Haven Magic

by B. V. Larson

  Brand shifted in his chair and looked embarrassed for her, but no one else seemed to notice. Something occurred to him. “But you said, Gudrin, that you came to the River Haven for two reasons.”

  “Aye. We also came on the behalf of King Thrane of the Kindred to find a new bearer for the Jewel Ambros. Besides parlaying our way into the Pact, we are to return with a new Champion who could wield the axe and slay the armies that besiege the Earthlight.”

  “But why not select a Champion among the Kindred?” asked Corbin.

  “Humans have ever made the best Champions, and the best of humanity is known to be here in the River Haven,” said Gudrin. Modi’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling as she spoke. “I had hoped that with Myrrdin’s counsel, one could be found.”

  “It seems to me that my counsel is hardly needed,” said Myrrdin.

  “What do you mean?” asked Gudrin.

  “Why Gudrin, your judgment is legendary! Can you not see? Your Champion is in this very room!”

  At this, they all became deathly silent. Modi took a half step forward, and his eyes were alight. His hands made grasping motions in the air. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

  “The River Folk!” cried Myrrdin, as though they all had to be blind. “What better selection could one ask for? Two of the Clan Rabing, one of the Clan Fob. You know your histories as well as I! Knights once rode to battle beneath the banners of their ancestors! Already they have met the enemy and done well. You have only the final decision to make.”

  “Bah! What utter nonsense!” roared Modi. He made a sweeping gesture of disgust and turned to stump away to the door. He crossed his arms and leaned his weight against the door, which brought a groan of protest from the old wood.

  “Modi is of the opinion that since the axe bearing the Jewel Ambros has long been held by the Kindred, it should be wielded by one of the Kindred,” explained Gudrin. “This is a compelling argument, but history shows its dangers.”

  Myrrdin nodded sagely. “Your King is wise. The freshness of spirit needed to contain the fury of the weapon is hard to find among the elder races. I imagine that even for you, great among the wise of your folk, Ambros is a heavy burden.”

  Gudrin looked pained. “Yes. Ever the Jewel weighs upon me. It wants nothing more than to slay, and senses danger and evil where none exist. Only by sheer force of will have I stayed my hands from murder until now.”

  Brand thought of the night in the woods when Gudrin had turned upon him, with clear murderous intent in her eyes. He shuddered to think that it had been the Jewel that had looked out through Gudrin’s eyes and desired his death.

  “Do you then agree with my assessment?” asked Myrrdin, indicating the three River Folk with a wave of his hand.

  Gudrin rubbed her cheek for a time, holding her Teret clamped to her body. She eyed each of them in turn. Brand felt the intensity of her gaze, and it was painful. “Yes.”

  Modi made an exasperated sound, but said nothing.

  “Which is it, then?” asked Myrrdin quietly.

  All eyes were now on the three River Folk, who sat dumbfounded. Corbin opened his mouth, but no words issued forth.

  Telyn was the first to find her voice. “I don’t wish to wield the axe. If it were a knife or a bow,” she said quietly, “Perhaps it would be different.”

  “Women have been Champions in the past, Telyn,” said Myrrdin gently.

  She shook her head. Then all eyes turned to Corbin and Brand. Brand felt his heart race in his chest. His throat was suddenly dry and taunt. It was difficult to swallow.

  Finally, Modi could contain himself no longer. “These are but weak children!” he burst out. “Surely Gudrin, you can’t be serious! Neither of them has yet seen twenty summers! By the white peaks of Snowdon, kinswoman, I beg you to reconsider!”

  Gudrin now stood angrily. She faced Modi and held her Teret aloft. She slapped it soundly. “I sit as judge among the Kindred! You have sworn to escort me on this mission, ordered by our king! Perform your duties as sworn, or it is you I shall next pass judgment upon!”

  The two stared at one another, and the battle of wills was such that Brand began to feel oddly unwell. It twisted at his gut and made his stomach, still full of good food and beer, roil inside him. Finally, Modi dipped his head and stepped back.

  “My duty is clear,” he rumbled.

