Dark Magic (49 page)

Mari looked at him, wondering what favor the Champion of the Haven could possibly ask from the likes of her. “Ask,” she said. “We all owe you a great debt.”

“No, you don’t owe me anything,” he said, “other than support in times of war. In any case, I’m looking for a place for Kaavi to stay. I came to this house as I know she had relatives here that might take her in. Is Puck home, by chance? I’d hoped to speak with him about this.”

Mari blinked at Brand for a long moment, then she shook herself, smiled and said: “Of course she can stay! I’m sorry, I’m just so surprised…and delighted. Sadly, Puck is away from home this week. He’s due back any day now.”

“I see,” said Brand, looking relieved. “Well then, perhaps I should leave you two to get acquainted.”

“Don’t worry Mari,” Kaavi said. She had placed Trev upon the floor again, where he stood upright on legs that wobbled slightly. She sat cross-legged in front of him and beamed a smile that would have melted any Riverton boy’s heart. “I can help out with Trev. There are many things I can teach him.”

“I’m overwhelmed by my good fortune,” Mari said. They were polite words her mother often used—whether she was happy or not.

Brand quickly took his leave and ducked out the door. Mari’s hands clutched at her own skirts as she watched him go. He did seem to be in a hurry. She turned back to the elf girl and Trev, who were still considering one another carefully, quietly. It was not like a meeting of a human girl and an infant. There was no cooing, no tickling, nor giggling. The matter appeared very serious, but both seemed excited to participate.

Trev stared at Kaavi as if looking into her soul. Mari knew that stare, which had often upset the women of the Haven. They muttered that it wasn’t
natural
. But Kaavi did not seem in the least perturbed by her son. This fact did warm Mari’s heart somewhat.

“
Kav-vi
,” said Trev suddenly, perfectly.

Mari’s mouth dropped open and hung there. She could not believe she had just heard her son’s very first spoken word.

Kaavi clapped her small hands together excitedly. “There!” she said. “You see? He can speak. You’ll talk for your auntie Kaavi, won’t you?”

Mari knelt beside the two. It was a tremendous relief to hear her son speak, but she felt a pang knowing Kaavi had managed to do what she could not. She could not deny these two had a strong rapport.

“I’ve been trying to get him to talk for months,” she confessed.

Kaavi glanced at her and pursed her lips. “I’m going to suggest something,” she said. “And I want you to feel free to deny it.”

“What?” asked Mari, trying not to sound wary and failing.

“I’ll stay and help get Trev off properly. Then I’ll go back to my search for a husband of my own. That is, if you agree.”

“Why would you offer to do this?” Mari asked. She could not help herself.

“A few
years’ time is such a small thing for an elf to give,” Kaavi said. “Trev is half elf and half human. He might respond as would an elf or as a human to one thing or another. We learn differently, you know. Together, the two of us can get him off to a good start.”

Mari felt a fluttering in her stomach. Just thinking of having this girl about the place…possibly for
years
. If Kaavi had not been Puck’s sister, she would never have agreed. But in the end, she did agree…with private misgivings.

Chapter Five

The Gravedigger

A year after Brand’s journey to Oberon’s court, Morcant Drake gave up on searching for a job. He’d been to every shop, dock-master and farmer on Stone Island in years past without success. He had a reputation, Morcant did, and no one wanted any part of it. He tended to get into fights—too many of them. Every man who had hired Morcant had eventually ended up in fisticuffs with him. Rarely had the matter gone well for his employer. Morcant was tall and strong, with a jaw constructed of thicker bone than most men. That jaw jutted out, and when he was in his cups and finely drunk, his glowering brow and thrusting jaw meant trouble for anyone in the vicinity.

Fortunately, Morcant didn’t really
need
to work. He received a small stipend from the Drake clan, part of the money handed out by old man Thilfox every fifth week to the less fortunate family members. Morcant had long ago been thrown out of Drake Manor, naturally enough. But he still showed up for his share of the family coin. The clan was rich, and it only seemed fair that some of the money would be distributed to everyone. It wasn’t meant to be lived on, of course. One couldn’t afford a respectable home on the piddling amount. But, if you watched your coppers carefully, Morcant found he could eat fairly, drink cheap jugs of rotgut out of the Hoot stills, and have enough left over to rent a hammock from one tavern or another down on the docks.

One evening in early summer he ambled up to Clan Drake’s hilltop Manor overlooking Riverton and hammered on the gates to be let in. It was the day after the payment was normally made, but Morcant was always late to everything, even his own payday. He’d grown tired of the press of his relatives on these occasions, all of whom seemed to cast worried or pitying glances his way as they lined up for their thin sack of coppers. Those who showed up for the handout were the losers of the clan. Most were widows and the like, down on their luck. But he knew he stood out as the biggest, tallest and most absolute loser of them all. As far as he knew, he was the only drunken lout in the family who couldn’t hold a job. In order to avoid that staring crowd, he’d taken to arriving a day late.

