Dream Magic (8 page)

Trev’s hand stayed on the hilt of his dagger, but he didn’t lift it. The short length of steel reflected the firelight, casting orange gleams and flashes.

“All right, talk,” Trev said. “
Start with telling me who you are. It’s only polite since you seem to know who I am.”

“I’m disappointed. Apparently, the apple has fallen far from the tree in your case. You are no son of Puck i
f you can’t figure out who you’re talking to. How can you expect to find Jewels if you don’t even realize you’re facing one?”

This statement alarmed Trev, but it also enlightened him.

“Ah,” he said after a moment. “You’re Old Hob. Brand said something about you coming to see him yesterday. What do you want?”

“
I wish to help, that’s all. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

It was Trev’s turn to laugh. “What a great skulking liar you are! You want to
help
, all right. To help yourself.”

“I can see that your mind’s been poisoned by the ill words of your relations. I would urge you to judge a newly-met person upon their deeds, not past associations and mean-spirited rumors.”

This sounded fair enough to Trev, as he was quite young.

“All right,” he said. “Do something
to help me, then. Tell me about the Jewels and where I might find them.”

Old Hob snorted. “You’re
staring at one of the powers you seek even now.”

“I know that. And I faced the Amber just the day before. But what do you know of the Dark Jewels
? Those that are lost?”

“Hmm,” said Hob. Suddenly, nonchalantly, he revealed himself. An icicle-nose of green protruded grotesquely from
beneath his cowl. He lifted a bony, misshapen limb that seemed impossibly long and reached halfway across the fire with it. The limb terminated in a finger that was the length of a man’s foot. “I’ll tell you the truth, boy. I don’t know where the lost Jewels lie. But wherever they are, I want them to stay exactly there. Hidden and out of the equation.”

“The equation?”

“We’ve had peace for years now—have you not noticed? What happened the last few times a Jewel appeared or went missing? Do you know?”

Trev frowned, thinking about his knowledge of historical events, which was sketchy. He
’d had trouble focusing on such things in school, and he’d given up on attending over a year ago. But in this case, he had been very directly and personally involved in the events Hob spoke of, making it easier for him to answer intelligently.

“I suppose the Black was the last to appear,” he said. “It caused a
Storm of the Dead to rise. Is that what you’re talking about?”

“Precisely. And before that, the Red was found by that vicious little monster Piskin. He caused a war even greater than the Dead did when they walked. And do you know about the time before that? The story of Pyros the Orange? A dragon was awakened, and slew the Kindred by the hundreds. Am I making myself clear?”

“Not really.”

Hob made a sound of exasperation. I
t was a snort, and a wet one at that. The tiny red fire sputtered as discharge dribbled into it. Trev winced in disgust.

“Unbelievable!
” Hob complained. “You are an
elf
, boy—or at least half of one. You should be able to deduce the meanings of others in such matters. You’ve not been properly raised, it’s just as Oberon said.”

“You’ve talked to my grandfather?”

“Of course. Many times. He has troubles of his own these days in his lands, but he’s still keeping an eye on you and all your ilk. All the half-breeds he laid down like jars of fruit in a Haven mum’s cellar.”

This last statement seemed to greatly amuse Hob, who rumbled with laughter until he had a coughing fit.

Trev frowned at the goblin, only half understanding what he was hinting at and not at all liking the hints he was getting.

Old Hob went on as if oblivious. “So now we come to the crux of it. I want you to give up your folly. Swear off the
words of the witch in the wood and forget her charms. She twisted your mind, she did. And I’ve no doubt you’re under a geas to find what she wants and to bring the items back to her—or to die trying.

“No, that’s not it at all,” Trev said. “I’m not enchan
ted. She did try that, mind you, but she failed. I think that truly surprised her.”

One huge yellow eye regarded Trev seriously from under his cowl. “And would you care to swear to that?”

“Certainly—but I will require a boon to do so, for it gains me nothing to ease your mind on the point.”

Hob
grumbled. “What would be the nature of this boon? And let me warn you not to get too greedy, half-breed!”

“I won’t,” Trev said. “All I wish is something you can easily provide me.”

“Speak!”

