Dream Magic (5 page)

Kaavi cocked her head to the side and studied him. “What kind of creatures might you be talking about?”

“Creatures which might be found haunting the foot of a rainbow.”

Kaavi’s eyes widened in surprise and alarm. “Since you’re seeking Tegan and not me, can I assume you think she would know more about this subject than I do?”

“Yes, that was my assumption.”

Kaavi rose and rummaged about in her hut for a kettle. She hung it on a tripod of sticks and lit a tiny fire underneath as she talked to him.

“Let me see if I can figure this out,” she said. “Tegan spent years in the marshes, and she’s raised Ivor. She often met strange things out there, I know. You must have heard the stories, yes?”

“Some of them might have reached my ears during summer visits.”

“You little snoop,” Kaavi laughed. She filled the kettle with spring water and let it simmer. When steam rose up, she crumbled bits of leaves and sticks into the bubbling liquid. A minty smell arose from the tea that Trev thought was quite pleasant.

“Well, I’ve heard those stories
as well. Short of asking every outlander in this wooded corner, or traveling to Oberon’s court, you might as well ask me—since you’re here.”

Trev looked down in some embarrassment. He’d not planned to tell his tale to Kaavi. She was younger and somewhat more innocent than Tegan—for an elf. She had yet to take a husband. Since the story involved seduction and bargains with unknown creatures, he felt he could better confide in Tegan, who, after all, had given birth to a hulking ogre.

Kaavi watched him closely, and seemed to make a startling series of conclusions.

“
I don’t believe it!” Kaavi exclaimed. “You’re only half-elf. No true elf would feel shame and try to hide activities.”

Trev looked at her sharply. “Hide
what
activities?”

“It’s
as plain as day to me. You’ve been out whoring with nymphs and dryads—or worse. It’s all right, Trev. Pursuing females in forests is in your blood. You shouldn’t be ashamed of it, even if your mother doesn’t approve.”

Trev tried
to keep smiling, but he was horrified. She’d guessed so much already. He’d admitted the matter to his mother, but somehow Kaavi was different. He wanted to please her and he knew she’d been thinking of him as a child until this very day.

“It’s not that simple,” he said,
and then he finally began his tale. He told her of his pursuit of the rainbow, and what he’d found at its vibrant foot.

While he spoke, she poured the tea into two cups made of walnut shells. The cups were absurdly small, but he took one and sipped. He was surprised by the full flavor and the filling nature of the drink. It was as if he’d had a mug of hot brandy. It had a nutty odor, and he wondered if that was due to the walnut husks.

He told her the rest, glossing over the fact that he’d bedded the strange woman he’d met out in the forest. He simply said she’d upheld her part of the bargain—but that he had not yet completed his.

“An excellent drink, Auntie,”
he said as he finished his tale and his tiny cup of tea.

“I’m glad you like it, Trev,” she said, patting his arm absently. Her eyes did not meet his. They were distant and unfocussed.

“What did you think of my story?”

“I’m
unsure what to make of it.”

“Do you think less of me?”

She turned to him at last and eyed him. “Why would I? Oh, you mean for having fallen for her seduction? No, of course not. Even a pure elf might have taken the bargain, especially one so young. No, I’m thinking about who this stranger might be, and what she might want.”

Trev bit his lip
as he upended his tiny cup and shook the last drop out onto his tongue. It burned there, slightly.

“May I have more?”

“No!” she laughed. “You’ll be in a drunken stupor.”

D
isappointed, Trev stayed quiet and let her think. His own mind seemed fuzzy. He thought he must be tired after his long run from the Haven.

“I don’t know,” she said at last. “As you
said, I’m not the wisest about such things. She could be Fae, or one of the Dead. But it doesn’t sound like it. She doesn’t sound playful like the Fae, or twisted and grim like the Dead. But she was definitely some kind of Sorceress if her claims are to be believed.”

“What claims?”

“Didn’t she say she guided the rainbow to lure you there? Or someone like you? Not everyone can plant a rainbow like a beanstalk in their garden!”

“I suppose not. I hadn’t thought about that part.”

Just then, the two of them heard a heavy tramping sound. No elf or Wee Folk could make such a heavy tread, except possibly as a mockery. There were definitely several feet involved, which ruled out the possibility of the local ogres being involved. That left only one clear answer.

“Men from the castle?” Trev asked.

“Yes,” Kaavi said, frowning at him. “Have you told me everything, Trev? Is there more? Should you be fleeing now?”

“I don
’t think so. Are you sure they’re coming for me?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “I’m quite sure of that.”

On instinct, Trev bounded up from his seat on a flat round stone and vanished into the thicket behind Kaavi’s hut. He lingered there, not wanting to flee further without need. He wasn’t entirely convinced that he should be running away. Wasn’t Castle Rabing a sanctuary for his kind?

Still, caution made him retreat and stay hidden.

* * *

Brand had
waited patiently until midday, whereupon he’d begun to fume with unease. He’d paced the echoing stone floors of his keep, refusing everyone’s questions about what was bothering him—even those questions voiced by his own captains. He’d kept his mind occupied during the morning by changing into a more suitable set of clothing, but even that was considered odd. Some of his retainers looked at him in askance, and muttered about his unusual choice in attire.

Brand no longer wore a red robe and red slippers. Instead, he’d dressed himself properly for a day of riding, hunting—or
possibly for going to war. He clad himself in a shirt of finely-woven chain, with gauntlets to match. The shirt had been a gift from the Kindred, and the craft that went into the light armor was obvious to any observer.  Over the tinkling chain shirt he wore a fresh cloak in the livery blue of Riverton. The cloak hung down to his boots and fluttered upon his back while he paced. Finishing the outfit, a pair of studded leather trousers and two knee-high boots covered his legs and feet, both made of well-oiled Merling skin.

