Gudrin began her digging and cutting then, bidding Brand to hold his brother still. Even in his unconscious state, Jak moaned and writhed in pain.
“Make sure he doesn't reopen his chest wound!” ordered Gudrin. The work was bloody and it was all Brand could do to keep from retching. Modi and Tylag were finally called in to help, while Aunt Suzenna did what she could to make her nephew comfortable. Brand wondered if he could ever enjoy a meal at this table again.
Forcing himself to watch, he looked into the splayed flesh of his brother's thigh. There was a black shape, buried down near the bone. Gudrin reached for it, but it wriggled and half vanished into red bloody flesh again.
“The River save us!” breathed Brand.
Finally, Gudrin got a grip upon it, and lifted it up. “There's the little cursed thing.”
Aunt Suzenna, who was the best and fastest with needle and thread, set to sealing the wound. Jak's agonized moans subsided. Gudrin and Brand stepped aside and examined the arrowhead.
Gudrin reached out and touched the river stone around Brand's neck. “A River ward, after the fashion of your folk. Hmmpf. Well-made, too. Your work?” she asked Telyn, who nodded. “You have an eye for the craft. If it was not for these wards, or if the goblins had used normal weapons, you would have all been killed. Notice, the arrows struck only Jak, who wore no such ward.”
At this point she yelled aloud and swore in the tongue of the Kindred. She dropped the tongs she had been holding aloft and clutched at the hand that had held them.
“What's wrong?” asked Brand, but Telyn had already snatched up the tongs and grabbed Gudrin's hand. The palm was pooling with blood. Only a stub of the arrowhead was still visible as it burrowed into the talespinner's flesh.
“It got away from me! I'm a fool! An old fool! Can you get it, girl?”
Telyn made no answer, but instead thrust the tongs into the open wound. Red blood spilled and splattered the floorboards. Gudrin grit her teeth and hissed through them, but did not pull away. Brand suddenly became aware of Modi, who was standing very close, watching everyone intensely. His knuckles stood out white upon the haft of his axe.
“Got it!” shouted Telyn, pulling the tongs free. With two quick strides she took the arrowhead to the pitcher and dropped it in. The water bubbled and hissed and soon the cursed thing was no more.
Gudrin swore again, wrapping her hand. “I should have done that in the first place. Thank you, girl.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“How can we stand against weapons such as these?” demanded Brand aloud.
“Your wards protected you, as I said,” Gudrin told him. While she talked she set a prepared poultice of healing herbs on Jak's wounds. “And we may not be completely without our own special armaments. What puzzles me is why they would use such weapons on young harmless folk such as yourselves. It is a mystery coupled with Voynod's stalking of you. It is clear that the Enemy regards you as some kind of threat. I must have a smoke and a think upon it,” she said. She donned her hat, slung her rucksack, clasped her book and slid it back under her arm.
After checking on his brother, who was now less deathly pale, Brand followed Gudrin out onto the porch. Corbin came after him and pressed a sandwich and a mug of milk into his hands, for which he was grateful. Both of them sat on low-slung porch chairs. Gudrin smoked a delicately carved pipe, the bowl of which was shaped like a bear's head. Blue smoke rose from the bear's gaping jaws.
Outside the day was a fine one, the snow having melted, but there was a chill wind up, and winter could not be far off. Brand enjoyed the feel of the sunshine and waited while Gudrin had her think. Then, however, he recalled his meeting with Oberon. He found it strange that he had forgotten about it until now. Even now, he wondered somewhat if it could have all been a waking dream. He told Gudrin about it, filling in every detail he could recall.
Gudrin leaned forward, puffing on her pipe. She asked several details of Oberon's appearance, and then at last leaned back, satisfied. “It was Oberon, that's for certain. It's a wonder you can recall him so well, however. Perhaps your ward is working better than even it should.”
“Why should I forget seeing him?”
“That is one of the powers of the lord Oberon. He can make folk forget seeing him, speaking with him. It is useful in his manipulation of events,” she said, then fell silent for a time, puffing on her pipe. “But why is even Oberon so convinced of your importance?”
“I find it hard to believe that it's just me. Perhaps we are confusing something. I'm only a River boy from a small isle on the Berrywine. I know nothing more than how to travel water, chop wood and gather berries.”
Gudrin swept away his arguments with a wave of her bandaged hand. “Nonsense. All of you River Haven folk sell yourselves short. The blood of many champions runs in your veins. You must recall that you are the survivors, the descendants of the best of your race. Originally, you were warriors all, and a quarrelsome lot, if the stories are to be believed.”
“River Folk? Warriors all? That is hard to swallow.”
“Believe it. It is written in the Teret,” said Gudrin, striking her book soundly. She took her pipe from her mouth and tapped out the smoldering ashes, then refilled it with fresh stock.
Soon Modi came outside. He stood on the porch near them for a moment, the boards sagging beneath his weight, before moving out into the yard.
“He guards you closely,” said Brand.
Gudrin shrugged. “He is of the warriors. His father is a great clanmaster among the Kindred. All of his clan are warriors.”
“If they are as big as he is, I can see why,” mused Brand. He watched as Modi set up a row of pumpkins on the fenceposts near the road. He readied his axe and began to exercise with it, chopping the pumpkins like the heads of enemies. Each of them fell neatly in half, then in quarters. His swings were precise and powerful. “He cuts only pumpkins, but still I am impressed.”
“Modi's clan is an old one. Many of his folk were those that survived Myrrdin's campaign and faced the Faerie when the Pact was forged. It is ironic that he should be here to witness its breaking.”
“What are we to do, Gudrin?”
Gudrin compressed her lips, sucking on her pipe for a time before answering. A cherry-red glow brightened in the bear's mouth. “I must march in search of Myrrdin,” she said with a sigh. “Only he might know how to reforge the Pact, or perhaps some other way to save the Haven. Besides, my business is with him in any case.”
“So you will leave us soon?”
“Yes, as soon as I am sure that your brother will live. Most likely, we will leave at dawn tomorrow. It seems that Myrrdin is delayed elsewhere, although I can think of little save death that would keep him from renewing the Pact. I fear the worst, but still I must find him. I only wish I weren't so weary of travel.”
Gudrin's rucksack was at her side. This and her Teret, the book of the Kindred, were never far from her hand. Brand eyed the rucksack and wondered what was the nature of the burden within that it could slow someone as tenacious as Gudrin. He watched it, wondering if it would move, but it did not.
“My burden sleeps,” said Gudrin. Brand gave a guilty start. Gudrin turned to look at him with a twinkle in her water-blue eyes. “You interest me, boy. You alone of your clan can meet my eyes now almost without flinching. That is a rare thing, and I'm not simply boasting. The talespinners of the Kindred have a power in their eyes, and I'm the leader of my clan.”
“It would seem that clans work differently with the Battleaxe Folk,” said Brand.