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  The boys nodded and a few hours later-after a fine lunch where Aunt Suzenna surpassed herself once again-they all headed back to Riverton. Corbin and Jak rode behind Tator with the load of melons and berrywine casks, but this time Brand rode on Tylag’s on his ox-cart. Ahead of them, the oxen lowed. All around them, the sheep that Corbin's brothers were herding to the common bleated and rang the bells at their necks. Brand glanced back wistfully many times at Froghollow. He had the sinking feeling that he was leaving something behind forever.

  Chapter Seven

  Telyn

  On the way, Tylag grilled Brand about the details of his encounters. Before they had left, he had inspected the damage done by the owl to his windowsill as well. He had waved away Jak and Brand's apologies for the damage as irrelevant. Brand answered all the questions as best he could. It seemed clear after a time that Tylag was searching for something, some kind of hint, perhaps.

  “Was this man wearing clothes, would you say?” he asked, looking at Brand with a peculiar intensity.

  “Yes, a cloak at least. Although it seemed to be of some kind of odd, flowing material. Not woolen, I'm sure of it.”

  Tylag nodded. “What about headgear? Did he bear a hat or some type of helm?”

  Brand shook his head.

  “Would you say that the man on the cliffs just now was the same, or a different one?”

  “Most likely the same,” reported Brand. Could there be many of these shadow men? The thought was alarming. He turned on the driver's board and eyed the forests around them. Suddenly, they seemed far less friendly. “Do you know this man?”

  “I should say not!” shouted Tylag with sudden intensity. He was loud enough to attract the attention of Jak and Corbin, who turned to look at them. Seeing Brand's uncomprehending stare, Tylag waved away his concern with his large hands. “It matters nothing, boy. What is important is that I get you to see Myrrdin straight away.”

  “Myrrdin!” gasped Brand. “The Clanless One?”

  Tylag nodded firmly. “The same.”

  Brand fell silent for a time. It seemed that all his worst fears were being realized. Myrrdin was a traveling man from distant lands who aided with the Harvest Moon ceremonies each year. It was clear he was no peddler, and no one knew where his home was, or even if he had one. Some wagging tongues had gone so far as to label him a wizard, although most of the clearer heads scoffed at this idea. Wizards were myths-the talk of legends like the stories about the Dragon's Eyes, the colored jewels of power. The Faerie, however-they were very real.

  If this involved Myrrdin, then it certainly involved the Faerie as well. The thought of it made Brand go cold inside. All he could think of was the old stories that his mother had told him as a child. The terrible wonders of the Faerie were without number.

  They traveled the rest of the way to Riverton without talking much. The usual festive mood that buoyed up the last few days before the Harvest Moon feast was absent. Even Tator seemed dispirited, his tail and ears drooping.

  They clopped and swayed their way into the Riverton, greeted by passersby on the road. As they entered the town, Corbin's brothers led aside the sheep to the stockyards. There were many complements on the generosity of the offerings they were bringing. Brand and Jak swelled with pride. They were running Rabing Isle on their own, but they weren't slackers. Their father had brought no more or less to the Harvest Moon in years past.

  They wound up the hill to where the nicer houses and the largest buildings were. In the center of town, where the guildhouses and the shops huddled close to the road, there was even a section of cobblestones. Tator perked up here, as if he were proud to pull his cart through the best street in town.

  It was here that they stopped before the gates of the manor house of the Drake clan. The Drakes were the wealthiest and most influential clan on Stone Island. It was at their ancestral home that the clan leaders held council. Although it wasn't as spacious as the common room of the Spotted Hog Inn, where the town meetings were generally held, it afforded much more privacy.

  “I'll go on in and announce us,” said Tylag, climbing down with a grunt. The driver's board straightened in relief. Brand watched as Tylag walked through the ancient iron gates and up the path to the manor. The gates were never locked; in fact, it had been so many years since they had been shut that the hinges had frozen with rust.

  Brand felt a slight rocking of the wagon. He looked around and was surprised to see Telyn sitting beside him, just biting into an apple. She grinned at his expression.

