The moon waned and began to set, making the darkness of the forest total. Up ahead in the dimness, he thought he heard something coming. He halted, swaying, and listened. The clopping sound of a horse came to him. He let Jak sag down to the wet ground. Could it be help? More likely, he thought bitterly, it was some other of the Dark Ones, perhaps Herla himself, leading his coursers forward to finish the hunt. If it was the Wild Hunt, he sorrowed that he would give them little sport, for he was utterly spent.
The horse came closer and a lantern shone in the night. Brand now wondered if it was the lantern of Old Hob, the eldest and worst of the goblin lords. Was this the light that he had spent the night trying to reach?
The horseman wandered near and passed, not seeing him where he stood motionless in the dark. He seemed to be looking for something, and there was a familiar shape to him beneath his cloaks. Brand straightened, but before he could hail the horseman, the other had cupped his hands to his lips and shouted, “Brand!”
Brand tried to speak but couldn't. Only a dry croak issued from his throat. He swallowed, coughed, then tried again. “Corbin!” he rasped.
The rider halted in surprise, then turned and saw him. The rider came closer and Brand saw that it was indeed Corbin, straddling the shaggy brown pony, Tator.
“Brand! We thought that the goblins had taken you back to their land forever!” shouted Corbin, dismounting and coming to meet his cousin. He halted when he saw Jak's crumpled form. “Is that Jak?”
Brand only nodded, too weak to speak. Corbin wasted no more words. He lifted Jak as gently as he could and placed him in the saddle, where he was forced to hold him in place. Together, they set off.
“How did you come here?” Corbin asked him. “I've only just set out, and I didn't think to find you for miles. We all thought that you were lost in the wilds of the Drake estate.”
“I have followed a light all night. Am I not on the Drake estate? Where are we? Is there shelter near? I fear for my brother's life.”
“Shelter indeed, cousin. Look!” said Corbin. Brand looked up and halted. Before them stood the rambling house of Tylag and Suzenna Rabing. Somehow, he had won through to Froghollow, and never had a sight been more welcome to him.
“There, there is the beacon!” said Brand, pointing to an upstairs window. But even as he spoke, he realized that the window was shuttered, and that no light issued forth, nor could any have possibly done so.
“Scraper's candle,” said Corbin as he helped Brand along with a guiding hand. Tator moved with delicate steps, almost as if he were aware of his injured rider. “She lit it again tonight, for you and Jak. Perhaps she is a fledgling sorceress after all.”
Brand was too weary to answer. Now that they had made it to shelter, his strength left him. Corbin shouted and brought all the household out to meet them. Brand was vaguely aware of a swarm of concerned faces and questions, to all of which he only blinked in confusion.
Gudrin appeared and took charge of Jak. “Aye, he lives yet, but only just. We must remove the arrows and hope fortune is with him tonight.”
Aunt Suzenna cried aloud at the sight of the black-feathered arrows that had pierced Jak. “If you have the craft to heal him,” she told Gudrin. “I will be your aide.”
Gudrin nodded and prepared for the surgery. She shouted orders for all the lanterns, oil lamps and mirrors in the house to be gathered into the kitchen. They arranged the lights and the mirrors to concentrate the light upon the table. Finally, when all was ready she and Tylag bore Jak away to the kitchen table while Corbin saw to the horses.
“I imagine you have quite a tale to tell yourself, boy,” said Modi, who had come and taken Brand's elbow. It took Brand a moment to realize that the warrior was leading him toward a couch, not into the kitchen where Jak lay dying. He protested, but Modi's grip was like that of a boulder shaped into a hand. “You need rest, boy. You listen to me-this time.”
Brand met the warrior's eyes, and they were stern, but not unkind. He let himself be led to the couch where he collapsed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Well after daybreak, he slowly became aware of someone bathing his forehead with a cool damp cloth. His eyes fluttered open to find Telyn bent over him, her face pinched in worry. He thought he had never seen a lovelier sight, not even the Shining Lady could move him the way this tanner’s daughter could. “Telyn, does Jak live?”
“Of course,” she answered, her face brightening. “He is feverish, but should recover. Gudrin is a miraculous healer. There are so many crafts I could learn from such as she.”
“The shafts have been removed then?” he asked.
Her face clouded. “Yes, but-”
He gripped her arm. “But what?”
She pressed him down again, and he let her do it, for in truth he felt as weak as a kitten. “You must rest, Brand. You are not well either. You strove mightily with the Faerie last night, and such things take a grim toll from mortals, to say nothing of dragging your brother through miles of forest.”
“Ah, yes,” said Brand, remembering the long night. “I saw your beacon Telyn. It was my only hope when all else was lost. It was your sorcery that saved us.”
Her hands plucked idly at the damp cloth she held. “No, it was all my fault that you got into this in the first place. Jak is almost dead because I wouldn't listen to reason. It's fine for me to endanger my own skin, but I can't forgive myself for nearly killing us all with my rashness.”
Brand sat up, although it was a mighty effort. He put his arm around her. “I'll not have that! I was the one the shade began tracking in the first place. I could just as easily say that the breaking of the Pact was on my head!”
“What utter foolishness,” said Telyn, but he could hear the gratitude in her voice.
“Now, tell me the whole truth about Jak.”
She cast him a concerned glance, then looked back to the cloth in her hands, which was now wound into a knot. “The shafts came out easily, Brand, but the heads did not.”
“What do you mean?” asked Brand, feeling cold inside.
“I mean that the arrow points are still in him, somewhere… Brand?”
But she was talking to his back, for he had already started for the kitchen. There, in the brightly lit room which he had supped so many times so well, Jak lay. His flesh was bloodless and white, but his breathing appeared regular. Brand gripped the doorjamb for support. Gudrin held something pinched in a pair of tongs which she held aloft to the light. It was a tiny flint arrowhead. She rubbed her chin then dropped it into a pewter pitcher. The water in the pitcher bubbled and hissed briefly, then fell silent.
“That's one,” grunted the talespinner. She eyed Brand gruffly, but didn't order him from the room.
“Is that from his chest?” asked Brand.
Gudrin nodded. “The other has gone deeper still. I only just decided he was mended enough to go for them, and it was critical that I did so now.”
“Why?”
Gudrin gestured to the pitcher. Brand stepped forward and peered into it. There was no sign of the arrowhead. “What happened to it?”
“The arrowheads are enchanted. There is no question about it, your brother was elf-shot.”
“Elf-shot?” Brand echoed. Stunned, he looked at his brother's leg wound. “There is still one of them in him?”
“Yes, worming its way to his vitals. Were you attacked by the elfkin?”
“No, goblins only. At least, we saw no elfkin.”
“Strange,” said Gudrin. She shook her head and prepared to dig into Jak's flesh to remove the other arrowhead. She stepped to the sideboard for a moment, where her book lay open, and read a page or two before returning to her work. Brand noted that her rucksack was stowed carefully beside her book. “That's what the others said. But it is for certain that these arrows are elf-work. Goblins have not the craft. Either there are elves in league with our Enemy, which is fell news indeed, or these arrows were stolen. We have no way of knowing which.”