Dream Magic Page 25

  The elf nodded slowly and stared at him for a time when he’d stopped speaking. Then he lifted his finger, pointed it at Trev and said: “Ah-ha! I see it now! You are Puck’s child!”

  “Uh, yes sir.”

  The elf walked around him in a slow circle, examining every inch of him.

  “Well grown. No deformities. Strong arms…young, but full-grown. A wise investment.”

  “Excuse me, sir? Can I ask your name?”

  “Rudely spoken. You know who I am in any case.”

  Trev felt embarrassed. He didn’t want to guess and be wrong—but he decided to go with his gut on this one. “You’re Oberon. My father’s father.”

  “Just so. Welcome to my damaged village, grandson. Will you have something to eat?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  The old elf bounded away then, and Trev was startled that someone as old as the biggest tree in the Erm could be so spry. He followed at a trot, and soon found himself led to the new region of mushroom growth. A few dozen others were there as well, and they looked at him coldly.

  “This is Puck’s child,” Oberon said. “Trev, meet your uncles and aunties. We are not so numerous as we were last year, but we will recover in time.”

  “Are there—other villages?” Trev asked hopefully.

  Oberon laughed at him. “Of course. There always seems to be another, if you look long and hard enough. I doubt that even I have found them all.”

  Trev nodded, relieved. No one in the Haven had any real idea how many elves there were, or if there were other elf lords as powerful as Oberon. The prevailing opinion was that there were, but that Oberon was odd among the patriarchs of his people in that he had frequent interaction with humans. No one knew exactly why he did so, but it was undeniable. The records and stories of his visits, tricks and battles were centuries old.

  After a few hours, Trev felt more at ease in the village. He ate their food and sipped their drinks—which were, if anything, more powerful than his Aunt Kaavi’s had been.

  When he felt comfortable enough to ask questions, he brought up the topic of Myrrdin. Oberon did not seem surprised.

  “I wondered when you would get to that,” he said.

  Trev blinked. “What do you mean, grandsire?”

  “I mean, when a man is sent to do a task, he’d best get about it when he is in my employ. You seem lackadaisical. I wouldn’t be surprised if Myrrdin docks your pay when you return to him with your tales.”

  Trev glanced around at the others. They were supping together on seeds the size of stones and drinking mugs of nectar in carven pea pods. The meal was oddly flavored, but delicious and strangely filling. When he met the eyes of the others around him, they looked away and quieted.

  “Grandfather,” Trev said, “I don’t understand your meaning.”

  A new person stepped to the edge of the circle then, and stared at him sternly. It was none other than Morgana herself.

  When Trev saw her, he had to admit to himself he felt a pang. Gone from her eyes was any warmth or feeling for him. He could tell in an instant that he was just one of many, and that their brief time together had meant no more to her than a single pleasant luncheon might have meant to Trev.

  “Hello Morgana,” he said, greeting her brightly. He wanted to hide his inner emotions. The elves would not understand any such sentimentality, and from the look on her face he doubted that she would, either.

  Morgana put her hands upon her hips. She still wore her white gown and her face and form were still pleasing to the eye—but not so much so that he was dazzled by her beauty. Perhaps it was the comparative presence of so many elves nearby. They were much more perfect and refined in appearance and manners. It was difficult for a human woman to compete.

  She looked at Oberon and made a harsh gesture toward Trev. “This is taking too long. We have a schedule, and I’m not impressed by the rigor with which any of you follow it.”

  “Rigorous schedules?” laughed Oberon. “Such things are not in our nature. Sit and eat, woman.”

  Instead, she glared at him and touched the Jewel at her throat. Trev could not miss the interplay. The moment she did so, Oberon was pulled to his feet as if someone had circled his waist with a rope and yanked it taut.

  He turned to Trev, and his face darkened. “Grandson,” he said, “I have something to show you.”

  “As you will, my host.”

  Trev stood and followed Oberon, who led him to an area at the very edge of the village. Here, a huge tree had been ripped from the ground. The hole was deep and dark, and seemed to exude unpleasant odors.