“A flight
to anywhere that takes my imagination,” Trev said. “Up into the air for an hour’s time, a safe, fanciful journey in the night sky like a bird on the wing. I’ve never flown higher than I can jump, and I want to feel the cold wind as a falcon does.”

Hob laughed until he coughed and choked again. “Ah, it is this swamp. I miss it, but it always made me hack and spit. I believe it no longer agrees with me at all.”

“What is your answer?” Trev asked.

Hob stared at
him for a time. “All right,” he said at last. “Swear to me that you will no longer pursue the lost Jewels and I’ll give you your little taste of the sky.”

Trev shook his head. “An amateurish attempt. I said no such thing. I will swear that I’m under no geas, no compulsion at all other than my own desire to find these things. That is the bargain.”

“Hmm,” said Hob thoughtfully. “I think I will agree. Why, you might well ask? Why would I give you even a small jaunt into the stars for nothing more than a reassurance? Because you will fail if your words are true. If the witch isn’t behind you, you’re on a fool’s errand, boy. It doesn’t matter if you refuse to give it up—you’re doomed to failure in any case.”

“Why is that?”

Hob’s yellow teeth reflected wetly as he smiled. “Are you asking me a question now? Something you wish to know? Something that will comfort and aid you in the future? If so, let’s discuss the nature of the boon you will provide me for my troubles in answering.”

“Not necessary,” Trev said quickly. “Forget I asked.”

“Done and done. Now, swear to me so I can give you your circle in the air and be done with these boring lands. My wives await me back in Eire, and I can still make it home by sun up if I get started soon.”

“So fast as that?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

And so Trev did swear. He gave his word as the son of Puck, the grandson of Oberon, that he was telling the truth. The witch he’d met and lain with in the woods had no magical hold over him.

When he was finished, Hob snorted and stood up. “Well done, then. I’ll be on my way, and I thank you for your cooperation.”

“Just a moment. There is the small matter of my payment.”

“What? You can’t be serious, boy! I have better things to do than to give lost young pups joyrides at midnight. You’d best forget about it. People often get sick on their first flight anyway.”

“You promised.”

“I’ll tell you what. Let’s call it a favor. A small thing, to be sure, but something that can be pulled back in later when you need it.”

“No,” Trev said. “I want my ride, and I want it now, as agreed.”

Old Hob looked startled. He had good reason to be. An offer from an individual of power to a young person was rare, and a favor could be very valuable indeed.

“You refuse
my favor? I’m shocked at your lack of wisdom.”

“Nevertheless, I demand my payment. Either that, or it will be said that you did break your word this eve.”

Old Hob’s eye was baleful. “You discomfit me, but it will be as we agreed. Here, climb onto my hump and ride. Hold tight, for I wouldn’t want you to drop off into the muck when we are a thousand feet up.”

“Try to recall the wording at the start of this conversation, Hob. I said a ‘safe’ journey.”

Grumbling, Hob bent on one knee and Trev climbed from a rock onto the goblin’s ridged back. It seemed then to him as if Old Hob stood up—but the standing up took far longer than it should have.

Looking down, Trev saw that his campfire was already a tiny red gleam of light in the blackness below. He whooped with pleasure and hung onto the rags that covered Hob’s uneven spine.

“Shall we fly up to visit the moon?” asked Hob in irritation.

“Can we?”

“No, it is far too high to visit in a single eve, much less an hour.”

“Very well, just glide westward, if you would.”

Old Hob turned and soared out toward the distant sea. Clouds that felt like stinging mists rolled over them and Trev reveled in the darkness, overjoyed. This, finally, was a real adventure!

“Time’s up,” Hob said a few minutes later.

As he spoke, a sickening lurch touched Trev’s belly. They were coming down again with amazing speed.

“That wasn’t anywhere near long enough,” Trev said. “A full hour was stipulated.”

“I could drop you. You know that don’t you boy? No smashed wad of broken bones and pulped flesh has ever told a tale of interest to anyone.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” Trev said, hanging on. “But I’m sure I still have my blade and I’m sitting upon your warted back.”

