Haven Magic (17 page)

Brand tried to speak but couldn’t. Only a dry croak issued from his throat. He swallowed, coughed, then tried again. “Corbin!” he rasped.

The rider halted in surprise, then turned and saw him. The rider came closer and Brand saw that it was indeed Corbin, straddling the shaggy brown carthorse, Tator.

“Brand! We thought that the goblins had taken you back to their land forever!” shouted Corbin, dismounting and coming to meet his cousin. He halted when he saw Jak’s crumpled form. “Is that Jak?”

Brand only nodded, too weak to speak. Corbin wasted no more words. He lifted Jak as gently as he could and placed him in the saddle, where he was forced to hold him in place. Together, they set off.

“How did you come here?” Corbin asked him. “I’ve only just set out, and I didn’t think to find you for miles. We all thought that you were lost in the wilds of the Drake estate.”

“I have followed a light all night. Am I not on the Drake estate? Where are we? Is there shelter near? I fear for my brother’s life.”

“Shelter indeed, cousin. Look!” said Corbin. Brand looked up and halted. Before them stood the rambling house of Tylag and Suzenna Rabing. Somehow, he had won through to Froghollow, and never had a sight been more welcome to him.

“There, there is the beacon!” said Brand, pointing to an upstairs window. But even as he spoke, he realized that the window was shuttered, and that no light issued forth, nor could any have possibly done so.

“Scraper’s candle,” said Corbin as he helped Brand along with a guiding hand. Tator moved with delicate steps, almost as if he were aware of his injured rider. “She lit it again tonight, for you and Jak. Perhaps she is a fledgling sorceress after all.”

Brand was too weary to answer. Now that they had made it to shelter, his strength left him. Corbin shouted and brought all the household out to meet them. Brand was vaguely aware of a swarm of concerned faces and questions, to all of which he only blinked in confusion.

Gudrin appeared and took charge of Jak. “Aye, he lives yet, but only just. We must remove the arrows and hope fortune is with him tonight.”

Aunt Suzenna cried aloud at the sight of the black-feathered arrows that had pierced Jak. “If you have the craft to heal him,” she told Gudrin. “I will be your aide.”

Gudrin nodded and prepared for the surgery. She shouted orders for all the lanterns, oil lamps and mirrors in the house to be gathered into the kitchen. They arranged the lights and the mirrors to concentrate the light upon the table. Finally, when all was ready she and Tylag bore Jak away to the kitchen table while Corbin saw to the horses.

“I imagine you have quite a tale to tell yourself, boy,” said Modi, who had come and taken Brand’s elbow. It took Brand a moment to realize that the warrior was leading him toward a couch, not into the kitchen where Jak lay dying. He protested, but Modi’s grip was like that of a boulder shaped into a hand. “You need rest, boy. You listen to me—this time.”

Brand met the warrior’s eyes, and they were stern, but not unkind. He let himself be led to the couch where he collapsed.

* * *

Well after daybreak, he slowly became aware of someone bathing his forehead with a cool damp cloth. His eyes fluttered open to find Telyn bent over him, her face pinched in worry. He thought he had never seen a lovelier sight, not even the Shining Lady could move him the way this tanner’s daughter could. “Telyn, does Jak live?”

“Of course,” she answered, her face brightening. “He is feverish, but should recover. Gudrin is a miraculous healer. There are so many crafts I could learn from such as she.”

“The shafts have been removed then?” he asked.

Her face clouded. “Yes, but—”

He gripped her arm. “But what?”

She pressed him down again, and he let her do it, for in truth he felt as weak as a kitten. “You must rest, Brand. You are not well either. You strove mightily with the Faerie last night, and such things take a grim toll from mortals, to say nothing of dragging your brother through miles of forest.”

“Ah, yes,” said Brand, remembering the long night. “I saw your beacon Telyn. It was my only hope when all else was lost. It was your sorcery that saved us.”

Her hands plucked idly at the damp cloth she held. “No, it was all my fault that you got into this in the first place. Jak is almost dead because I wouldn’t listen to reason. It’s fine for me to endanger my own skin, but I can’t forgive myself for nearly killing us all with my rashness.”

