Dream Magic (31 page)

“Hmm,” Brand said thoughtfully. “Is this why you tried to kill Trev?”

Old Hob shifted uncomfortably on his perch. “That’s a strong description of the event. I wouldn’t put it quite that way.”

“Let’s put it another way then. Did you make a simulacrum of Trev and send it to kill him?”

“The correct term is ‘discipline,” Hob said. “‘Kill’ is an unnecessarily provocative and judgmental term.

“It is also accurate, especially from the point of view of the victim.”

Old Hob began to protest further, but Brand waved away his words. “Never mind that now. So, you’ve come to me and revealed your quest: to stop Morgana. Why did you attempt to ‘discipline’ Trev?”

“Because I believed he was in her power. I was wrong about that.”

“Why did you think she was commanding him?”

“By his own admission
he did lie with her. He also admitted to being on a quest to find all the Jewels. That’s exactly what she would want a servant to do. He was the perfect spy, young and well-liked. He could move among us, spreading her poison without alarming us.”

Brand nodded thoughtfully. “All right. Let’s say that, for an instant, I believe you.
Let’s go further and say that the rest of your tale about Morgana is true. What do you propose?”

“Why, isn’t it obvious? We must unite and fight her. We must guard one another so that none fall under her spell. We must, in short, hunt her down and destroy her.”

“What do you have to bring to the table? I assume you’ve tried to kill her. You have assassins, if nothing else. How have they fared?”

“Poorly, I’m afraid. My assassins have not been able to get near enough to kill her
without losing their minds. Long before they could land a blow, they were under her spell. My magic has shielded them from her eyes, but not from her powers.”

“
You’ve stopped trying?”

“Yes. She now is sending
my creatures after me. The cheek of it! Imagine the humiliation of having to fly away from your own creations in fear! I hate the woman. She’s horrid.”

Brand thought to ask why Hob hadn’t attempted to do the job himself, but discarded the thought. The answer was obvious. Hob was a coward, and perhaps in this case
, that trait had worked in his favor. He’d steered well clear of her and thus had not yet fallen into her hands.

“Who is under her spell?” Brand asked next.

“Ah, finally you’ve come up with a question worth asking! Before I tell you, Axeman, I want your word we’ll work together to solve this mutual problem of ours.”

“I’m not so sure it
is
my problem,” Brand said. “She knows and hates you. But she’s never tried to work her magic upon me.”

“I don’t think she could control you,” Hob admitted. “Perhaps while you slept, or ate dinner, yes. But when you drew the Axe into your hand, you would become a thing apart from yourself. You can barely control yourself then. Her power over you would be broken. That’s probably why she hasn’t bothered.”

“What’s her plan then, in regards to myself and the Haven?”

“
If you resist? Why, utter destruction, of course. Her plan is simple: ensnare all she can until she is strong enough to crush the rest that will not serve her. She’ll kill you and place your head on a pike. Humans will be enslaved like the rest when you fall.”

Brand was disquieted. Everything he’d been
witnessing recently supported Hob’s grim scenario. The witch existed and it seemed clear she wielded the White. It also seemed her power was growing. Finally, he nodded.

“All right. I agree. We will fight together until this crisis has passed. But have a care, ally. Do not attempt to take liberties with my people or my lands. No perfidy will be tolerated.”

“Naturally,” purred Hob. Then he told Brand who was arrayed against him.

Brand was alarmed by the list.

“Tomkin? Gudrin? I can scarcely believe it!”

“We must work together as I said, or we will all be lost.”

When Hob was finished explaining what the enemy was about, the two parted after agreeing to meet in less than a week’s time on the walls of Castle Rabing. Their scheme was to draw the witch there. With luck, they could defeat her.

* * *

Brand did not stop marching until dawn. When the pink light of morning warmed the skies, he found himself on the shores of the Berrywine. No one answered his calls for a ferry, and the boats that were usually tied at the docks were gone. He made his way across the river’s flood with difficulty, and came to knock at his family’s door an hour later. No one came to the door.

His clothes and mail ran with water. His hair was a mass of wild black curls
which had matted against his skin and his eyes were narrowed in worry.

He didn’t like this. Why would Telyn light a beacon and then be gone when he came home to her? Why was there no one about?

Brand reached back over his shoulder to grab the haft of the Axe.

“Don’t do it, Axeman,” said a quiet voice.

Brand froze and looked around himself. He did not see the source of the voice—but he did think it was familiar to him.

“Why not, phantom?” he demanded, his fingers an inch from the handle.

“You may not be able to reason if you do. You might lose your mind, and thus come to great sorrow.”

Brand’s eyes darted here and there. He stepped back two paces from the door and looked up.

There was a face there, in the window. His jaw sagged in surprise. He knew that face—or he had known it once. But now it was sunken, yellowed and grayed.

“Puck?” he asked, his lips curling in disgust. “How can it be?”

“You should have given me a proper burial if you never wanted to meet me again.”

Brand shook his head as if to clear it.

He understood now. The Black Jewel was here. He could feel it. There was a quiet over the house he’d never heard before. A pall of darkness that was subtle, but undeniable. The birds did not sing. The insects were still.

“If you
r master has harmed my family, his existence and yours is forfeit.”

“We know that. We’ve done nothing—other than frighten them. We wish to talk, Axeman. Are you willing? Or shall this go badly?”

Brand knew all too well what the Black was capable of doing. It could suck the life from a man and set him back on his feet as a Dead slave a moment later. He was horrified at the idea of having to face his brother Jak, or Jak’s wife Lanet as Dead things. Would he be forced to cut them down?

