Amber Magic

Chapter Twenty-Four

Half dreaming, Brand made his way toward the beacon. Although at first it seemed that it must be very near, he trudged on and on without end. Only very slowly did he approach it, as if it were at the end of a long, long tunnel through the night and trees. Jak grew heavier with each step. Now he no longer checked to see if his brother lived, for if he had died, he knew he wouldn't drop the body, so it didn't matter. As it was, only dogged determination saw him through the hours, putting one foot before the other, then repeating the process. Nothing else mattered to him. His head soon dipped to his chest, coming up only after every score of slow steps to see if the light yet burned ahead. Each time it was still there and it would seem a trifle brighter, giving him heart. After he had traveled this way for what seemed the entire night, he came into a stretch of bog. The muck slipped and slished beneath his tired feet, and it was all he could do to struggle onward. He groaned aloud, but was barely aware of it. The light did indeed seem brighter now, and only its promise kept him going.

The moon waned and began to set, making the darkness of the forest total. Up ahead in the dimness, he thought he heard something coming. He halted, swaying, and listened. The clopping sound of a horse came to him. He let Jak sag down to the wet ground. Could it be help? More likely, he thought bitterly, it was some other of the Dark Ones, perhaps Herla himself, leading his coursers forward to finish the hunt. If it was the Wild Hunt, he sorrowed that he would give them little sport, for he was utterly spent.

The horse came closer and a lantern shone in the night. Brand now wondered if it was the lantern of Old Hob, the eldest and worst of the goblin lords. Was this the light that he had spent the night trying to reach?

The horseman wandered near and passed, not seeing him where he stood motionless in the dark. He seemed to be looking for something, and there was a familiar shape to him beneath his cloaks. Brand straightened, but before he could hail the horseman, the other had cupped his hands to his lips and shouted, “Brand!”

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 pony, 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.