The feeling of rapid descent ceased. Now, they soared over a copse of trees. They were pines and they gave off a fresh scent. Trev realized they’d left the swamp behind in a few minutes. He was impressed. He’d thought of himself as fast, but in comparison, Hob was like a stroke of lightning.

He decided he should cut the journey short. The truth was that h
e found Old Hob painful to his hands and his nose this close-up.

“Okay,” Trev said into the
goblin’s bat-like ear. “We’re close to my destination. Just fly north a few miles and you can set me down there, and our deal will be done.”

Hob’s head rotated in the direction indicated. “There’s a cliff to the north of us.”

“So fly over it.”

Grumbling, Hob did as he was
bid. Trev laughed aloud and felt like the king of both the heavens and the earth below him.

When they reached the edge of the cliff, Old Hob wasted no time in setting down on solid land. He looked around and then turned to glare at Trev, who had jumped down and now stood on his own two feet.

“This is Snowdon!” Hob said. “Why did you have me fly you here, boy?”

Trev smiled. “Are we bargaining again?”

“Most definitely not.”

The goblin launched into the sky and vanished.
He didn’t even say “farewell”. Trev wasted no time himself. He ran lightly into the trees. He should be able to reach the Earthlight hours before the gates opened to admit visitors.

He was proud of himself, as he felt he’d gotten the better of Old Hob. Far from distracting him from his quest, Hob had actually sped him on his way—and even better, there was no chance of any other pursuers catching up with him now.

Chapter Four

The Words of the Wise

Brand rode hard through the night. He rode toward Snowdon with a grimly determined expression on his face.

He’d chosen Snowdon as it
was the obvious Trev was going to talk to Gudrin first. She knew the boy, and the Kindred would doubtlessly have sympathy for him. The Storm of the Dead had tragically taken Trev’s father along with a thousand other undeserving souls years ago. The Kindred had retreated during that struggle into their mountain fortress, and Brand believed they still felt a twinge of remorse about not helping their allies.

Gudrin
would greet Trev and tell him whatever he wished, Brand was certain of this. The idea made his teeth grind. Not so much because he thought Gudrin should know better, nor because the boy had slipped away while he was distracted—but because Brand himself had
suggested
this wise course of action. For that reason alone he wanted to see Trev’s adventure come to an abrupt end. He hated playing the fool who witlessly helped others…

Surprised at his
mood, which had become full of growling and muttered curses, Brand took a deep breath of fetid, cold air. The swamps weren’t getting any fresher, despite the fact he had to be two-thirds of the way across by now.

Brand
gave his head a shake. Where had this anger come from? He wasn’t even certain the boy was up to any real mischief. Perhaps Trev’s actions would come to a beneficial end, or at least would somehow discomfit Hob, explaining why the old devil had worked so hard to poison Brand’s mind.

But no, it was
n’t Hob’s words that bothered him now—it had to be the Axe. Ambros, combined with worry over his own indiscretions the night before, had put him in the worst of moods.

He’d never lain with another woman since he’d taken Telyn for a wife. He took his vows very seriously. Certainly, his eyes had wandered from time to time, as all men might confess. But he’d never acted upon the urge. This time, he feared, things had gone differently.

Who was to blame? Was it the Axe, or Kaavi, or Trev? Or just Brand himself? He wasn’t entirely sure. He suspected it was a mix of all these things spiced up by Kaavi’s intoxicating brew and unwavering youthfulness.

And worse
than any infidelity on his part—a thousand times worse—was the possibility that there would be issue from last night’s chance meeting. That he feared more than anything else about the situation. It was one thing to have a dark secret, it was quite another to have a monster in your closet. An offspring so terrible it could not be witnessed by any normal man without causing him a chill of fear.

Brand snapped out of his reverie
when he saw something in the darkness ahead. There—what was that? A reddish, glimmering glow through the twisted, bone-like branches of the swamp trees. He halted his horse, shushed it gently and tied the reins to a twisted tree. He crept up to the fire, approaching with what stealth he could muster.

There it was, a
single guttering tongue of flame. Someone was burning peat moss by the smell of it. He stood up and strode into the circle of wan light. He looked around sternly.