Brand sat up, although it was a mighty effort. He took her hand and squeezed it. “I’ll not have that! I was the one the shade began tracking in the first place. I could just as easily say that the breaking of the Pact was on my head!”

“What utter foolishness,” said Telyn, but he could hear the gratitude in her voice.

“Now, tell me the whole truth about Jak.”

She cast him a concerned glance, then looked back to the cloth in her hands, which was now wound into a knot. “The shafts came out easily, Brand, but the heads did not.”

“What do you mean?” asked Brand, feeling cold inside.

“I mean that the arrow points are still in him, somewhere...Brand?”

But she was talking to his back, for he had already started for the kitchen. There, in the brightly lit room in which he had supped so well so often, Jak lay. His flesh was bloodless and white, but his breathing appeared regular. Brand gripped the doorjamb for support. Gudrin held something pinched in a pair of tongs which she held aloft to the light. It was a tiny flint arrowhead. She rubbed her chin then dropped it into a pewter pitcher. The water in the pitcher bubbled and hissed briefly, then fell silent.

“That’s one,” grunted the Talespinner. She eyed Brand sharply, but didn’t order him from the room.

“Is that from his chest?” asked Brand.

Gudrin nodded. “The other has gone deeper still. I only just decided he was mended enough to go for them, and it was critical that I did so now.”

“Why?”

Gudrin gestured to the pitcher. Brand stepped forward and peered into it. There was no sign of the arrowhead. “What happened to it?”

“The arrowheads are enchanted. There is no question about it, your brother was elf-shot.”

“Elf-shot?” Brand echoed. Stunned, he looked at his brother’s leg wound. “There is still one of them in him?”

“Yes, worming its way to his vitals. Were you attacked by the elfkin?”

“No, goblins only. At least, we saw no elfkin.”

“Strange,” said Gudrin. She shook her head and prepared to dig into Jak’s flesh to remove the other arrowhead. She stepped to the sideboard for a moment, where her book lay open, and read a page or two before returning to her work. Brand noted that her rucksack was stowed carefully beside her book. “That’s what the others said. But it is for certain that these arrows are elf-work. Goblins have not the craft. Either there are elves in league with our Enemy, which is fell news indeed, or these arrows were stolen. We have no way of knowing which.”

Gudrin began her digging and cutting then, bidding Brand to hold his brother still. Even in his unconscious state, Jak moaned and writhed in pain.

“Make sure he doesn’t reopen his chest wound!” ordered Gudrin. The work was bloody and it was all Brand could do to keep from retching. Modi and Tylag were finally called in to help, while Aunt Suzenna did what she could to make her nephew comfortable. Brand wondered if he could ever enjoy a meal at this table again.

Forcing himself to watch, he looked into the splayed flesh of his brother’s thigh. There was a black shape, buried down near the bone. Gudrin reached for it, but it wriggled and half vanished into red bloody flesh again.

“The River save us!” breathed Brand.

Finally, Gudrin got a grip upon it, and lifted it up. “There’s the little cursed thing.”

Aunt Suzenna, who was the best and fastest with needle and thread, set to sealing the wound. Jak’s agonized moans subsided. Gudrin and Brand stepped aside and examined the arrowhead.

Gudrin reached out and touched the river stone around Brand’s neck. “A River ward, after the fashion of your folk. Hmmpf. Well-made, too. Your work?” she asked Telyn, who nodded. “You have an eye for the craft. If it was not for these wards, or if the goblins had used normal weapons, you would have all been killed. Notice, the arrows struck only Jak, who wore no such ward.”

At this point she yelled aloud and swore in the tongue of the Kindred. She dropped the tongs she had been holding aloft and clutched at the hand that had held them.

“What’s wrong?” asked Brand, but Telyn had already snatched up the tongs and grabbed Gudrin’s hand. The palm was pooling with blood. Only a stub of the arrowhead was still visible as it burrowed into the talespinner’s flesh.

“It got away from me! I’m a fool! An old fool! Can you get it, girl?”