Then he had a worse thought.

“What of my children?” he demanded loudly. “What have you done to Taffy and Dee—?”

“Nothing,” Puck said smoothly. “Come parlay with my master and we will avoid all unpleasantness this day.”

“Send them out. Send out my family members, or I will chop this door asunder and your worthless bones a minute later.”

Puck shook his head. “They’
re safe. Use your reason—don’t reach for Ambros! You know what will happen then. You will not be able to control yourself. Those you love may be slain if we do battle now. Try to understand that my master feels just as you do. He is trying to protect his family just as you are trying to protect yours.”

“What? Wh
at family? Send your master out. I’m done talking to a mockery of an old friend.”

“All right,” said Puck. “But you should know, old friend, that I
am
Puck. I walk as if dreaming, but I have within me the same mind and spirit. My heart no longer beats, but I know thee, and I urge you to have patience for the sake of all.”

Brand was anything but patient. Ambros was in a like mood. The
axe handle was moving around like a bad pet, nudging its master and demanding to be freed. Could Brand not see the need? It was plain to anyone with eyes these monsters needed slaying! Immediate action was required, and the Axe could barely contain itself.

Brand rolled his shoulders, trying to quiet the thing
stirring in his pack. He wondered at its nature and method of thought. Was it like the Dead Puck? A ghost of a creature long dead, but which thought of itself as still living? He tried to push such thinking away. It would do him no good now.

The door finally opened. Brand watched tensely as a face appeared.

The new necromancer was not what he’d been expecting. After facing King Arawn, a powerful lich with a body of bone and a regal attitude, this man seemed positively furtive and out of his depth. He did, however, have the Black Jewel in the tip of his Scepter, which was firmly gripped in his hand.

“Brand?” asked the man.

The voice was another which he thought he recognized from his past. But who was this? Brand squinted at the man who hung back in the shadow of the doorway. Then, after a moment, he had it.

“Slet Silure?” Brand demanded.

If the situation hadn’t have been so fraught with real danger, he would have given a shout of laughter. Slet had plagued Brand when they were both young, being a local character with a bad reputation. But over time, the roles had very much reversed. Brand had not so much as thought of the man for many years.

“Yes Brand, it’s me. And I’m sorry for this. I just couldn’t think of any other way of forcing you to talk to me civilly.”

Brand nodded as if he cared what the other was saying. In truth, he was greatly relieved. He’d expected a much worse foe. This man was a fool, a neophyte who could not hope to face him. He’d never touched a Jewel before and was untrained. Brand was coldly certain he could best him. His confidence was like that of a veteran of the sword when faced by a wide-eyed plowboy wielding a pitchfork.

“You were placed in charge of the cemetery years back,” Brand said. “It all makes sense
. I spoke up for you back then, you know. The others said you would do a poor job.”

“I thank you for your faith.”

“Well, don’t. It was badly placed. You’ve broken into the crypt and stolen that which must not be touched. You’re one of my greatest mistakes.”

Slet hung his head for a moment, then his face grew hard. “It wasn’t like that. I’m no tomb robber. A witch came to me and she threatened my child.
I was forced to take the Black.”

Brand gazed at him, seeking any hint of a lie in his face or tone. He could not see anything there but indignation. But alas, there was nothing for it, even if the man’s story was true.

“I’m sorry then,” Brand said. “Perhaps some of the fault lies with us. Perhaps my brother should have mounted a guard at the crypt. Perhaps we should have transported the Black elsewhere. We’d hoped it would lie quietly there in the cool ground where it belongs.”

“It is an evil thing. But I never wanted to take it. I never went into that crypt—not a single step—until I was forced to do so.”

“Tell me, why did you not give the Jewel to the witch if she had your child?”

“It’
s a painful tale,” Slet said. “I went into the crypt to retrieve it, but I was waylaid by the Shining Lady. She delayed me, seeking to make me wield the Jewel myself and thus become her champion.”

Brand nodded slowly. The ghost had done the same to him in the past. “A difficult position.”

Brand took out long black riding gloves and put them on, pulling them tight and flexing his fingers.

Slet continued his tale.
“When I did manage to reach the surface again, I found my child burned.”

“Burned?”

“Yes. The Shining Lady had altered the flow of time. I was gone for long hours rather than a few minutes.”

“
A shame. An unforgivable crime. After this unfortunate business is concluded, I promise you Slet, I will find a way to end this witch
and
the Shining Lady—if the latter deed can be done. When I slay them, I’ll tell them it is for the pain they caused you and yours. If they can still hear me with their heads cut off, they will learn the truth as life ebbs from them.”

“What unfortunate business
do you speak of, Axeman?” asked Puck. He stepped into view in the doorway. His blade was in his hand.

“You and your master must be destroyed,” Brand said. “There’s nothing for it, I’m
afraid. I’ll not have Dead things wandering my lands unchecked. Your kind must be sentenced to return to the grave forever.”

As he spoke, Brand’s
black-gloved hand reached back for the Axe, but before his stretched fingers touched the trembling haft, he froze.

Puck
had pulled into view a young girl with hair of flaxen gold. It was Dee, one of Brand’s twin daughters. Her mouth was gagged and her eyes were wide in terror.

“I think not, Axeman,” Puck said.

Brand lowered his hand slowly. “If you are Puck, you will not do this thing. You know what is right and wrong. Let me break the spell which makes a mockery of your bones and dead flesh.”

Puck shook his head slowly. “I can’t do that. I
am
Puck, but I’m not the same as I once was. I’m gripped by the Black more firmly than the Axe has ever held your mind.”