“Trev? Are you here, boy? Answer me, I’ve been riding hard to speak with you.”

There was nothing but crickets and the guttural belching of frogs to greet his ears. At length, feeling the fool for calling out in an empty camp in an empty swamp, he growled in frustration and went over the scene carefully.

The fire had not been tended for
a least an hour and had nearly run out of fuel. There was no evidence that indicated a fight—but there was something odd about the muck in the area…

After a few minutes spent searching with a
hunter’s eye, Brand found a footprint that was unmistakable. It was heavy and inhumanly large.

“Hob,” he said to himself
quietly.

He turned then, lifting his eyes for the first time into the night sky. Dawn was less than an hour off. He was tired, but now his face was creased with worry as well as fatigue.

What if he’d read this situation wrongly from the start? What if Trev was
fleeing
Hob, and Brand had been the dupe all along not to see it? What lie would Old Hob not employ to slow down a man he wanted to bring down like fleeing prey?

Brand threw himself
back up into the saddle and set off at a gallop. Black clumps of wet earth shot up from behind churning hooves.

* * *

Trev was farther from the campfire than Brand could have conceived. He had nearly reached his goal: the gates of Snowdon.

He was in the region
known as the Starbreak Fells. It was a rocky place built like a giant stairway of cliffs. At the base of each cliff was a broken jamble of sharp stone. The Fells were treacherous by day and deadly by night.

Trev
was no stranger to poor footing. He hopped from boulder to ridge as deftly as might a Wee One. He was pleased with his rate of progress and the nearness of dawn in the sky.

Still, he had a feeling of foreboding. Often, when he paused to survey his position and judge what course to take over a particularly bad pile of loose
, splintered rock, he thought he might not be alone out here.

There were owls, of course,
along other night predators and scurrying prey. He knew their undulating cries and wild scents well—but there was something else. Something that glimmered when his eye was not focused upon it. Something that trailed him steadily.

After topping a rise that would have left a lesser man spent and breathless, he stood with his hands on his hips and gazed downward. A smirk played over his thin lips.

His toe nudged a rock no bigger than a hen’s egg. He dislodged it with a kick and sent it spinning down into the dark. Rattling and cracking as it fell, the sound soon died away to nothing.

There was no reaction. No glimmer. No muttered curse
s.

Shrugging, Trev turned back to his path and began trotting lightly upslope. In time he came to a wooded area. The trees lined the cliffs here. They clutched to
a thin scrim of soil as if aware of the nearness of a deadly slide into certain doom.

There it was again! A glow behind him—it could not be denied.
The moon was three-quarters full and half-risen above the land, making him think it perhaps was reflecting from a mountain pool below—but he had not seen any such pools along the way.

An immediate thought came to him: it had to be one of the Fae. Only they glimmered like that, reflecting moonlight. He thought of his own hair, which was still safely tucked away under his hat. He hated his hair, as it had always marked him as different among the river boys of the Haven. But
he knew that tonight, if he were to reveal it under the moonlight, it would give off a very faint, wan glow. He was just like all the Fae in that such moments betrayed his true nature.

Trev knew how to handle
a stealthy pursuer. He stepped behind a tree trunk and paused there, gathering his breath. Then he took a great bounding leap forward. A dozen sprinting steps later and he was almost through a copse of trees and into the open again.

But he did not go out into the open. There, he’d be more vulnerable to an arrow from behind. Instead, he crouched at the base of a low stone wall and waited.

His breath burned in his lungs, but he tried to make no sound whatsoever. His pursuer came along shortly, rushing after him. His sudden flight had surprised it.

Trev
could hear padding steps. He smiled, for he was sure his ruse had worked. Having lost sight of Trev, his shadow had panicked and run after him. Now, from the other’s point of view, Trev had vanished.

He waited until the
soft footsteps came racing up to the wall. He could almost feel the other’s presence, and he could hear it’s ragged breathing. A foul smell came to his nose as well, making it twitch. It reminded him of soured milk and last week’s catch in the Berrywine River, gone bad days ago.

Drawing his dagger, Trev stood suddenly, facing back the way he’d come. There, he felt sure, he’d see his pursuer and meet him nose-to-nose.

