Yells came from outside the manor, and Liaze grabbed up the shuttered lantern and bolted from the chamber and down the corridor and into the cellars below.
Swiftly she ran, and as she crossed the floor she heard footsteps pounding above. To the root cellar she fled, where Gwyd stood waiting.
“Now,” said Liaze, closing down the lantern and shouldering the rucksack and then nocking an arrow, “ ’tis time to fly.”
In the dark, Gwyd opened the slanted door, and up and out and into the moonlight he stepped, right into the grasp of a great Troll.
“Rawww!” roared the twelve-foot-tall creature, snatching up the wee Brownie, the long-knife flying from Gwyd’s hand.
But then the Troll gasped, and looked at his chest, where the arrow had pierced his heart.
Thock! And another shaft sprang forth from his left eye.
The Troll reeled and stumbled backward and thudded to the earth, the fiend dead even as it hit the ground, Gwyd yet clutched in its monstrous grip.
Liaze stepped out from the cellar, another arrow nocked, but it was not needed.
She helped pry the Troll’s fingers loose, and groaning in pain, Gwyd said, “I think some o’ ma ribs be broke.”
“Nevertheless,” said Liaze, taking up the long-knife and sheathing it in the scabbard at Gwyd’s side, “we must flee before others come.”
And so, across the lawn they ran, where Liaze helped Gwyd over the wall. Into the forest beyond they fled, Gwyd gasping in agony, while behind flames roared out from the dining chamber window, the bellow of the fire counterpoint to the shouts and squalls of Redcaps and Trolls as they battled the blaze inside.
29
The sun had risen by the time they rode out from the woods, and Gwyd said, “Princess, head f’r the nearest burnie, I canna catch ma breath, and I need t’take a simple.”
Liaze looked downslope to left and right and angled Nightshade a bit dextral, and they rode to a wee bourne running toward a farmstead below. She halted the horses and then helped Gwyd down from Pied Agile and said, “What can I do to aid?”
“I be needin a cup, if ye dinna mind, Princess.”
As Liaze fetched a cup from the goods, the Brownie stepped to the rill and, groaning, eased down. He took a pinch of powder from one of his belt pockets, and when Liaze knelt beside him and handed him the cup, he dipped up some spring water and dropped the powder within. After swirling it ’round a bit, he gulped it down.
“We’ll need t’sit awhile, m’lady,” said Gwyd. “Soon I’ll be ready t’ride, and ma ribs, they’ll be mended in a day or two.”
“A day or two? What did you drink, a magic potion?”
“Weel, I would nae call it magic, but merely quick healin. Och, we Brunies seldom be injured in the daily course o’ livin, but I would nae call gettin squeezed by a Troll as bein in the daily course. Nae, Princess, ma herbs nae be magic, but the laird’s decanters do be.”
“Ah, the decanters.” Liaze stood and stepped to the horses to retrieve the rucksack.
“Och, m’lady, would y’fetch one o’ them bottles o’ wine while y’r at it? Ma ribs could use a bit o’ soothin.”
Liaze laughed and grabbed one of the cloth-wrapped bottles from the cargo, along with a corkscrew from the cooking gear.
She brought all back to Gwyd and sat down and popped the plug from the bottle and handed it to him. Gwyd offered her the first drink of the wine, but Liaze shook her head. Instead, she took the small harp from the bag and set it aside, and then one by one she took out the wrapped crystal goods and removed the cloth from each decanter and examined them: arcane runes were deeply carved into their sides.
She unwrapped the crystal bar. It, too, had runes carved into its sides, and along one side at each end there seemed to be a stopper. “You called this a ‘bridge,’ Gwyd. What is it for? And these runes: what are they?”
Gwyd took another long pull on the wine and wiped his mouth along his sleeve and said, “Wellanow, Princess-these runes? — they be what powers the magic. Them and the fact the decanters and bridge be carved fra the same single piece o’ pure crystal. Y’see, when I came t’ma laird’s place, he told me that the runes be used t’turn grape juice t’wine, and then the wine t’brandy. Here, let me show ye.” Gwyd took up one of the decanters, uncapped it, and poured a cupful of wine in it, and then picked up the crystal bridge. “Though it now be wine therein, usually y’put ord’nary juice in this one and stopper it wi’ the bridge, like so. Mind ye now, top j’st this vessel and nae the other. See this rune on the decanter-and this end o’ the bridge wi’ the matchin rune-that be the cap f’r this one.” Gwyd popped the stopper on the side of one end of the bar onto the decanter, the bar itself now jutting out thwartwise. “Then ye wait f’r the juice t’ferment, which it does o’ernight.-And don’t that be a wonder?” He paused in his explanation and took another slug of wine as Liaze examined the decanter and bar.
“Then what?” asked Liaze.
“Then, Princess, ye connect the other end o’ the bridge t’the other decanter-see these runes on the bar and the matchin ones on the vessel? — so that it spans fra this one t’that one.” Now the decanters stood side by side, with the crystal bridge spanning crosswise from the top of one to the top of the other. “This one, the first one, turns hot,” said Gwyd, “and that one, the other, turns cold. Here, feel them.”
Liaze reached out and placed a hand on each, her eyes widening in wonder. “Why, yes. Warm and chill. How splendid.”
Gwyd took another gulp of wine and said, “As the heated vapors be driven fra the hot t’the cold, they drip out as brandy. And that do be a wonder in itself.”
Liaze watched as the first drop fell into the cold side. “How long does that take altogether?”
“If the hot decanter be full when y’start, less than a candlemark, Princess. This one, wi’ nought but a cup or so in it, well, it should be done right soon.”
Liaze nodded and then shook her head in bemusement. “How marvelous these are. In the Autumnwood, we make brandy using copper vats and a coil of copper tubing.”
“Aye, and that’s the way I maself always did it, but when I heard my laird hae such wondrous thin’s, I knew I could take ma golden-apple juice and turn it t’cider and then connect the bridge and distill the elixir o’ life-givin all in a day or so. Och, wi’ them, I could be done so much faster than I otherwise could.”
Liaze nodded and watched as brandy was distilled from wine. “Gwyd, what if we connected the bridge backwards? Would it make a death-dealing drink instead?”
“I nae ken, m’lady, f’r I hae ne’er tried it such. F’r all I ken, it j’st might explode.”
They watched while more brandy dripped into the cold side, and finally Liaze said, “This life-giving elixir, how far must we go to fetch some golden apples?”
“Many a day, Princess. Many a day.” Gwyd gestured toward the horses and said, “Though on Pied Agile and Nightshade, it’ll be quicker than me afoot, as I hae always gone before. But, list: fetchin the apples be a dangerous thin’, f’r the garden and the apples themselves be well warded.”
“Garden?”
“Aye, a high-walled garden wi’ but a single e’erbearin tree.”
“And this tree is well warded?”
“Aye, by a giant unsleepin serpent.” Gwyd drank the last of the wine and Liaze got up and fetched another bottle.
“If it’s warded by an unsleeping serpent, how did you get some of the apples in the first place?”
As Liaze sat down and opened the second bottle, “Ah, Princess,” said Gwyd, “there be but one day a year when the serpent dozes f’r a moment-and a moment only-and that gi’es him all the rest he needs f’r another entire year. It be in that moment the tree itsel’ be unwarded, and that be when I dart in, fetch a single apple and dart
