Read Online Haven 3 Shadow Magic (Haven Series 3) by B. V. Larson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: B. V. Larson
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laid down on his side. “You should have tagged along if you wanted to know more,” he growled. “They are your people, after all. Why didn’t you just join the throng that circled me?”
“And have it be my head that thee wrongfully severed?” chuckled the manling.
His words caused Brand a pang of guilt that the creature couldn’t have understood.
Tomkin continued talking unconcernedly. “I would be hard put at any rate to fit in with Oberon’s court. I’ve spent too much time with River Folk. Thy stink permeates my person. The others would have known.”
Brand waved him away and tried to go back to sleep. This time, his axe gave him a sharp rap of warning. A sudden pressure on his ribs made his eyes snap open again. Tomkin now stood on his chest. The manling gazed down into his face like a presumptuous housecat.
“What are you doing?” Brand asked in amazement. Brand shook him off and sat up. Tomkin hopped down and smirked at him.
“Calm thy anger. We must speak plainly.”
Brand was as surprised at the idea of one of the Wee Folk speaking plainly as he was to have been walked upon. He glared at the manling, but nodded for him to continue.
“Dando had a dream, and I think it was a good one,” Tomkin said. “He wanted the Wee Folk to wield a Jewel and thus become more than sneer-worthy. I bear Lavatis, and thou art the wielder of Ambros. If we can strike a bargain of sorts, we shall be the ones to govern a new Pact and hold Herla at bay.”
“But what of Oberon?”
Tomkin sniffed. “The elf lord has no basis for power left. It is best to deal with those who wield power.”
“But you don’t wield power,” pointed out Brand. “Dando tried and went feral. Oberon is already attuned to the Jewel and would do the best to balance things between the Haven and Herla.”
“Ah, but he is also likely to give the worst terms for just those reasons, is he not?”
Brand thought about it for a moment, recalling the Pact and the seemingly endless tribute of one seventh of their crops. At the time, such a bounty was unquestioned and reasonable, but now, with the expansion of possibilities, it did seem a lop-sided arrangement.
“If a deal was struck between the River Folk the Wee Folk—given that we could properly wield Lavatis—our terms would be nowhere near so harsh,” said Tomkin.
“But you don’t speak for your people,” object Brand. “You are only a spy from the marshes.”
At this, Tomkin grinned. “Thou art mistaken,” he said. He turned, placed his fingers over his mouth in an odd configuration and performed a perfect imitation of the call of a night insect that infested this region of the swamp. An odd buzzing sound filled the gatehouse, but no one else took notice.
“I’ve brought a companion.”
There was a blur of movement and a creature very much like Dando sprang over the gatehouse wall and scuttled forward to join Tomkin. The creature tipped his hat to Brand and bowed low so that his coattails flipped up.
“Piskin, at your service, sirrah,” said Piskin. He flashed a winning smile. His accent and speech were quite different than Tomkin’s, being both more modern and more eloquent.
“Huh! Another spy!” whispered Brand. It came to him Modi would have said exactly the same thing. Perhaps he was beginning to think like a warrior. The idea made him smile grimly.
Tomkin looked angry and opened his wide mouth to retort, but Piskin laid a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.
“Not at all, sirrah, not at all,” said Piskin, taking Brand’s comment in stride. He paused his strutting in front of Brand, and gazed up at him steadily. Brand thought that perhaps the creature recognized him, but he could not recall having met him.
“I’m an envoy in fact, for my people,” continued Piskin. “The Wee Folk have lords of our own, you see.”
“Are you a lord of the Wee Folk, then?” asked Brand, putting his head on his elbow. He recalled once having been greatly
“And have it be my head that thee wrongfully severed?” chuckled the manling.
His words caused Brand a pang of guilt that the creature couldn’t have understood.
Tomkin continued talking unconcernedly. “I would be hard put at any rate to fit in with Oberon’s court. I’ve spent too much time with River Folk. Thy stink permeates my person. The others would have known.”
Brand waved him away and tried to go back to sleep. This time, his axe gave him a sharp rap of warning. A sudden pressure on his ribs made his eyes snap open again. Tomkin now stood on his chest. The manling gazed down into his face like a presumptuous housecat.
“What are you doing?” Brand asked in amazement. Brand shook him off and sat up. Tomkin hopped down and smirked at him.
“Calm thy anger. We must speak plainly.”
Brand was as surprised at the idea of one of the Wee Folk speaking plainly as he was to have been walked upon. He glared at the manling, but nodded for him to continue.
“Dando had a dream, and I think it was a good one,” Tomkin said. “He wanted the Wee Folk to wield a Jewel and thus become more than sneer-worthy. I bear Lavatis, and thou art the wielder of Ambros. If we can strike a bargain of sorts, we shall be the ones to govern a new Pact and hold Herla at bay.”
“But what of Oberon?”
Tomkin sniffed. “The elf lord has no basis for power left. It is best to deal with those who wield power.”
“But you don’t wield power,” pointed out Brand. “Dando tried and went feral. Oberon is already attuned to the Jewel and would do the best to balance things between the Haven and Herla.”
“Ah, but he is also likely to give the worst terms for just those reasons, is he not?”
Brand thought about it for a moment, recalling the Pact and the seemingly endless tribute of one seventh of their crops. At the time, such a bounty was unquestioned and reasonable, but now, with the expansion of possibilities, it did seem a lop-sided arrangement.
“If a deal was struck between the River Folk the Wee Folk—given that we could properly wield Lavatis—our terms would be nowhere near so harsh,” said Tomkin.
“But you don’t speak for your people,” object Brand. “You are only a spy from the marshes.”
At this, Tomkin grinned. “Thou art mistaken,” he said. He turned, placed his fingers over his mouth in an odd configuration and performed a perfect imitation of the call of a night insect that infested this region of the swamp. An odd buzzing sound filled the gatehouse, but no one else took notice.
“I’ve brought a companion.”
There was a blur of movement and a creature very much like Dando sprang over the gatehouse wall and scuttled forward to join Tomkin. The creature tipped his hat to Brand and bowed low so that his coattails flipped up.
“Piskin, at your service, sirrah,” said Piskin. He flashed a winning smile. His accent and speech were quite different than Tomkin’s, being both more modern and more eloquent.
“Huh! Another spy!” whispered Brand. It came to him Modi would have said exactly the same thing. Perhaps he was beginning to think like a warrior. The idea made him smile grimly.
Tomkin looked angry and opened his wide mouth to retort, but Piskin laid a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.
“Not at all, sirrah, not at all,” said Piskin, taking Brand’s comment in stride. He paused his strutting in front of Brand, and gazed up at him steadily. Brand thought that perhaps the creature recognized him, but he could not recall having met him.
“I’m an envoy in fact, for my people,” continued Piskin. “The Wee Folk have lords of our own, you see.”
“Are you a lord of the Wee Folk, then?” asked Brand, putting his head on his elbow. He recalled once having been greatly
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