Haven Magic (36 page)

Telyn grabbed for the fallen creature, echoing the nymph’s shriek with one of her own. Brand glared down at it, and saw that it would most likely live. He let go of Telyn’s hair and reached for it, lifting the axe for a second, killing stroke.

“No, Brand!” cried Telyn. “You can’t kill her!” She clutched the nymph to her breast and held it tightly. Then she saw Brand’s face and the shimmering light of the axe, and her face changed to one of mortal fear.

Enemies.

Brand paused.

Evil. Slay them both.

Brand’s arm rose. The Golden Eye of Ambros blinked then, filling the pond with the brilliance of day for a moment— like the strike of silent, amber lightning. Telyn, expecting death, cried out and shut her eyes. She protected the wounded nymph as a mother would a child.

Brand’s arm rose higher still, but the axe did not fall. Within his mind and spirit a struggle went on. With a gasp, he released his grip upon the axe, and it splashed into the pond. It sank down into the stinking waters reluctantly; its light fading from brilliance to a glimmer, then a dull glow.

Taking hold of Telyn around her shoulders, he made for the shoreline. When they neared the water’s edge, he turned back for the axe.

“Leave it!” cried Telyn.

“I can’t,” said Brand.

“Brand, you all but killed me!” said Telyn. “The axe is evil, it urges you to kill!”

Brand looked at her, then back toward the yellow glimmering spot that marked the waiting axe. His tongue snaked out and wet his lips. He wondered no more at Modi’s longing for the axe. Perhaps the warrior had touched it once. Perhaps it had caressed his cheek, and had let him feel its cold bright power.

“…Brand!” Telyn cried. He realized she had been speaking to him, but that he had heard none of it. “The wisps, Brand!”

Brand found he had been gazing down and had waded forward to the axe, and was now much closer to it. But the Will-O-Wisp had returned, with a new member.

As Brand watched in horror, the new wisp rose up from the depths of pond. At first, it was nothing but a green glimmer, then a bright glow, finally, it broke the surface not a dozen paces from him.

The green wisp was not the same, however. The green wisp was male, as perfectly formed as the females, and only slightly larger. He was caged in an old lantern of black, woven iron. His bright green glow was thus cut into many squares of shining light. Holding the lantern aloft was a gnarled hand of darker green. For a moment Brand watched as the lantern approached, shining its green light. Of Old Hob, for the moment, all that was visible was his upraised arm, holding aloft the lantern from the depths of the stinking waters. Slowly, the arm and the lantern drew closer. Around the male in his cage drifted the other remaining wisps, circling excitedly.

Brand quailed. He shrank back, looked toward the axe—so close. He paused. His mind froze over, his will to flee the terror that approached battling with the overwhelming desire to possess the axe once more.

“You must leave it! Don’t touch it, you’ll lose your sanity!” cried Telyn, sensing Brand’s thoughts.

Still, Brand hesitated.

With a sound of desperation and fear, Brand heard Telyn coming up behind him. He blinked in surprise as he saw her reach down for the axe, using her cloak to wrap it in.

“It’s mine!” cried Brand, grabbing it from her. Telyn staggered back from him, still clutching the nymph in her other hand.

It was then that Old Hob, eldest of all goblins, spoke to them. “Pray tell,” he gargled in a watery voice. “Who has stolen my youngest ward?”

Brand and Telyn turned to face him, and knew true fear. Old Hob loomed above them, one of the grimmest of the Dark Faerie that ever was mentioned by mother to child. The figure beneath the cowl and the robe was indistinct, but seemed to be made all of random lumps and twists, with no symmetry or natural repetition of form. The exposed arm was mottled and discolored, with horn-like growths and rough-textured bumps running the length of it. The face was cowled and invisible but for the dark crook of flesh that protruded from it. This flesh was, Brand surmised, a large nose or perhaps a narrow, pointed chin.

“Your ward? You mean the wisp?” asked Telyn, being first to regain her voice.

Brand felt little but for the urging of the axe to take it up and strike down this monstrosity that threatened him and his beloved. For the moment, he was beyond speech.