He hammered upon the gates again, until finally an aged watchman with a fat gut named Roland opened it. Morcant pushed past him without so much as a by-your-leave.

“Humph,” said the watchman.

Morcant ignored him. Let the man huff and snort. Just so long as he got his coin and left this place behind. At the back entrance to the Manor, a half-door was open at the top. These were the kitchens, where young people tasked with scullery chores bustled about finishing the evening feast.

“Ah, there you are Morcant!” said the matron who ran the place, Dera Drake. “I’ve got your coin for you—knew you’d be late.”

“Thank you, Dera,” Morcant rumbled. He stood there waiting, knowing she would bring him the coins quickly and probably give him a sack of good dinner to go with it. He was always polite to Dera. She treated him well enough, and it was always wise to be on the good side of a woman handing out coins.

She gave him a thin leather pouch and a package wrapped in waxed paper. “Now, don’t spill that, man. And mind the bottom, it’s hot.”

Morcant thanked her again and wandered back down the lane to the gates. Roland threw them open and watched with hooded eyes as he passed by. There were no good-byes offered by either man.

A hot loaf of bread and two chicken thighs. It was better fare than he usually could afford, so he ate them both with gusto standing along the High Street outside the gates. After that, he was thirsty and decided to visit a tavern he knew with comely wenches and strong brews. Usually the first evening after he got his sack of coins was the best, because he could afford to get well and truly drunk that night.

While he stood there chewing, voices came down the lane from the Manor and the gates swung open again. He stayed put, not wanting to be caught walking beside a near relative for any length of time. They were likely to strike up a conversation, and next thing he knew they would ask:
so, where are you working now?
Or
still down on your luck, Morcant?
What he saw next was a surprise.

“Come on back anytime, fair lady!” said the fat watchman. Roland leered as a young lady stepped by.

Such a light step, such a fine figure! What cousin was this? He suspected perhaps she was a young thing, just having matured into a blossoming beauty. Then she turned him an appraising glance and he caught sight of her strangely-shaped eyes. He knew what she was then: an elf woman!

His gaze followed her with growing intensity. His lustful stare was nothing unusual, as most of the men in the Haven knew immediate feelings of desire when they saw such creatures. These enchanting women had been awarded to a lucky few, but not to Morcant, of course. He’d entered the lottery and lost, as he’d suspected he would. The entire game had been rigged, he felt sure of it to this day. That Brand and his axe was a cheat, as sure as the River’s flow.

The elf girl had hair that flamed red and blue at once. It wasn’t purple, being lighter and brighter than that. Whatever the color was called, Morcant was enchanted immediately. Ah, what it must be like to bed a fine creature such as this! He’d never been able to secure a wife or even a girlfriend who lasted more than an evening. The tavern wenches he occasionally paid for favors were more matronly than elf-like.

The girl eyed him in return as she passed close by, and flashed him a smile. Oh, how sweet that was! Morcant caught the smile as if she had cast a stone, and felt stricken by it. She walked past him and on down the High Street. He thought to follow her, but knew it was worse than useless to do so.

She paused however, and turned back. She tilted her head toward him and beckoned. Her tiny, crooked finger was like a giant hook to Morcant. He stumbled forward, an oaf in a dream.

She led him down the High Street at a stately pace. Breathing hard, he walked no more than a pace behind her. She turned when they came to the side path that led up to the cemetery on the next hill over from Drake Manor. This was a lonely, overgrown lane with dark trees looming close overhead. Morcant could hardly see it was so dark, but she began to glimmer as the Shining Folk often did in darkness. He followed her glimmering form into a copse of trees near the cemetery and she finally allowed him to take her. He could not believe his good fortune. When they were finished, he fell upon one knee before her. Even so, with her standing and him kneeling, they were the same height and their eyes met.

“Milady,” he said. “To what do I owe this honor and how may I ensure it happens again?”

She smiled at him and licked her lips. “My name is Tegan,” she said. “Tegan Drake.”

He stared at her, and his big face fell. His heavy jaw sagged open. “You are married? To my own clansman?”

“Yes,” she said.

Anger stirred within Morcant. He’d been the fool. He’d been misled by this foreign woman. “Did one of those jackasses at the Manor put you up to this?” he asked dangerously.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, sounding amused.

“I mean, if there was a wager made and won by one of my relations tonight, I’m going to pound him into the dust that encircles your fine feet.”

Tegan laughed then, and the sound was like silver bells. “No, silly,” she said. “That isn’t it at all. No one knows what we’ve done.”

“Talk then. Tell me why you would do this.”

“My husband is Gwril,” she said. “Perhaps you’ve met?”

“I know my own cousin,” he rumbled. Gwril was a bookish type who’d never been able to get a maid to marry him, a smallish man with spectacles and a pate as bald as a polished stone. He didn’t like Gwril—he didn’t like most people. But the man had never done him any harm.