Telyn made no answer, but instead thrust the tongs into the open wound. Red blood spilled and splattered the floorboards. Gudrin grit her teeth and hissed through them, but did not pull away. Brand suddenly became aware of Modi, who was standing very close, watching everyone intensely. His knuckles stood out white upon the haft of his axe.

“Got it!” shouted Telyn, pulling the tongs free. With two quick strides she took the arrowhead to the pitcher and dropped it in. The water bubbled and hissed and soon the cursed thing was no more.

Gudrin swore again, wrapping her hand. “I should have done that in the first place. Thank you, girl.”

Chapter Fourteen

Warriors All

“How can we stand against weapons such as these?” demanded Brand aloud.

“Your wards protected you, as I said,” Gudrin told him. While she talked she set a prepared poultice of healing herbs on Jak’s wounds. “And we may not be completely without our own special armaments. What puzzles me is why they would use such weapons on young harmless folk such as yourselves. It is a mystery coupled with Voynod’s stalking of you. It is clear that the Enemy regards you as some kind of threat. I must have a smoke and a think upon it,” she said. She donned her hat, slung her rucksack, clasped her book and slid it back under her arm.

After checking on his brother, who was now less deathly pale, Brand followed Gudrin out onto the porch. Corbin came after him and pressed a sandwich and a mug of milk into his hands, for which he was grateful. All three of them sat on low-slung porch chairs. Gudrin smoked a delicately carved pipe, the bowl of which was shaped like a bear’s head. Blue smoke rose from the bear’s gaping jaws.

Outside the day was a fine one, the snow having melted, but there was a chill wind up, and winter could not be far off. Brand enjoyed the feel of the sunshine and waited while Gudrin had her think. Then, however, he recalled his meeting with Oberon. He found it strange that he had forgotten about it until now. Even now, he wondered somewhat if it could have all been a waking dream. He told Gudrin about it, filling in every detail he could recall.

Gudrin leaned forward, puffing on her pipe. She asked several details of Oberon’s appearance, and then at last leaned back, satisfied. “It was Oberon, that’s for certain. It’s a wonder you can recall him so well, however. Perhaps your ward is working better than even it should.”

“Why should I forget seeing him?”

“That is one of the powers of the lord Oberon. He can make folk forget seeing him, speaking with him. It is useful in his manipulation of events,” she said, then fell silent for a time, puffing on her pipe. “But why is even Oberon so convinced of your importance?”

“I find it hard to believe that it’s just me. Perhaps we are confusing something. I’m only a river-boy from a small isle on the Berrywine. I know nothing more than how to travel water, chop wood and gather berries.”

Gudrin swept away his arguments with a wave of her bandaged hand. “Nonsense. All of you River Haven folk sell yourselves short. The blood of many champions runs in your veins. You must recall that you are the survivors, the descendants of the best of your race. Originally, you were warriors all, and a quarrelsome lot, if the stories are to be believed.”

“River Folk? Warriors all? That is hard to swallow.”

“Believe it. It is written in the Teret,” said Gudrin, striking her book soundly. She took her pipe from her mouth and tapped out the smoldering ashes, then refilled it with fresh stock.

Soon Modi came outside. He stood on the porch near them for a moment, the boards sagging beneath his weight, before moving out into the yard.

“He guards you closely,” said Brand.

Gudrin shrugged. “He is of the Warriors. His father is a great clanmaster among the Kindred. All of his clan are warriors.”

“If they are as big as he is, I can see why,” mused Brand. He watched as Modi set up a row of pumpkins on the fenceposts near the road. He readied his axe and began to exercise with it, chopping the pumpkins like the heads of enemies. Each of them fell neatly in half, then in quarters. His swings were precise and powerful. “He cuts only pumpkins, but still I am impressed.”

“Modi’s clan is an old one. Many of his folk were those that survived Myrrdin’s campaign and faced the Faerie when the Pact was forged. It is ironic that he should be here to witness its breaking.”

“What are we to do, Gudrin?”

Gudrin compressed her lips, sucking on her pipe for a time before answering. A cherry-red glow brightened in the bear’s mouth. “I must march in search of Myrrdin,” she said with a sigh. “Only he might know how to reforge the Pact, or perhaps some other way to save the Haven. Besides, my business is with him in any case.”