“Yes, the wisp, child,” came the odd, watery reply. Hob took another half-step closer. The River Folk took a half-step back. “I require the seventh wisp. Her husband and sisters would be sad without her.”

The other Faerie floated in lazy circles around them, curious and listening intently. Their reflections shimmered upon the water like a half-dozen full moons.

“You have imprisoned their male?” asked Telyn in disgust. “You keep them all in bondage this way?”

Old Hob shifted his lantern, for a moment partly illuminating the gloom beneath his dripping cowl. Brand saw a hint of inhuman eyes. They were the yellow eyes of an animal—perhaps that of a snake.

“They are my possessions, child. Return the wisp.”

“They are such exquisite creatures,” said Telyn, cradling the wounded wisp. “I would not feel right to hand a slave back to her master.”

“Enough!” cried Hob. He stood suddenly, and the River Folk learned that he had been hunkering down in the water, and only now rose to his true height. The vast, dripping form towered above them, standing perhaps twice the height of Brand. The indistinct form beneath the robe now took on new menace, being of greater bulk than they had previously imagined. A wave of stinking water lapped over them, and they staggered back in shock.

“The wisp!” rumbled Old Hob, extending a grossly deformed arm that ended in a twisted, dripping claw.

“We must parlay first,” said Brand, finding his voice.

“Parlay?” roared Old Hob. His arm swung to grasp his vast mid-section. He roared with unnatural laughter. “An insect seeks to parlay with Hob? In Hob’s waters?”

“Yes,” said Brand. He gripped the axe now, holding it through two layers of Telyn’s cloak. He hoped it was enough to keep it from taking over his mind. He felt sure that if it had its way, there would be a bath of blood that would deepen this disgusting pond by a good measure.

“Ah, yes, the Eye of Ambros,” rumbled Hob. “The other item that I require. It was good of thee to bring it into my domain. Now, cast it into the center of my pond and remove thy clothing, manling. It has been too long since I have devoured one of the River Folk— Or sired a squirming litter of rhinogs!” this last he directed at Telyn, giving her a yellow-eyed wink.

Brand and Telyn took another two steps back in unison.

“Ah now, I don’t fancy a chase!” said Old Hob. He chuckled then and the sound was menacing beyond any they had ever known. “I promise a clean kill for obedience, it is my custom.”

“I will neither run, nor yield,” said Brand, holding aloft the axe. He knew that he must seem firm, hoping that Old Hob, like all other goblins, would shy from an open and fair fight. “Should you take another step, by the Golden Eye of Ambros, I will hack your foul limbs from your body and stuff your grotesque head into that iron lantern you carry. Again, I ask to parlay.”

Both Telyn and Old Hob seemed a trifle surprised by Brand’s words. The wisps circled with more speed and several of them began to blink in and out of sight.

“A child wields the axe?” asked Old Hob in disbelief.

“I am a man.”

“It is not yet attuned to thy spirit, fool,” returned the eldest goblin.

“It is attuned enough. Gudrin and Myrrdin have instructed me.”

“The child wields names to impress Old Hob, even as it claims to wield one of the Nine Jewels,” said the monster. He held his lantern to his face and spoke to the green wisp inside. “What say thee, Ganleon?”

Inside, the wisp shrank back from his master.

Old Hob suddenly glared back at the two River Folk. “It is agreed then. First we parlay, then I shall devour the upstart and produce a fine litter by the half-breed temptress. I bade thee to speak.”

“Great Hob—” began Telyn, but he swung his great iron lantern at her so that she had to duck.

“Silence! I will speak only with the axe-bearer. I will hear enough of thy pitiful cries later, girl.”

Brand held his axe tightly and battled for his will. Fatigue, the axe and his natural terror fought against him. He tried to come up with something to say.

Old Hob, sensing hesitation, leaned forward meaningfully. “Hast thou no words?”

“Yes, I will speak,” said Brand. “Why did your offspring attack my clan?”

“Thou hast the idiocy to threaten me with Ambros and still ask why we sought to claim it?” snorted the goblin. A gush of discharge fired from beneath his cowl. The dark slime splattered the pond’s placid surface and clung there, refusing to sink. The River Folk wondered what other disgusting things they were wading in and felt ill.

