. Birds scolded him from their safe perches. Squirrels cast sticks down at him. He considered uprooting their trees and giving them the surprise of their tiny lives—he had done such things before—but it was simply too much effort today. Besides, he was hungry. He had been here many times, looking down on the farm, while he was hungry. But today was different. Today, he felt he could do something about it. Today, he knew where they kept the hams. And so he stood and stretched, reaching for his club.
And he froze. Down in the yard around the farmhouse, something was happening. There were people down there. Four of them. They marched out toward Twrog. One of them looked shiny and glinted in the sun. Twrog had to search his hazy memories, but he felt sure that the man wore armor. He had not seen a man in armor in many, many years. He could not recall the last time, in fact. But he knew that a man in armor was dangerous. Such men knew weapons, and knew how to hurt a harmless fellow like Twrog.
Twrog growled and slammed his club idly into the trunk of the Rowan tree. It shuddered and burst with fleeing birds and at least one shocked squirrel. Twrog paid no heed to these tiny creatures. His eyes were fixed upon the man in armor. Had the farmers brought him to protect their hams? Just how many hams did they have left?
Twrog’s eyes narrowed in calculation. They would not have brought a man in armor for just their last broken buildings and a scattering few hams. They probably had to pay the armored man in hams, what else did they have? He nodded to himself with a growing certainty. They had more hams, somewhere. Plenty of them. Scores of them. Perhaps down in the basement. He might have to dig them out, and he vowed to do it. He would tear that house apart this time. They had unfairly hidden their meats from him, and made a fool of him. He would not leave again without having them all.
The man in armor walked closer. A few others with bows ready walked with him. He seemed to be heading toward the very spot Twrog stood. Could he have seen him? Or perhaps they had noticed the burst of birds? Twrog wasn’t certain, but he hunkered down and moved away from the hill, circling the farm in the forest. He would wait until the armor
ed man was gone, then he would find those hidden hams.
Twrog managed to stick to his plan for many long minutes. He hunched in the trees, at the very border of the farm that was closest to the farmhouse. He would begin his search at the house, for he could not figure any other spot they might be keeping their horde of fresh hams. He was quite convinced by now they had a great number of hams. Probably in the basement. It would be cool and dark there, like a cave. They must have stacked them down there. Stacked them like cordwood.
After the armored man had long since vanished into the trees, Twrog made his move. He felt he was quite clever, actually. They had gone to the spot where they had twice seen him exit the forest. Now, he would surprise them with a trick! He was coming at them from a completely different part of the forest. They would have nothing planned to stop him now, he felt certain of it.
He gripped his club and regripped it. Slaver ran from his chin. The farm was quiet, and he couldn’t stand to wait any longer. He stood tall and marched out into the open fields.
At first, everything went very smoothly. He was wary, however. His foot had not yet healed, and it still pained him and caused him to walk with a limp. But as he approached the farmhouse and heard the whoops of the surprised humans inside, he began to run in a stumbling gait, dragging his bad foot behind. The thatch roof had not been completely repaired since his last visit, but they had done some work on it. Timbers shored up the beams, but it still sagged down deeply in the midsection.
He dug into the smokehouse first, of course. He was horrified to find it empty. He could have sworn that he had left a few hams behind in his rush to escape last time.
He roared in disappointment. It was so wrong! So unfair! They had taken their meats and hidden them. They wanted them all for themselves, these greedy little creatures. He swung his club with a heavy grunt and demolished the smokehouse once and for all. Splinters and smoldering bits flew everywhere.
He stepped up to the farmhouse next, and small screaming figures fled in all directions.
Haven 3 Shadow Magic (Haven Series 3) Page 17