  “My, but you're getting tall,” she said.

  “Telyn!” he breathed, unable to get out more.

  “You should look behind you more often,” she commented. Brand made a wry face, but it was half-hearted. She was so pretty, even with her hair rather stringy-looking and unkempt and her stained clothes smelling of the tannery vats. The delicacy of her face and her gray-blue eyes came through all that. He felt his heart leap just at the sight of her. He watched a drop of apple juice run down her hand for a moment before he was able to reply.

  “You're always sneaking up on me!” he said finally.

  “I like to be unpredictable,” she responded with a flip of her head. She smiled at him again, and it was like sunlight breaking through a gray cloud. She took another bite of her apple and then frowned, tossing it over the wall of Drake manor.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It was a cull,” she said with a shrug. She stretched luxuriously, pushing her fists into the air over her head. “Just as most of those melons you've dragged all the way in from the island are probably culls.”

  Brand's brow furrowed. “We wouldn't do that!”

  “Well, I would.”

  “Hello, Scraper,” said Corbin from the ground. He had left his cart and now stood with Jak. Both of them grinned up at Brand. Brand blushed, feeling the blood tingle all the way down to his knees.

  “Hello, Corbin-Jak,” Telyn answered, fluttering her hand at them. She produced another apple and a small sharp knife from her nondescript garment. Slicing the fruit with quick efficient strokes, she began munching on the wedges. “Do you fancy an apple?” she asked Brand, who was staring at her. She winked at him, and he blushed all over again.

  Corbin and Jak withdrew to the manor gate to have a look into the courtyard. They kept a discreet eye on Brand and his visitor while they talked.

  “I wish they wouldn't call you that,” he said.

  “What? Scraper? That's what everyone calls me,” she said, unconcerned.

  He looked troubled. “But it isn't a very pretty name.”

  She smiled. “Look, I scrape the fur off hides at my father's vats. Most of the Fob clan works in the tanneries. The name doesn't bother me. Besides, my work has taught me to be handy with a knife.”

  “Okay. Where did you get all the apples?” Brand asked, attempting to shift the conversation. He never seemed to know exactly what to say to Telyn. Somehow these days his thoughts were muddled and never came out right when she was around. It had been different when they had been children.

  “Where do you think? From clan Thunderfoot's offering. They have the best orchards in the Haven, after all.”

  Brand was scandalized. “You took them from the offering?” he demanded in disbelief.

  Telyn only shrugged her pretty shoulders again. “Better that I enjoy them than some prancing Faerie that would as soon spoil my milk or lead astray a lamb as look at me.”

  Brand doubted that the Faerie would be so aloof to her, but he didn't say as much. Instead, he changed the subject again. “I saw a candle burning in your window last night. At least, I think I did.”

  Telyn slid her eyes around without moving her head and transfixed him with a penetrating gaze. Brand was immediately speechless. She swallowed her bite of apple, and then straightened purposefully, taking Brand's hand in her own. “Are you the one then?” she asked.

  Brand gaped at her. He wanted to tell her that yes, he was the one, no matter t
hat he wasn't yet full grown, no matter that his beard was barely enough to bother shaving each morning, but all he could do was stare.

  “Are you the one?” she repeated in a hushed voice. “I've had one of those feelings Brand, you know, like when we were kids.”

  Brand nodded, remembering. “You mean like when you knew Gram Rabing had fallen off the ladder and found her? And when you told me not to let my parents go on the river, that day…” he swallowed, unable to continue.

  “Yes,” she hissed, leaning even closer. She was in easy kissing range now, and it made it difficult for Brand to think clearly. “Yes, just like that-only different, too. I've felt that someone is coming. Maybe several people. I've felt that they need help in getting here. That's why I've been burning a candle in my window each night. I don't know who, but I know they must get here soon.”

  “Before the Harvest Moon,” whispered Brand.

  She nodded very seriously.

