Have 2 Sky Magic (Haven Series 2) (11 page)

“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 admitted.

“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 reading 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.

“I’ve tasted of River Folk tonight, and I always know best what I taste. Tonight I wish to taste of thee, cheating witch, so I may know what it is that flows in thy veins that makes thee as quick as an adder.”

Modi snorted. Telyn and Brand looked concerned. Corbin rubbed at his bandage. A muscle in his cheek jumped.

As quickly as a snake, Myrrdin bared his left arm and thrust it out toward the tiny creature. For the first time since its capture, it smiled.

“The wound will be unclean,” admonished Gudrin.

Myrrdin locked gazes with the manling as it sidled forward, beginning to grin now. “Get on with your boon, servant,” he said.

Again, the whole top of the thing’s head seemed to come unhinged and it snapped its pointed white teeth into the bare flesh of the offered forearm. Myrrdin grimaced, as did everyone else, save Modi and Corbin, who simply glared.

After the spilt blood was cleaned from the floor and the table, and after Gudrin had staunched the flow from Myrrdin’s veins, Tomkin was still rubbing his face and licking his palms. Brand now looked at the creature with disgust. “He’s not like Dando, the one other I’ve met of the Wee Folk. He’s more animal, more feral.”

“Yes,” agreed Myrrdin, gritting his teeth as Gudrin’s strong hands tied off the red-soaked bandages. “He is one of the more barbaric types that inhabit swamps and barrens rather than clean forests and farmlands.”

At this, Tomkin chuckled. “If that’s not a strange insult from a half-breed cheat!  I know thee now by the blood in thy veins, witch!  I know thou hast as much kin with Tomkin as these prattling River Folk!”

“Silence now, my servant,” demanded Myrrdin. “It is time for you to don your new keepsake.”  He produced the pouch and handed it to the manling. Tomkin snapped his sharp teeth at Myrrdin’s fingers once, just to make him jump. Myrrdin did jump, and his brows furrowed darkly.

“You are indeed tainted by the darkest of your ilk,” he said.

With ill grace, Tomkin donned the pouch. Beady eyes glared at Myrrdin.

“Now, my servant, you shall rejoin your clan and report back to me any news of that which Oberon has lost. Even if you hear nothing, you shall report back to us every week hence for the next year and a day,” said Myrrdin. He turned to Corbin, who held the creature’s cord. “Free him.”

“But you have not asked him about what he already knows,” protested Corbin.

Tomkin waited no longer, but seized the rope and began chewing through it. The others made as if to stop the manling, but Myrrdin restrained them. “Let him go. I can only ask him to do things afresh. Old knowledge he is free to twist and lie about.”