“If we return the wisp and promise that the River Folk won’t harm any goblin if they aren’t harmed first, will you drop your alliance with Herla?”

“You dare speak of the Wild Huntsman so plainly, eh?” said Hob, sounding impressed. His free claw reached up into his cowl and touched his unseen face. “How is it that you speak in this matter for all the River Folk?”

“I do speak for the River Folk,” bluffed Brand resolutely. He wondered if the axe gave him courage and put steel into his words, even when it wasn’t touching his flesh. “My Uncle Tylag is the head of Clan Rabing. I’ve been selected to bear the axe as the champion of the River Folk.”

“Ha!” roared Hob. “Could they not have found someone younger? A teat-suckling whelp, perhaps? What hast thou, boy, twenty summers? I wager thou hast yet to bed this fine wench!” said Hob, gesturing with his free claw toward Telyn. He leaned forward a bit, his great form looming over them. The dark protruding lump that thrust out of his cowl made snuffling sounds. Brand felt sure now that it was the monster’s nose. “Yes, she has a pure smell. I’ll enjoy myself all the more after my meal. Our parlance is finished! Now it’s time to remove thy clothing, axe-bearer!”

“You haven’t answered my query,” said Brand. “Will the goblins cease to perform as Herla’s army?”

“The goblins wield no Jewel,” said Hob. “That changes tonight. Despite thy impudence, I will grant thee a boon of quick death, axe-bearer, for bringing me this unexpected prize—and as a fee for providing my evening entertainment.”

“You evade the question, Hob,” said Brand. “Don’t you control your people? Does Herla rule the goblin sires and their offspring, or do you?”

Hob roared in anger. His lantern swept back, then swept forward like a great mace aimed at Brand’s head. The wisp inside gripped the iron cage and fluttered his wings. His green light brightened, illuminating the trees along the shoreline. Standing waist-deep in the pond, there was little Brand could do but wield the axe. Without thought, he raised the weapon. There was another flash of yellow light and a sound like the clashing of great swords. Brand’s arms were stunned by the impact and he all but dropped the axe. Somehow, he managed to cling to it, or perhaps it clung to him.

Brand looked up, sure to see Hob’s maw stooping to devour a foolish river-boy. Instead, he saw the bottom of the lantern had been shorn free from the rest of it, and now the green wisp was free and floating away with the circling crowd of excited females.

Roaring with anguish, Hob now followed his own Will-O-Wisp, which led him deeper into the pond. Taking this opportunity to escape, Brand and Telyn splashed their way toward the shoreline. Another roar of anguish came up from Old Hob as he discovered their escape.

“Thou hast wronged me!” roared Hob toward their retreating backs. “No goblin shall rest until thy bones simmer in my stewpot! And thee, wench! Thy rhinog offspring shall feed upon their own mother one day hence!”

Once they felt they were safely away into the trees, they paused to rest. Their breath came in painful sobs and their hearts and heads hammered with exertion.

Brand was the first to speak. “You could have left me, Telyn. I was mad to go back for the axe.”

“Wrong on both counts, river-boy,” returned Telyn in a ragged gasp. “We did Old Hob an injury, rather than making him a gift of the axe.”

“I did not mean to make more enemies for the Haven.”

“He will never be anything other than an enemy. As for leaving you, I couldn’t leave the one who had followed me on my foolish way through all this forsaken swamp!”

She came close then, and kissed his sweaty cheek. “As you would not leave me, nor would I leave you, Brand,” she whispered in his ear. She squeezed his arm. A shock of heat ran through him. Her kiss and touch were as powerful in their own way as the cold touch of the axe.

Brand looked at the axe. He thought of putting it down on the ground, but could not. The weight of it, when he wasn’t touching it directly, seemed almost too much to bear. Now he understood why Gudrin had carried it tucked away in her knapsack and why it always seemed to burden her.

“What scares me is that I know I couldn’t have left it for my life, Telyn. The River help me Telyn, but I do love it so!” said Brand, his voice hushed and shamed.