  “What’s this?” Trev asked.

  “You’re new home, I’m afraid.”

  Trev looked at him in shock. He opened his mouth, but he did not know what to say. He looked around himself, and saw that the other elves had followed them quietly. They stood in a circle and as Oberon spoke, they slowly came closer. Morgana was among them, and for the first time, she was smiling.

  Trev began to suspect she was behind all of this, so he turned to her now.

  “Why this?” he asked aloud. “Why now, after seducing me in the wood? Did I not please your sensibilities? Should I have brought flowers the next day?”

  The elves twittered at this, but as Morgana’s smile faded to anger, they quieted.

  “Impudent,” she said. “From the first to the last.” She turned to Oberon and with a gesture indicated Trev, as if he were some kind of odd exhibit. “Did I not tell you?” she said. “I gave him a mission, and he did as he pleased. For a time I was fooled, but no longer.”

  Oberon nodded slowly.

  “I have done so much on your behalf,” Trev said, becoming angry in turn. “Did you know that Old Hob tried to waylay me and outright kill me on multiple occasions? And did you know that a Kindred Warrior—an individual named Harrdin who claimed to be working on your behalf, did his damnedest to sell me to a dragon? And that was just the beginning.”

  She shook her head. “Listen to that tone, that angry stance. It can’t be denied. You are a mad-thing, Trev. You must be contained and controlled.”

  “It is my fault,” Oberon said.

  “How so?” asked Morgana.

  “I made him what he is.”

  “You mean with your seed?” she asked. “I’ve found no other full-blooded elf or human so recalcitrant.”

  “No, not exactly,” Oberon said. “I mean that he is immune to your charms, and there can only be one answer as to why.”

  Morgana furrowed her brow and stared from face to face. “His mind is clear and not broken, so I should be able to bend it.”

  “Just so. But there is one thing that can stop you.”

  “Are you saying he possesses the Quicksilver? Nothing else could withstand my power…” Here, Morgana broke off and angrily walked to Trev. She put out her hand and extended it toward Trev.

  “I understand now,” she said, raging. “You have it, don’t you? You found it along the way, and you have it hidden upon your person. That is how you resist me now, and did so earlier.”

  “I have nothing—certainly nothing like a Jewel of Power. I’m seeking it, among others, on your behalf. I admit, I was more taken with you the first time we met, but perhaps that was because you were in a more pleasant mood.”

  Morgana made a growling sound of frustration.

  Oberon approached them both, lifting his hands and chuckling. “Such foolishness!” he said. “Morgana, he doesn’t possess the Quicksilver, he is the Quicksilver.”

  Her mouth opened then closed again. Trev’s shock was even greater.

  “Grandfather, what are you saying?” he asked, but even as he did so, he thought of a dozen things that made perfect sense when viewed in this new light. As a child, he’d been able to escape King Arawn of the Dead, one of the most powerful creatures to ever wield a Jewel. And his hair—

  “My silver locks,” he said aloud. “They cannot be cut—at least, if they are cut, they grow back the next day as full as
before.”

  He reached up then and removed his cap. His hair fell loosely to his shoulders, as silvery and perfect as ever.

  “Yes,” Oberon said, “your hair. But it is only an external detail. You are the Quicksilver Jewel. You, in your entirety. As the bloodhound is the Red.”

  Trev shook his head, and took a step backward. “But I can’t be a Jewel! I’m a person. I’ve got a life, parents and memories.”

  “The Quicksilver is like that,” Oberon said. “It’s odd—even for a Jewel.”

  “You knew this all along and you withheld it?” demanded Morgana with sudden fury.

  “Nonsense, woman,” Oberon laughed. “You asked me to find the Quicksilver, and here he is standing before you. I daren’t ask what else might please you.”

  Morgana fumed, but she turned to Trev and stared at him as if he were some kind of curious insect.

  “How does he work? How can we utilize him?”

  “We can’t. He is an independent entity. He can’t be attuned or held in one’s hand. He can only be befriended. And from my experience in these matters, I’d say you’re doing a rather poor job of that.”