  Brand thought about the Harvest Moon and everything it meant to the River Folk. He tried to look calm, but he really wanted to shudder. He controlled himself with difficulty, managing a small nod. He didn't want to look like a scared little boy in front of Telyn.

  Chapter Eight

  The Spotted Hog

  “I've been seeing and feeling odd things as well,” he said. Then he told her about the shadow man and the owl, managing to hold her hand in his and lean close to her fair face the entire time. He only edited the truth slightly, not mentioning that he had slipped to the deck of the ferry in numb fear.

  Telyn's eyes unfocused and flittered from spot to spot while he spoke. She nodded to herself frequently. Brand knew she was thinking rapidly, her quick mind coming up with a scheme. He could recall her looking like that before he had gotten into the most daring of his childhood adventures. The River only knew what she would come up with.

  “All right,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I know now what we must do. I'll catch up with you tonight.” With that, she darted forward and kissed him on the cheek. Their eyes locked for a moment.

  “Brand! Corbin! Jak!” came Tylag's voice, booming over the manor wall. He heard the crunch of boots on gravel. “Come to me. We have a problem.”

  Brand turned to look back at the gates. He swallowed, facing the prospect of entering Drake manor for the first time since he was a small boy at his father's knee. He turned back to say farewell to Telyn, but discovered that she was gone. He looked up and down the street and thought he caught a glimpse of her slipping around a corner, but he couldn't be sure.

  “Come on, Brand,” said Jak. He followed Corbin into the courtyard. With frequent glances back over his shoulder, Brand scrambled down and passed between the rusty gates after them.

  Tylag's brow was a storm of furrows and he rubbed at his scowling face with his fist. “Myrrdin is not here. He has yet to arrive.”

  The three younger men all exchanged concerned looks. Brand felt more ill at ease because of Tylag's manner. His actions spoke louder than words. Tylag was usually full of bluster and never daunted by anything.

  “But, who will present the Offering if he is not here?” asked Brand.

  Tylag shot him a grim stare. “None other can perform it properly,” he said. “None have the craft.”

  “The Offering must be made. It is as simple as that,” said Jak, shrugging. “If it comes down to it, I will make the offering for Rabing Isle myself. The Pact can't be allowed to fail.”

  “Yes,” said Corbin, his speech slow and rational. “The Offering will be made. It is not that, but the etiquette of the ceremony that will be flawed. We must recall that the ceremony is as important to the Faerie as the Offering itself.”

  “We are only the simple folk of the River Haven,” said Jak, spreading his hands. “What can be done?”

  “Perhaps we can find the Clanless One,” said Brand. “Surely, there must be some way of locating him.”

  “Sensibly, he would be on his way here, sailing on the Berrywine perhaps, or crossing the Border Downs,” Corbin said thoughtfully. Brand felt he could see the cogs working in his mind. Corbin wasn't a fast thinker, but his ideas were often more penetrating. “Where does he usually hail from at this time of year?”

  Tylag, who had been staring at nothing while tugging on his beard, glanced up at his question. “What? Oh, well, it depends. Most years he comes done from the north, from the wilds of Snowdonia, where he spends most of his time, it seems.”

  Brand's eyes blinked twice at the mention of Snowdonia. He could only imagine what those white-peaked mountains were like, what strange creatures might dwell there. “From Rabing Isle,” he said half to himself, “you can see the crags of Snowdon itself on a clear summer's day.”

  Corbin looked at him. He paused for a long moment before speaking. “It would seem likely that Myrrdin would pass Rabing Isle then-if he were going to come by water.”

  “Yes, unless he came through the High Marshes or the Deepwood.”

  Tylag smacked his fists together decisively. “Right! That would be the way of it. The thing to do is post a lookout up at Rabing Isle. You must return home tonight, Jak. We must watch the other approaches as well. Something has delayed him and it is likely that he needs help.”

  “What could have delayed him?” asked Jak, frowning.

  Tylag made a sweeping gesture with his thick arms. “How should I know? Anything! His boat could have sprung a leak. His horse could have come up lame.”