Some might have thought this
could be thought of as an insult to Merlings, but it was customary among them to wear the skin of their enemies—either human or that of a rival Merling tribe. Among their kind such gear commanded respect, and as light armor it wore better than any other, come rain or shine.

He mounted his horse and set off. His steed was a fine
roan, a beast he’d grown fond of over recent years at Castle Rabing.

His
boots were black and had been polished till they shone. His head bristled with dark hair, dark eyes and a thick beard. Around his neck was one last item that was impossible to ignore. It had been made for him by Tomkin of the Wee Folk. A silver cage rested upon his chest, hung from a thick silver chain. He wore the cage like a large locket upon his breast. The cage attracted the eye, but there was nothing inside. Nothing but an empty, ovoid slot where a Jewel might rest.

Clearly, the cage was meant to transport a Jewel of Power, should he encounter one. Brand wore this in case he might need to carry a second Jewel, but it was also there as a reminder to all who met him that he
alone among all living folk of Cymru had managed to wield two Jewels at once for a short time. And although the experience had all but killed him, it had also gained him fame as no other feat had. It had cemented his place as a powerful member of the elite who could master and wield magic in his world. Just seeing the small silver cage dangling there often caused visitors to raise their eyebrows in surprise and alarm. Despite their obvious interest, few had dared to question him directly concerning its purpose.

By the time the
sun began to fall behind the Black Mountains to the west, Brand lost his patience. He’d been fretting about Old Hob’s warning concerning Trev all day long. He’d expected Trev would come to talk to him, and he had chosen to wait like a calm powerful lord in his keep.

But Trev had not come.

Brand was beside himself by midafternoon. He was determined to act—but what should his course be? The argument in his head was a two-sided affair, involving a battle between the calmer part of his mind and the rest, which seethed. On one hand, he wanted to know what this was all about. He wanted to find Trev and wring every detail from him. But on the other, he felt manipulated by Old Hob. How much of his current mood had been planted by that wily devil? Was he committing a grand error by confronting Trev, by doing what Old Hob had urged him to do? Had Hob made the visit and created a distracting performance, pretending to warn him, when his true goal was to stir up trouble and intrigue?

He just didn’t know, and it wa
s driving him mad. To make matters worse, the Axe ripped at his mind demanding action and seeing every event as a dire portent. That hadn’t helped him to think clearly. Ambros clouded his thoughts less when it wasn’t in contact with his flesh, but even while it safely rode his back, it was always prodding at his mind, lurking under the surface of every idea and random reflection. Every time he had a dark thought, he had to question the source of it.

As the
sun began to sink, Brand knew the world was only a few hours from darkness. He sent out guardsmen to inquire concerning Trev’s whereabouts. For a short half-hour, he was calm. He expected the boy to make a beeline to his court when he heard the lord of the castle was looking for him. Time passed however, and the guards returned empty-handed.

What was that boy doing in the
Fae sanctuary?
On the surface of it, the motive was understandable enough. The boy had relatives there, by all accounts.

But
the situation ate at Brand. Time was wasting, and he had no idea how precious each minute might be. Hob had suggested the boy would ask him for something and it would be dangerous for Brand to help him. The way the Axe caused him to look at the situation, the goblin lord had been the first stranger found behaving oddly inside Castle Rabing today, and now Trev was the second.

When his messengers
told him Trev was in the sanctuary but that was all they’d learned, Brand couldn’t stand it any longer. He summoned a squadron of the mounted guardsmen and they went cantering for the wooded corner together with flapping blue cloaks. They dismounted at the edge of the trees and marched into the cool gloom beneath. There was no point in riding in like invaders. Being on foot, Brand hoped, would put outlanders at ease.

But he could see as he penetrated into the grove his plan
s weren’t working out as intended. Strangely-shaped and bizarrely-colored eyes observed them from behind seemingly every tree trunk. As they walked deeper into the quiet wood it seemed to him that the growths were more dense. The wooded corner was almost as dank and still as the Deepwood. It had grown thick over the years and now sprawled over a fifth of the land within his walls. No wonder the peasants grumbled so loudly about it.

He pressed forward, pushing aside branches that clawed and resisted his steps. No
one came to greet him and his men. The guardsmen were no more at ease than the hiding locals. They kept silent, but their eyes were wide and they winced whenever a branch snapped or a bird twittered.

Brand thought about the Axe on his back. He tried not to, but it was impossible to keep it from his mind. Would he draw it today again at some point,
over some unexpected provocation? He didn’t know, but he could not stop
thinking
about it. He knew on one level that these thoughts were leaking to him from the Axe itself.

After tasting such a thin gruel of blood
at Old Hob’s throat, it now wanted a flood to glaze its fine blades. Like a drunkard, a taste of red wine only whetted a greater burning thirst for Ambros. Quenching that thirst would take a river of blood, if it could be done at all.

His party
finally met up with two Wee Folk guardians at the entrance to the village proper. The village was really only a circle of trees and huts, but the Fae took it seriously, so Brand tried to do the same.

“What an honor,” said the first Wee One. She was a tiny female, but there was a needle-like sword on her belt.

“Indeed, sister,” said the second, a wild-looking fellow wearing a hat of gray fur and rat-tails.

Both of them bowed. Speaking in unison, they identified themselves as Ida and Aden.

“I’m Lord Rabing,” Brand responded formally.

The female known as Ida
twittered. “We know who you are, Axeman! But we are wondering: what is it you seek here?”

Brand’s lips twitched in irritation. Were these not his own lands? Was he no
t within his own walls? Perhaps letting these folk squat here for so long unmolested had been a mistake. It seemed they now believed he was intruding on
their
territory, rather than the other way around. They’d changed from polite guests to surly squatters.