But there was no one there.

It was Trev’s turn to frown and gape, looking from side to side. He was sure—no, he was
certain
there’d be a bad-smelling manling of some kind standing on the far side of that wall.

He hopped onto the wall itself and leaned forward over it, checking to see if his shadow had dropped down to hide there.

“Come out and play, why don’t you?” he said.

But again, he saw nothing. He straightened and lowered his weapon, putting his hands on his hips. Pursing his lips, he scanned the dark line of trees, the low wall of fitted stone and the empty night skies.

Then an arm snaked its way around his neck by surprise. Trev cried out, and sprang away like a rabbit. So quick was his reaction, he escaped the attempt to grapple him by inches. He felt a long scraping cut appear along his side as he dove away, however. He had not gotten away unscathed.

Spinning around like a startled cat, he landed on his feet and lifted his dagger again. He honestly expected to see nothing and no one. This phantom seemed to only provide glimmers in the dark at a distance—but there was most definitely someone there.

He had assumed up until now it would be a goblin, but this creature was unlike anything Trev had seen before. It was tall, thin and gangly, and almost as big as a man. In fact, Trev noticed it was precisely the same height as he was. Most goblins were no more than three feet tall and as skinny as plucked cats. This creature was no goblin, he decided. Whatever it was, it had ropy muscles along its arms and wore clothing over much of its glimmering skin. A cloak of midnight black fluttered from its back and a cowl enshrouded its face. It held a dagger with a rippled blade in an outstretched hand.

“What
are
you?” Trev demanded.

The thing made no immed
iate attempt to answer. Instead it hissed and lunged, slashing with its exotic-looking weapon. Trev danced backward, in alarm. He’d had some training with arms, but he’d never been in a fight with a determined foe before. His heart pounded so that it rattled against his ribs and thudded in his temples.

“You can’t catch me,” Trev said. “We might as well talk.”

The creature chased him over a few rocks, but to no avail. Trev led it in a wide circle until they came back to the low stone wall again. Finally, winded, the thing paused and stared at him with baleful eyes.

“How is it thy eyes can see mine?” it asked
Trev in a rasping voice.

“I asked my question first.
Who are you?”

“
I will answer first, as custom dictates. I’m a simulacrum. Shadgol is my name, and Trev is my match.”

“Your match?” laughed Trev. But his laug
hter sounded hollow even to his own ears. He felt uneasy talking to this odd creature.

“My kind is bred to kill
a single being—and you are my match.”

Trev frowned, his humor vanishing. He caught the implication, and he didn’t like it.
This was some kind of assassin created specifically to slay him.

“Answer my query,” demanded Shadgol. “Why can you see me now, when you could not before?”

“I don’t know,” said Trev honestly.

“That is no answer!”

“But it is the truth.”

Shadgol made a frustrated hissing sound.

“Old Hob sent you, didn’t he?” Trev demanded. “You’re one of his creatures, a beast of the night. Tell me, why would he go to all the trouble of breeding a being such as yourself for the singular purpose of slaying me?”

“My
master does not require
reasons
. Whatever is his will must
be
. You’re my match, and I will hunt you until the sun goes out.”

Trev grew curious. “And w
hat if you succeed? Will you be rewarded in some way?”

For the first time, the creature’s
dark face showed an emotion other than pure hate. This new look was one of lust, or unsated hunger. “Indeed I will be given a great boon. Your blood is the finest wine I could ask for. I will bathe in it and will die while gulping your peeled flesh and shattered bones until my stomach bursts.”

Trev’s face twisted. “Disgusting. Now, tell me why I couldn’t see you before. Why you were only a faint glimmer on my trail?”

“No,” said Shadgol. “I will tell you nothing unless you allow me my blissful ending.”

Trev laughed, shaking his head. This elicited another hopping attack from Shadgol, but now that
Trev could see the assassin it was a simple matter to keep beyond the creature’s reach.

“Let’s strike a bargain
,” Trev suggested. “What would you like in turn for answering my questions? Something less than a pound of my flesh.”

A cunning look
came over the assassin, who Trev thought had been looking a trifle frustrated.