“He’s not been—enough for me,” she explained.

Morcant’s stern expression softened somewhat. He thought perhaps he had begun to understand the situation. “You have appetites?” he asked.

“Yes, and I want them fulfilled.”

“What of Gwril? What of my clan?” he demanded. Immediately, he thought of his stipend. It had to be in jeopardy over this. It was one thing to be the family’s brawling, drunken black-sheep. It was quite another to take his own cousin’s wife. Old man Thilfox wouldn’t stand for such nonsense and disloyalty. Morcant knew he would be expelled for good.

Tegan stepped forward and let her lips part slightly. She tapped his big nose and ran her fine fingers over his thrusting jaw. “Such a strong man you are. I’ll make a bargain with you: never you tell a soul about us, and I’ll do the same.”

Morcant blinked, considering the concept. He could not find a flaw in it. They embraced again, and did so several times a week thereafter—whenever she could get away from the Manor without rousing suspicions.

When fall came, she lay with him in the woods once more and afterward, she patted her belly. “Do you know what I have in here, Morcant?” she asked.

He stared at her fine, flat stomach hungrily. “Everything I want,” he said.

She laughed again. He loved her laugh, and he realized he’d come to love her very much.

“No, silly! I mean I’m carrying the fruit of your seed.”

Morcant blinked. “You are with child?”

“Yes, love.”

“Are you sure it’s mine?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “Gwril can’t make a child. He is flawed.”

“He knows this?”

“Yes. But
I
didn’t when I married him. If I had, I’d never have agreed. Among my folk, such a thing voids the marriage instantly.”

“Well, it doesn’t among mine!” said Morcant, sputtering. “This means he’ll know the baby is not his! What should we do?”

“Do?” she asked. “We’ll be parents, that’s what we’ll do.”

Morcant’s mind raced. The kid wasn’t likely to turn out short and bald. The truth might not be discovered, but Tegan would be suspected.

“Can I still…see you?”

“I don’t know about that. I’ll be watched much more closely now.”

Morcant saw she was pulling away from him. Their eyes no longer met when she spoke. Had this been all she wanted? A child from his loins? He felt a great ripple of emotion run through him. For once, it was not a feeling of anger, but of despair. He’d come to love this elf woman, and he did not want to give her up, nor his unborn child.

“I know what to do,” he said. “I’ll gather money—you’ll see! Then we’ll run from here. We’ll go to North End, then to the sea, and maybe to Eire or to live with the wagon peoples. We’ll go somewhere. Will you come?”

She looked at him, then smiled sweetly. “The Manor is so boring,” she said. “I’ll come with you. But wherever we go, there must be trees, love. Tall, green trees.”

Morcant promised there would be trees. After they had parted, he found himself seeking work. He did so with a new fever, an urgency he’d never felt before. He took off his hat when he met with men of means, and clutched it tightly in his heavy hand. He tried to look contrite, and tried to stop his cheek muscles from bulging as they explained carefully they were not hiring at the moment, but he should check back in a month or two.

Morcant knew that in a month or two it would be too late. He had to have work and coin now. Tegan would begin to show with child soon, and then the game would be finished. He knew despair by the third day. He’d tried every shop, dockhouse and farmer in the vicinity of Riverton.

Finally, he decided to try the less clean jobs—work for people who were not fickle about what their hands touched or how they smelled afterward. They turned him away at the fisheries where they gutted and dried stinking fish all day. The fisherman families did all such work themselves, the boats were clan-owned and operated and always had been, he learned. This did not really surprise him. River Folk generally functioned that way. The jobs one performed were largely guided by the family one was born into. Morcant had been born into a clan with means, his people were healers, bankers, accountants, scribes and lawyers, but he’d long ago squandered such opportunities.

When he was close to despair, it was the Fobs who gave him a kindly steer. They were tanners, and had a monopoly on every part of the making of leather, save for the breeding of the animals themselves. Morcant was almost glad to be turned away by them, the stink of their tanning vats was even worse than the fishery had been. But on the way out, they suggested he try the old cemetery up the lane. They’d heard Daz the caretaker was getting on in years and was looking for a helper with a strong back.

Morcant marched up cemetery hill with hope in his heart. It had been a week since Tegan had given him the news and they’d struck their bargain to run away together. It was about time he was given a break in this world. The lane was familiar to him now, as he’d spent many evenings here meeting with Tegan in secret. He liked the place immediately, as it was full of fond memories.

He met with Daz, who invited him into his ramshackle hut for a drink. They tipped cups together, and Daz hired him on the spot. Morcant knew a great sense of relief. This job would be perfect. It didn’t pay much, but with careful accounting, he should be able to afford passage north within a month. They would then travel to the sea beyond the Haven and figure out their next move there. The reach of Clan Drake was impressive, but it did not extend past the borders of the Haven.