Amber Magic

Chapter Twenty-Six

“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. Both 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.”

“So you will leave us soon?”

“Yes, as soon as I am sure that your brother will live. Most likely, we will leave at dawn tomorrow. It seems that Myrrdin is delayed elsewhere, although I can think of little save death that would keep him from renewing the Pact. I fear the worst, but still I must find him. I only wish I weren't so weary of travel.”

Gudrin's rucksack was at her side. This and her Teret, the book of the Kindred, were never far from her hand. Brand eyed the rucksack and wondered what was the nature of the burden within that it could slow someone as tenacious as Gudrin. He watched it, wondering if it would move, but it did not.

“My burden sleeps,” said Gudrin. Brand gave a guilty start. Gudrin turned to look at him with a twinkle in her water-blue eyes. “You interest me, boy. You alone of your clan can meet my eyes now almost without flinching. That is a rare thing, and I'm not simply boasting. The talespinners of the Kindred have a power in their eyes, and I'm the leader of my clan.”

“It would seem that clans work differently with the Battleaxe Folk,” said Brand.

“Indeed. Let me explain. Among the Kindred, craftsmanship is valued above blood lineage. Each clan has a craft, or a set of crafts, to which its clansmen are born. Therefore, our clan names are representations of our craft, rather than our lineage, although they are generally one and the same.”

“But what if one is born a natural warrior into the clan of talespinners?”

“This is rare, but upon such occasions, a clanmaster or the King can grant a kinsman release from his clan. He is then free to join another, if they will have him.”

“Then as a clanmaster and a clanmaster's son, you and Modi are akin to lords. Why do you trouble yourself to travel alone like this? What could be your mission in the peaceful River Haven?”

“It doesn't seem all that peaceful to me,” Gudrin chuckled. “But we travel alone because a large group would only attract more notice. We wished to go unrecognized. That, of course, was undone by last night. As to the rest, well, we are searching for someone, and we need Myrrdin to find this someone,” she said with finality.

“What should we do to prepare for tonight?” asked Brand. “It seems like the Faerie might put in another appearance now that the Pact is broken.”

Gudrin shrugged.

“There is little to be done. I would suggest that you gather all the animals into the barn and ready up a large pile of firewood.”

Firewood. Brand groaned inside. He didn't want to show it, but he was very spent from the previous night still. Splitting wood right now sounded like punishment.

“Let Corbin do it, boy,” said Gudrin, reading his thoughts.

Brand nodded, but stood up. “I'll help a bit.” Brand did feel much better than the half-dead state he had arrived in last night, but he groaned aloud when he took up the axe. Corbin told him to just take it easy, and the two of them soon made chips fly.

After perhaps a hundred strokes from Corbin and ten or so from Brand, they were both sweating. Modi came up to them to watch.

“What are you doing?”

Corbin glanced at Brand with a twinkle in his eye, but Brand gave his cousin an imperceptible shake of his head. He didn't think it a good idea to jest with the warrior, which he could tell from long experience was what Corbin had in mind. Corbin scowled a bit, and simply continued chopping. Brand turned to Modi, his hands resting on his axe. “We are splitting firewood.”

Modi nodded, as if this were a weighty statement. He examined Corbin's strokes for a few moments. Corbin ignored him. Brand was a bit taken aback by Corbin's manner, as it was not normal for him.

“Corbin has a better build for the axe,” said Modi at last. “But you Brand, despite your fatigue, are more skilled with it.”

Corbin halted, his sides heaving slightly. Sweat stood out on his brow despite the cold. “Perhaps you would like to demonstrate for us.”

Modi eyed him for a moment, then nodded. Corbin handed over his woodaxe and backed away. Brand glanced over toward the porch, where he saw that Gudrin still sat and puffed her pipe, watching them.

With deliberate movements, Modi selected a large piece of oak. “There are two difficult points,” he said, touching two knotholes with the heavy axe, which he held in one hand and moved about as if it were a delicate wand. With two smooth motions, he clove away the knotholes with a minimum of wasted wood. Then with four more powerful blows, he divided the wood into even pieces.

Brand was impressed. Corbin, however, seemed a bit out of sorts. He pointed to a heavy stump that lay on its side like a rotted tooth. “Can you cleave that in two with a single blow?” he demanded. Brand shot him a quizzical glance.

Modi took the question in with all seriousness. He eyed the stump and then the woodaxe in his hand. “Not with this,” he said finally. “The head is too small, and the haft would break.”

“Thank you, Modi,” Brand said politely, turning back to the job at hand. He wondered if Modi was serious. Could the warrior have done it? There was no question that the haft of the little wood axe would break with the force of such a blow. But if the weapon were larger and more sturdy…

Could Modi really be that strong?