  Trev had to agree with his grandsire on that point.

  “Grandfather,” he said. “I don’t know why you listen to this unpleasant woman. I did at first, but it is easily overcome. I would suggest we turn her out of the village now that she’s insulted us both so thoroughly.”

  Another growl of rage came from Morgana. Trev gathered that she was highly unaccustomed to being mistreated in any way.

  Oberon shook his head sadly. “This will not end that way, I’m afraid.” He gestured toward the yawning hole at his feet again. “Now, step inside boy. I will grow a great tree here to mark the spot. It will cost me the blood of my fallen elves to do it, so you should be prideful of their sacrifice.”

  “I’m not stepping into any stinking hole!”

  “Oh, but you are. One way or another.”

  “What’s this about a hole?” demanded Morgana.

  Oberon turned to her. “It is the best way. He may yet prove useful to us, if we can convince him to work for us. If we let him go, he’d be a menace.”

  “Grandfather, I beseech thee,” Trev said formally, going down to one knee. “I came to thee seeking knowledge, and you have imparted it. Morgana sought this knowledge, and now she has it as well. I would suggest that doing anything other than letting me go free would be a breach of etiquette. A dishonor upon your house.”

  “Nonsense!” Morgana began, but Oberon silenced her with a raised hand.

  His stance and demeanor changed as he addressed Trev with sudden formality. This is what Trev had hoped for. Elves took their honor very seriously indeed.

  “Let me explain, child: you are a spy for an enemy. Coming here as a spy is not honorable. We are well within our rights to imprison you.”

  “A spy? I came seeking the knowledge which this woman demanded!”

  “That is true, but tell me the rest. Did Myrrdin not charge you with returning to him with a report?”

  Trev looked down. This he could not deny.

  “Exactly,” continued Oberon. “You see, child, the unknowing spy is the best of spies. Who would suspect a creature that does not have the wit to know it is a tool? Now comes the detail of what is to be done with you. Can I release a spy? No. It weighs upon my heart, but I can’t allow you to leave here. You’re unknown and thus dangerous to my plans.”

  “Your plans?” scoffed Trev, choosing a new tact. He pointed to Morgana, who watched the conversation with quiet interest. “That is the spider who wove your plans for you, grandfather. Can you not see this?”

  “Absurd,” Oberon said. “You think a human woman with a few tricks of the craft can manipulate the oldest elf in the known worlds? It could not happen. We work together because I wish it.”

  “But you laid with her as I did!” shouted Trev, putting his hand on the hilt of his dagger. “You’re not immune as I am, therefore you are in her power. You took her as an ally, did you not? Why? Did you do that of your own free will? Why not capture her? Why not put her to the sword or put her in a hole?”

  Oberon laughed, but there was an edge to the sound. “Why not, child? Because I’m your elder, and my will must be obeyed.”

  Trev frowned. “That’s no answer. You are in her power. It is clear to me now. Try to see it, grandfather. You have been bested, but you can make this right. Take my hand, and I will shield you. Free yourself.”

  “Foolishness. I will hear no more. Now, hop down into your new home. Let’s not have any unpleasantness.”

  It was Trev’s turn to laugh.

  “I’m of your own blood. Do you know a reflection of yourself so little as that? You’ll have to take me, and with no magic to aid you, oldster. I’m immune to your tricks as well as hers.”

  Oberon’s eyes darkened until they stormed. “As you wish,” he said.

  He drew his sword, and tossed it aside.

  “What are you doing?” questioned the Witch of the Wood. These were the first words she’d spoken since the conflict had grown heated.

  “There is honor involved, which must be served,” Oberon explained. “The child has a short blade, and he is alone. He is of my blood, and therefore he shall be met with matching circumstances.”

  “That is not honor, that is madness,” complained the Witch.

  “That’s it!” Trev shouted suddenly. Everyone looked at him in surprise.

  “Madness,” he explained. “Morgana, you visited Myrrdin, didn’t you? And you failed to control his twisting mind. You can’t control those that are irrational. Brand will be hard to face when he wields the Axe. Perhaps that’s why you saved him for last.”