  Gudrin took a step forward, once again face to face with the warrior. “It is my decision to give the choice to you, as the wiser judge of warriors. Which one of these two boys shall be our Champion?”

  Modi blinked in surprise. His hand went to his chin, and he turned to view the River Folk anew. His eye traveled from one to the other of them. “Corbin has more the natural build for the axe, but Brand is more skilled,” he said, echoing his words from days ago. “What is more important, Corbin is more thoughtful, while Brand exhibits more qualities of leadership. It is clear that between them, I would make Brand the Champion and Corbin his Second.”

  Gudrin nodded. “I agree,” she said. “If Brand accepts, of course.”

  Brand opened his mouth, then closed it. “I suppose…” he trailed off. He paused, wondering what new course river-boy his life was about to take. He felt his brother Jak there, telling him he was no Champion, only a, a farmer steeped in muck up to his waist and with rainwater for blood. Then he glanced at Telyn, who brightened visibly. She was flushed with excitement, clearly overjoyed that he might be given this honor. It came to him that she would be infatuated with a man who wielded such an unknown power.

  “I accept,” he heard himself say.

  “All is settled then!” said Myrrdin, springing again to his feet. He stood among them with his hands on his hips, beaming. He made a sudden movement, and Brand felt a pressure against his chest. He looked down and saw that Myrrdin’s walking stick was pressing against him there. He noted that the tip now showed no signs at all of having been burnt in the fireplace of the common room. He swallowed, wondering if Myrrdin were indeed a wizard.

  “You,” said Myrrdin, poking the stick against him. Brand pushed it away. Myrrdin smiled. “You are to be the bearer of Ambros the Golden. I think it is best to tell you that the axe isn’t always willing to accept a new bearer. If it finds you lacking, it will rid itself of you, probably in an act of terrific mayhem.”

  Brand felt his face whiten. He distantly recalled the normal days of his life. Only a week ago he had worried about the heat of the sun upon the berrywine casks. The quiet sounds of the river had been all that came to him in his sleep. Now he was to be tested by one of the Jewels of Power.

  “The axe will want to test you,” said Gudrin. “I think it is best that we counsel you for a time, allowing you to decide to accept the axe and allowing it to decide to accept you—”

  “Yes,” agreed Myrrdin, interrupting. “There must be a period of attunement before you take up the axe.”

  Gudrin looked annoyed with the interruption. “Yes, attunement. In time you shall bear the axe as I do. After a time, you will learn its tricks and build a resistance to its power. Only then should you pit your will against Ambros and attempt to wield it.”

  “As with all the Jewels, there is a period of attunement, followed by a struggle of wills,” interjected Myrrdin again. “Rightfully, Brand needs years of training before taking up the axe. It is unfortunate that we may not have so long.”

  “So,” said Brand carefully, “you are saying that I might learn to wield the axe, but not be able to control it.”

  “Exactly. Gudrin shall continue to bear the axe until you are ready,” replied Myrrdin solemnly. Then, with another rapid change of expression and demeanor, he whirled to face the others. “But now there is another question for us to ponder. Where might we hunt for Oberon’s lost Jewel?”

  “Can’t you tell us?” asked Corbin. He had a knowing look that was familiar to Brand. Brand wondered what he had figured out.

  Myrrdin tilted his head, a smile playing about his lips. “Perhaps,” he admit
ted.

  “Let me see,” said Corbin, taking on his expression of deep thought. “We know Oberon would not give up his greatest treasure willingly. And he is too wise to lose so great a prize in a wager. Therefore, it must have been stolen from him.”

  Myrrdin was nodding in approval. He returned to his chair quietly and closed his eyes as if asleep.

  “It would take a great thief for such a crime, and there are no greater thieves than the Faerie. Many among them are known for their thieving ways, but probably the goblins and the Wee Folk are the most accomplished.”

  Brand smiled now, watching Myrrdin’s eyebrows raise a twitch over his closed eyes. It was fun to see others when they were first faced with Corbin’s methodical wits.

  “However, a goblin would attract too much attention if he were to come close to Oberon. I would think that the likely culprit would be one of the Wee Folk,” finished Corbin.

