Dream Magic (23 page)

“Ivor?” he asked.

Ivor blinked in surprise. “Cousin?”

At that moment, the
dragon had managed to twist her neck around to direct her head down toward her back, where Trev and Ivor faced one another.

“A family reunion, is that it? A charming moment, I’m sure. But I’m going to have to burn you both off my back if you don’t get down now.”

“You friends with a
dragon
?” Ivor asked in astonishment.

“I’m equally amazed that you’
re related to an ogre,” the dragon said peevishly.

She
gave her back and wings a shake, causing Trev and Ivor to tumble off onto the ground. The dragon loomed close, eyeing them both malevolently.

“I didn
’t know this was your pet, Trev,” said Ivor. “Sorry.”

“Not a problem,
cousin.”

“And not a
pet
, either,” said the dragon. “We’re temporary accomplices.”

The ogre blinked at the big words in confusion.

“Sorry,” he said at last, bewildered. He walked over to his shield and maul, picking them up and stowing them. “Mama always says to never leave these lying about.”

“Right, good thinking,” said Trev. “What are you doing out here, Ivor? I thought you lived in an elf village.”

“I’m eating this rat, see? Plenty for you. I’ll cut some more.”

“Thanks—but what about the elves?”

Ivor gestured vaguely into the trees. “They back there somewhere. The village fell down. We had to go.”

“We? Who’
s with you?”

“My uncle.”

“Which Uncle?” asked Trev, thinking of his own elfish uncles. He shared the set with Ivor, as strange as that was to contemplate. None of them were overly pleasant to be around. They were stern and odd. They might play pipes or dance with you—but you’d best keep your wits and your purse strings tight.

“New Uncle,” said Ivor speaki
ng around a mouthful of hot rat-meat. “He’s a tree.”

At that the
dragon gave a sigh of disgust. She blew a jet of flame as she did so, nearly searing Ivor in the process.

“Watch that,
dragon-friend!” complained the ogre.

“Where is this, ah,
tree-uncle?” Trev asked, examining the forest around them. If one of these were able to walk, they could all be in danger. He knew from long association that the Fae were capable of almost anything.

“Not so big as these,” Ivor said, honking with laughter. He chomped on a rat haunch the size of an ox leg and offered another to Trev.

Trev politely refused, saying he wasn’t hungry. The dragon wasn’t so delicate about it and took the offered meat. She chewed it and burned it until it was charcoal-black in her mouth.

“Interesting flavor,”
she said. “Gamey, but at the same time smooth upon the palate. Far better than Kindred meat or kobold.”

“
Kindred meat?” asked Ivor in alarm.

“Ivor, just where did your uncle go?” Trev asked.

“He over there. At the big dead tree. He’s always at the big dead tree. He’s trying to make it grow again.”

Trev’s mouth
opened slowly and hung there.
Who
was trying to make a big dead tree grow again? An uncle who
was
a tree? He could only think of one individual who might fit that bizarre description.

“Myrrdin,” he said aloud.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s it. That’s what they call him. He’s kind of mean, but he’s family. We have to get along—that’s what mama always says.”

“Right,” Trev said.

The dragon was looking at them. “Do you really think he’s talking about Myrrdin? An elf with a Jewel of Power nearby? What are the odds?”

“Quite good, if it
’s true.”

“Myrrdin, yeah,” muttered Ivor
to himself. “That’s right name.”

The ogre
began working on a slab of ribs. The growing smell of the burning rat made Trev wrinkle his nose.

“
Should we talk to this uncle of yours?” Fafna asked him.

Trev considered. He’d come to the Great Erm to talk to Myrrdin and Oberon. Of the two, he was more frightened of Oberon. It was true that no one had heard from Myrrdin in a decade, but before that he’d had a good reputation.

He nodded his head at last. “Yes. Let’s go talk to him.”

* * *

Myrrdin was not pleased to see the ogre returning through the forests. He smelled of burnt things—of seared flesh, woodsmoke and…and…

Myrrdin spun around as fast as his massive body of living wood would allow. The others approaching him stepped back hurriedly as he spun to face them.

Peering out of holes in the trunk left there for this very purpose, the fleshy being within the great tree that was still Myrrdin gazed at the approaching trio in surprise. A young elf—or was it a man? And a
dragon
? It could be nothing else! This then was what had alerted him, the unmistakable odor of brimstone and ash in a forest full of living green things.

Last trailed Ivor, that idiot of a nephew. He looked like a beaten cur. Perhaps he knew, or
at least suspected, that his uncle would not be pleased to meet these strangers here.

Myrrdin’s first instinct was to stride forward and slay them all. A blow from a foot as heavy as a falling log would crush down the elf-thing. The
dragon might take flight, and he might attempt to burn the tree, but with a flurry of swatting branches Myrrdin felt sure he could bat him down as a man might a fowl that seeks to take flight to evade a farmer’s boots. Once stricken and dashed to the ground, the first necessity would be the plucking of the leathery wings. Fortunately, the dragon was quite young. The battle would be one-sided.

But even as these thoughts came to him, others did as well and they warred together in his heart. Had he been discovered? Were these only the advanced scouts of an elven army, coming here even now to bring him down? He had to know the truth, and so it was best to entreat with these tiny beings before he let his true intentions be known.

Counter to this thought was the first impulse, which urged him to strike now with urgency. If the
dragon or the elf somehow escaped his wrath, they would surely report his position and all would be lost.

He simply wasn’t ready to do battle
with all of Oberon’s elves. He would be ready soon—but not yet. His newfound treasure had yet to be exploited. The great tree wasn’t even fully alive again yet, despite the face he’d made terrific progress toward awakening it.