  Morgana made no move to answer.

  “An interesting theory, grandson,” Oberon said. “But one that is critically flawed, as I am not in her power. Nor am I mad.”

  Hearing the elf’s words, Morgana gave Trev a slight, smug smile.

  “But you have honor,” Trev said to Oberon, ignoring the gloating witch, “which as the hag said, makes you behave in a manner not entirely to your benefit upon occasion. It is that mad steel within you that she cannot bend.”

  Oberon drew his own dagger then. It was a rare thing of beauty, an object wrought of silver which shone as if it was forged of captured moonlight. Even Trev, seeing it, was entranced by its craftsmanship. He had to admit that dying to such a weapon would not be an entirely wasted life.

  “And now,” Oberon said, “it is time to put some of my steel, which you so eloquently described, into you, Trev.”

  Trev felt a bolt of fear as his elder approach him. As smooth as Trev’s movements were, Oberon’s were noticeably smoother. At that moment he hated his human half, which seemed weak in comparison. Not only was it clumsy and slow, but it felt fear for its miserable life as well.

  He assumed a fighting stance, doing his best. He told himself he had to focus on his strengths and bury his weaknesses. He was half-man, which made him taller and thicker of limb than his grandsire. He was also very fast, he knew, possibly as fast as any elf.

  But the wicked immortal that paced him now didn’t know that. He’d never seen Trev in action. Trev therefore moved slowly, but smoothly. He didn’t leap and flourish—not yet. He wanted to deceive his opponent in any way possible. Brand, Corbin, Puck—all those who’d taught him what they knew of fighting had made a point of telling him this.

  As the two circled one another, Trev knew he was being studied. His stance was being evaluated by a master, and he was helpless to evade that keen eye which judged things he could barely fathom.

  Instead of competing on such a level, he desperately sought any other advantage he could come up with. His eyes searched the environment for a moment, seeing the tall trees, the circle of smiling elves.

  At last his gaze came to rest upon Morgana herself. She appeared to be aloof and above the fray. If anything, he got the impression the combat annoyed her, because it
was not her desire that the duel should be so evenly fought. This gave Trev an idea.

  Before he could act upon his idea, however, Oberon moved. He had taken this last lingering split-second, where Trev had dared let his eye drift from his opponent, to step close and attack.

  Oberon ceased circling and sprang forward. Trev reflexively lifted his own blade, parrying and twisting his body to one side to avoid the thrust. But Oberon was not finished. He followed through, reversed himself and came in again, slashing with his fantastic weapon. The knife blade cut a glittering high arc in the air that seemed to blur with speed.

  Trev was off-balance and unable to parry again. The move had been so sudden, and had placed Oberon in the perfect pose for a second strike, while Trev’s own posture was hopelessly poor.

  Rather than attempting another parry, Trev bounded straight up into the air. He revealed all his strength and speed at that moment, hoping to take the other by surprise.

  His gambit worked. Oberon was left staring up at him as he flew away to land atop the smooth surface of a mushroom hut.

  “The stars be praised!” Oberon said, laughing. “I’ve grandsired a bounding hare!”

  “Finish this nonsense!” shouted Morgana.

  Oberon, shaking his head, leapt upward to join Trev atop the hut—but Trev leapt down the other side. He sprinted then, as fast as his legs would carry him. He did not run from the fight. He did not seek escape.

  Instead, he ran toward Morgana. He held his blade before him, and he charged with a roar that no pure elven throat could ever produce. It was the human part of him, coming out to the fore. It was a battle cry of rage, fury and desperation.

  Reaching the witch in three tremendous leaps, he thrust the dagger into her. She only managed to throw up her arms to cover her throat at the last moment before the point bit into her body. Trev felt the blade pierce her ribs and sink into the vitals behind them.

  “You shall plague my family no more, witch!” he said.

  The next moment, however, Trev found himself taken from behind. Oberon and a dozen other elves laid hands upon him. His dagger fell away, and they shook him roughly. Oberon himself laid his blade upon Trev’s throat and a red line of blood appeared there.