  Slowly, Myrrdin’s eyes turned to slits then opened widely. “Are you quite finished, sir?”

  “For now,” said Corbin thoughtfully. He began to munch upon a sackload of marsh tubers he had brought up from the dining room.

  “Astounding!” shouted Myrrdin. He shot up out of his chair and bounded into the center of the room. Modi, who had been in the midst of yawning, lurched and blinked. He shook his head in annoyance.

  “Simply astounding! What an excellently logical mind you have, my good Corbin. I concur with your conclusions. The Jewel had to have been stolen, for if Herla had taken it by force, Oberon would have to be dead, and he would never dare wager it. Thievery would then be the most likely answer, and the Wee Folk the most likely culprits, as you point out. Now, what other treasures will your mind grind out for us, good Corbin?”

  Corbin pondered. Two of the marsh tubers disappeared, followed by most of a third. “I would say that Herla doesn’t have Lavatis in his hands yet. It would seem more likely that the Wee Folk still have it.”

  “And why is this?” demanded Myrrdin. As he spoke, he went to the room’s only large window and threw up the sash. A gust of cold air blew into the room. The fire guttered, but no one protested as the room had been getting a bit too warm.

  Corbin shrugged. “Would not Herla have already swept us all from his path if he bore two Jewels?”

  Myrrdin shrugged in return. “Possibly, although history tells me that attuning oneself to two Jewels is somewhat like adopting two jealous wives…the results aren’t always as one would envision.”

  “Presuming it has been stolen, and presuming that the Wee Folk have it,” continued Corbin unconcernedly, “then we must find them and take it back.”

  “A tall order indeed,” muttered Gudrin.

  “Absurd,” said Modi. “I, for one, don’t wish to tramp through swamps and forests grabbing for manlings.”

  “Could you be so good as to close the window now, Myrrdin?” asked Telyn, pulling her cloak around her shoulders.

  “Certainly, my dear,” replied Myrrdin, but he made no move toward the window.

  “There is something that I might add about the Wee Folk,” Myrrdin said loudly, speaking with his head directed upward now, as if he addressed the ceiling. He strutted back and forth before them, seemingly oblivious to the cold draft that was stealing the warmth from the room. The River Folk began to glance toward the window. Brand considered moving to close it. He began to get up.

  Myrrdin paused before him and Brand sat back down. “I have a great secret to impart to all of you concerning the Wee Folk! A secret that many of the Shining Ones themselves don’t know!”

  “Well, impart it!” Modi said gruffly.

  In response, Myrrdin strode to the window with two quick, bird-like strides. He turned toward them and whispered, “They aren’t just the best thieves, but accomplished spies as well!”

  “What?” grunted Modi.

  But Myrrdin never answered. With a movement like that of a stork darting its beak down to snap up a marsh frog, he stooped and thrust his arm out the window. There was a squawk and a scrabbling sound. The long arm returned and in its grasp was the struggling form of one of the Wee Folk.

  “A spy!” shouted Modi, grabbing up his battleaxe. “I’ll make quick work of him!”

  Gudrin and Myrrdin both raised their hands. “Hold warrior!” said Gudrin.

  “Indeed, hold!”

  The manling, clearly terrified, increased its struggles as Modi approached. After closing the window, Myrrdin placed it on the center table and quickly looped a gray cord around its waist, pinning its arms. He held carefully to the end of the cord. After several mad attempts to bound away, it ceased its struggles and stood as if relaxed upon the tabletop.

  The manling was dressed in the garb of a marshman, only in miniature. Its feet bore overlarge, flapping shoes, a tunic of sewn, colorless skins covered its body and a leather rain hat topped its head. Its glass-like doll’s eyes regarded them, returning their curiosity.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Will-O-Wisp

  Outside the Blue Lantern the town of North End was quiet, as if in uneasy anticipation. The moon had crept up over the town to hang in the night sky, and now shone into the window. The shine of it was in their captive’s eyes and reflected from the manling’s skin.

  Telyn clapped her hands with excitement. “I’ve never seen one of them up close!”

  Corbin glowered at the manling uncharacteristically. Brand knew he was thinking of Dando and his brother. He doubted Corbin would ever be amused by their tricks again.