And so at last, within several tense seconds, Myrrdin relented. He realized they were talking to him. These puny beings of mere flesh dared to make their piping noises at his feet. Really, it was disgusting.

“Hmm? What, what?” he said at last. “Please excuse me, I wasn’t expecting visitors. Could you repeat that please? I was listening to thoughts of my own, within my own head.”

“I see,” said the
dragon coldly. “I was saying we were pleased to meet you, Myrrdin of the Green.”

Myrrdin paused, his eyes rolling wildly from one of them to the next. He was filled with angst and rage. Already, he’d been identified and singled out. How had a
dragon known about his retrieval of the Green Jewel, Vaul? If his solitary kind knew of his status and of his return to the world of powerful people,
everyone
must know.

“Ah,”
the wizard managed, making the single utterance sound strangled. “Uh, to whom am I speaking?”

The
dragon heaved an irritated sigh. The other two, seemingly with the wisdom of experience, ducked away as he did so. A shot of red flame escaped his mouth.

“I’m
Fafna,” she said as one might repeat oneself to a slow child. “This is Trev, and Ivor. Both profess to being your nephews—although how the three of you oddlings are related I’m sure I don’t fathom.”

Myrrdin paused again, but it was a short pause this time. Then he released a nearly hysterical bray of laughter.

“Trev!” he shouted at last. “Of course, how did I not recognize you?”

“Because it’s been a dozen years and I’ve grown a lot, Uncle.”

“Exactly so. Still, one should recognize one’s own kin, should one not? I’m pleased to see you and embarrassed I failed to know you as my own.”

“Not a problem, sir,” Trev said. “But could you explain to us—how you came to be in your present state?”

“Eh? Oh—oh, of course. Naturally. You must be full of
curiosity
. Full of
questions
.” Myrrdin tried not say these last words with intensity of feeling, but he failed. These people might be kin, but they could very well be spies all the same. And once they reported back to Oberon what he was doing here, all might be lost. The great tree was still a stump, after all. It would not be ready to do battle for long months.

The others were looking at him expectantly, and after a few seconds, he came to realize why.

“Oh yes, about my appearance…”

He plucked at himself as if embarrassed. Bark curled under his scratching branches and his leaves rustled.

“It’s an accident, you see. I have a Jewel—Vaul, have you heard of it?”

“Why yes,
naturally,” Trev answered. “And everyone in the Haven knows you’re its master.”

“Really? Well, that’s very gratifying. For you see, I lost it for a time. And when I retrieved it, I was taken by surprise to feel its power again. It consumed me, to some extent.”

“Ah,” said Trev, “I’ve heard about that effect of the Green . Isn’t that what happened to the giant in the forest? The one you found with Brand? It was consumed, becoming a tree with Vaul at its heart.”

“Just so. But in my case, I’ve managed to
control the situation and turn it into a benefit. I’ve got a new body that serves my purposes very well.”

Trev nodded. Myrrdin thought it was clear the boy doubted him. That was just fine, as long as the little tramp kept his opinions to himself.

“Back to the topic of the Dark Jewels, Uncle,” Trev said. “Can you possibly help me there? I’ve come to you for advice on how to find the last two.”

Myrrdin’s bark folded into a frown over his eyeholes. “The last two? Are you saying you’ve located one of the three?”

“Have you not heard? More than a decade ago, a Storm of the Dead arose. King Arawn led the storm personally, and he held the Black while he did so.”

“
A decade ago,” Myrrdin echoed thoughtfully. He’d known it had been a long while since he’d been aware of current events in the Haven, but this news brought it home. “How did this calamity end?”

“Brand bested the Arawn with my father’s help. Unfortunately, Puck did not survive the conflict.”

“I see…sad events, to be sure,” Myrrdin said without a hint of grief in his voice. He’d never loved Puck—he’d respected his half-brother, but not so much that he would miss him. “What of the Black now? What was its fate?”

“Necron lies in the Drake crypt in Riverton. At least, that’s where it was the last time I saw it. The Jewel has been sealed inside the crypt and none are allowed to enter.”

Myrrdin’s trunk creaked as he tilted his leafy crown to one side. “Interesting. A daring thing, leaving such a powerful artifact unowned. Anyone could break in…but I digress from answering
your
questions. So far, you’ve imparted more worthwhile information to me than I have to you on this topic! Hmm, the Dark Jewels, what can I tell you of them?”

Myrrdin paced then, causing the ground to darken as he smashed it with his heavy, treading roots.

“Firstly,” he said, “I would talk of the White Jewel. None have seen it for a very long time. It only appears once every cycle, or so goes the legend.”

“What cycle?”

“Have you not heard? No? Then we must discuss the basics first. The Jewels are at least partly sentient, you know that, right?”

“Yes, of course. Brand says Ambros talks to him with words in his mind at times.”

“Humph…and the call me mad,” Myrrdin muttered. “But it’s quite possible. They do communicate and interact with their masters in a variety of ways. They also behave differently during certain times—times understood only by the Jewels themselves.”

Trev frowned. “You mean they have seasons?”

“Yes! That’s a good way to think of it. But these seasons aren’t like winter, or summer. They’re more like a rutting time, a time of madness, jealousy and rivalry. They seek one another during these moments, becoming more active and energetic.”

“Like the battles we’ve been having lately—by lately I mean over the last twenty years or so.”

“Exactly, this is clearly a time of increased activity for the Jewels. In any case, it’s only at a peak of such a season when the White Jewel will reveal itself to someone. Then that being will play a fateful part in the next conflict.”