  “If he's on horseback, I doubt he will swim past Rabing Isle tonight,” grumbled Jak. It was plain to Brand that his brother didn't relish the idea of returning home and missing tonight's celebration on the Riverton Commons.

  It was Tylag's turn to frown. “Boys, I am the leader of Clan Rabing, is this not so?”

  All of them nodded. Jak's nod was noticeably glum.

  “I will not have it said that the Offering was rejected and the Pact broken due to the inaction of Clan Rabing,” he boomed at them, hooking his thumbs in his wide belt and rocking on his heels while eyeing them each in turn. “I ask again, Jak, will you return home and try to escort Myrrdin to Riverton before the Harvest Moon?”

  “Of course,” said Jak, straightening and dropping the frown.

  Thinking of Telyn, Brand gave a tiny sigh of regret. “It will take two to handle the skiff properly, even when it is unloaded. I will come with you.”

  Tylag nodded approvingly. He slapped his son on the back suddenly. “Corbin will go as well. His back is as strong as the river is wide. Besides, I would not think of breaking you boys up on such a night as this.”

  Corbin looked startled, but said nothing.

  “When should we set out, Uncle?” asked Jak.

  “Straight away, nothing is more important. Get yourselves some lunch up at the Spotted Hog,” he said, handing Corbin a silver half-crown. “I must be getting back to the council meeting.”

  “What about the shadow man?” asked Brand, his voice hushed. “Shouldn't we tell the council about it?”

  Tylag pursed his lips and gazed back up at the manor, as if seeing the meeting hall and the clan leaders within. “They will take it better from my lips than from yours,” he said finally. “Only Myrrdin will properly be able to puzzle out this mystery, so it is all the more important that you find him and tell him what you have seen. In any case, the Pact must not be broken. We will send men into the Deepwood and the High Marshes. Myrrdin's attendance is critical.”

  He bade them farewell and crunched gravel on his way back to the manor. Brand watched him go regretfully. He didn't relish the trip back to Rabing Isle under the watchful stare of the shadow man.

  “Look at it this way,” said Corbin cheerfully. He threw his arm around the shoulders of Brand and Jak, having to reach up in Brand's case and down in Jak's. “At least my brothers will be troubled with the burden of delivering the offerings.”

  “I also see it as justice for this morning's surprise chores,” added Jak. They all laughed at this and walked to
gether to the Spotted Hog. On their way in, they met up with four Hoot boys who were just leaving. The sour smell of ale was strong about them. They scowled darkly at the Rabing boys. The entryway way to the common room was low-ceilinged, and they all were forced to shoulder their way past one another in close quarters.

  “Merling fodder,” muttered one of the Hoot boys, a skinny slouching youth with hair that stuck up at random angles. Brand knew him to be Slet, a dockworker. Another of them snorted in amusement.

  Jak reacted as if stung. He grabbed Slet's tunic, halting the two groups in the cloakroom. “What did you say?” he demanded. Corbin put a heavy hand on Jak's shoulder, but Jak ignored him. He only stared into Slet's face, awaiting an answer.

  Slet's eyes slid around to the faces of his companions. None of them met his gaze, not wanting trouble. Slet took a moment to spit onto the floor between Jak's wading boots. “Nuthin'“ he said. “For now.”

  Jak released Slet with a visible effort of will. The two groups separated without further incident. Corbin ordered lunch with the silver half-crown, which Brand knew was much too much money for a prince's lunch in Riverton, but such was the generosity of their uncle. With the rest of the money he made several other purchases before returning to the table.

  Jak ate the lunch of beef and kidney pie without interest. Brand and Corbin exchanged glances. They had hoped his mood would have improved with food and time, but it hadn't. “Jak, I'm sure they didn't mean…” began Brand, but his brother cut him off.

  “You don't remember rightly. You were too young, and I was younger than you are now. When the River took our parents, they said it was merlings. It looked like everything was finished… Everything was too much…” he said. He stabbed his fork into his kidney pie and forced down another bite.