  The manling, saying nothing, studied each of them with intense curiosity. Somewhere beyond the open window a startled bird squawked angrily. Brand wondered if another of the Wee Folk even now worked to steal the bird’s clutch of eggs.

  “Well, what are we going to do with him?” asked Gudrin aloud.

  “Let’s interrogate him,” said Corbin darkly.

  “How do we know he knows anything useful?” asked Telyn.

  “Let’s go to sleep with one less spy in the River Haven to worry about,” grunted Modi.

  “Well, whatever we do, I don’t suppose we can let him go,” said Brand. He was already trying to come up with something to imprison the thing. An old crate in one corner of the room that served the inn as an end-table caught his eye.

  “Of course we’re going to let him go,” said Myrrdin. The others looked at him askance, except for the manling, who was now studying Telyn with the quiet intensity of a cat studying a songbird. Its head tilted to one side whenever she moved or spoke.

  “First, however, I must make a fetish,” continued Myrrdin. While the others looked on, he produced a leather pouch and filled it with a variety of ingredients. Many different withered herbs and colored powders were placed inside. Next, he took the pouch with him to one corner of the chamber and there, turned away from the others, performed some kind of ritual. There was a flash of pale green radiance. Brand was surprised by it, and for a moment wondered if he had imagined it.

  Telyn gasped and looked entranced. “The Eye of Vaul,” she whispered to him. “He has caused it to blink.”

  “A witch he is! Sorcery, he works! Kill thee all, he will!” screeched the manling suddenly. They all turned to it, and saw that it had untied the first knot and was working on the second and third. There was a sudden desperation in its manner that belied its earlier lack of concern. “Devil! Tomkin will be no bond-servant to a half-man hedge-wizard!”

  Corbin reached out and grabbed the thing around its midsection. In a flash, the manling bit him, seeming to open the whole of its head to sink in a row of sharp white teeth. Instantly, Corbin withdrew the hand. Blood welled up and dripped to the floor of the chamber.

  Modi stepped forward with a gruff sound of decision.

  “Hold!” said Myrrdin, coming forward with the packet he had been laboring over. The creature’s struggles increased. Myrrdin stood over it, glowering down at the tiny spy. “I have captured you and made you captive, fairly and doubtless,” he chanted to it, as if rea
ding from a book of laws. “If you wish your freedom, you must grant me a boon, or your life is forfeit.”

  Glaring, the manling stilled. It replied in a similar, lawful tone. “Tomkin disagrees. There was no thing fair in my capture. No man could move with such speed and stealth. Thou art no man, but a foreign creature that walks in the lands of men. I call thee a cheat.”

  “It is all the same to me,” shrugged Myrrdin. “A cheat such as myself has no difficulty in committing another crime—that of base murder.”

  The manling growled in its throat, the sound a small animal makes when its food is threatened. “I wish my freedom, and will grant thee thy boon, witch. But I demand a smaller boon in return, as is my right.”

  “Name it.”

  “I cannot, until I’ve heard of thy—no doubt grossly unjust—demands.”

  Myrrdin shrugged again. He held aloft the pouch he had prepared. “You, Tomkin of the Wee Folk, must swear to wear this pouch, night and day, dusk and dawn, for a year and a day. Ever you must hide it, and in no way shall you communicate its existence to your fellows or your masters.”

  The creature gave another cat’s growl of unease. “Surely you jest! Two pieces of faerie gold would be too great a boon for such-like as thee, cheating witch!”

  Myrrdin raised his walking-stick meaningfully. “Freedom or death? Choose now!”

  “‘Tis a geas, plain as the moon in a marsh pool at midnight!”

  Myrrdin sighed. “I have no more time to waste upon you.” He nodded significantly to Modi, who grimly took his axe from his belt.

  “But what of my boon?” demanded the manling.

  “Let us hear it,” said Myrrdin impatiently.

  A crafty look came over the creature’s doll-like face. Its eyes slid to Corbin’s hand, which was being worked on by Gudrin and Telyn now. The white strip of cloth they used for a bandage was stained the bright red of blood.