“Thilfox?” asked Brand, stepping forward. “You're Thilfox Drake?”
The old man made an impatient gesture. “Of course, boy.”
“I apologize, sir. I didn't…” Brand began, but the others were all talking, ignoring them. They were trying to decide who should perform the ceremony of the Offering. Old man Tad Silure and Gram Rabing seemed particularly bitter, while Irva Hoot looked bored.
Brand stepped forward, but Corbin took his arm. “Perhaps we should just go.”
“No, we must tell them about the Kindred and about Arlon.”
“Eh? What was that?” demanded Thilfox suddenly. He rose up and approached them. “Did you say something about the Kindred, meaning the Battleaxe Folk? What would you boys know of such wanderers?”
Brand was a bit taken aback. Thilfox seemed at times deaf and at other times possessed of the keenest hearing. “I–I would like to tell you that we have brought with us Gudrin of the Talespinners and Modi of the Warriors. Gudrin has much craft and lore, I believe she may be well qualified to perform the Offering.”
“Oh you do, do you, boy?” asked old man Tad Silure, rising to his feet. He was a balding man of exceptional age and vitality. He had a habit of smiling and sneering at the same time, which revealed his long yellow teeth. “Who are you to make the council's decisions for them? Like everyone in your clan, you think you own the River itself.”
“Why don't we all control ourselves and hear what they have to say, Tad,” suggested Tylag, checking his own anger with an obvious effort.
“Yes boy, make your report,” said Irva Hoot. She adjusted her clay pipe so that it poked from the opposite side of her mouth and peered at them dubiously.
Brand explained at length what had happened to them for the last couple of days, including the encounters with the shade, the Battleaxe Folk and Arlon's boat. He left out any mention of Telyn's odd candle, or her plans for this evening. When he was finished, Thilfox eyed him oddly.
“That's all you wish to say, Brand?” asked Thilfox.
Brand looked down. “That's all, sir.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Then we will discuss this shade at greater length tomorrow,” said Thilfox, turning away from the Brand. “Tonight, all that matters is that the Pact is maintained.”
The clan leaders began to debate the issue heatedly. Only Gram Rabing stepped over to the boys and asked them a few questions about Jak and how they were faring out on the Isle alone. She tipped her head back toward the others. “They will come up for air shortly. In the meantime, why don't you boys go find these friends of yours?”
“Why are they fighting so fiercely, Gram?” asked Brand.
“None of them want to perform the ceremony, but neither are any of them willing to entrust another. That's why Myrrdin was so helpful. He was always a neutral party. Now, why don't you boys move along. There isn't a lot of time left before the ceremony. Be back by twilight. By then they will be desperate to get anyone to do it.”
They turned to go, and found Thilfox holding the door open for them. As he let them out, he gave the boys a rare thin-lipped smile. “You did well to bring back the Talespinner. If she is as you say, it might just save the Pact. Now don't dawdle! Flirt with the girls only sparingly!”
Shaking their heads, Brand and Corbin trotted down the gravel path to the street and turned toward the town common. The snow had almost all melted away, except for certain white mounds beneath trees and sheltered by boulders. On the common the celebration was in full swing beneath the great domed tents and out on the playing fields. Children laughed and capered in circles, making faerie rings of their own in the icy grass. Young girls, wearing multi-hued dresses and mock wings of gauze chased one another in the wooded area. Vendors hawked sweetmeats and rainbow-sticks, which bore ribbons of every color that would flutter in the wind or when a child ran with it held aloft. Wheelbarrows loaded with cider and gingerbeer moved through the crowds, making frequent sales.
“Too bad we are on such an urgent mission,” said Corbin regretfully.
Brand agreed. The two of them searched through the crowds. Brand wondered if the mood of the people would have changed if they knew that it still had not been decided who was going to make this year's Offering.
After they had searched for several minutes, Brand felt a tap on his back. He whirled to find Telyn smiling up at him. “You never do look back, do you?” she asked.
“Telyn! It's good that you found us. The council wants to see Gudrin right away.”
Telyn led them to the second great dome tent, where the livestock for the Offering were kept. There they found Jak, Gudrin and Modi. Modi had already downed several mugs of ale and wasn't pleased to have to leave the festival. Gudrin quieted his complaints with a gesture.
Sometime later they all arrived at the door of Drake manor. This time Modi did the knocking. The door was flung open almost immediately. Thilfox ushered them all in and up to the council chambers.
Irva Hoot and old man Tad Silure were the most reluctant to accept Gudrin as a genuine authority. They seemed to think that the Rabing clan had brought her in to upstage them somehow. Tylag quickly grew exasperated.
“Here, here,” said Gudrin finally, holding up her hand. Her voice was such that it carried to the limits of the chamber and brought quiet with the power of its volume. “I will tell you a bit of what I know of your Pact. Recall that for the Kindred, only a handful of generations have passed since the Pact was made. Our memories are therefore fresher.”
With the same careful ritual that she had performed this morning, Gudrin unwrapped her leather-bound book. The clan leaders craned their necks to see what was written on the page, although Brand doubted that any of them could read the odd, blocky script of the Kindred. “To tell the story of the Pact, it is first necessary to know that it was Myrrdin who forged it.”
Thilfox made an impatient gesture. “We know this, spinner. Pray continue.”
Gudrin gave him a baleful stare before going on. Thilfox recoiled visibly. Gudrin then turned her attention to her book, thumbing through the pages and muttering. Finally, she closed it and let it rest in her lap.
She began to speak and while her lips moved, so did her eyes. She caught each of theirs in turn and locked stares for a moment. Even though he was ready for it, Brand sucked in his breath when he met Gudrin's watery blue eyes. They all fell silent and listened to the Talespinner as if mesmerized.
Chapter Seventeen
When Myrrdin was yet young, he lived with the Faerie. As many have claimed, he indeed has much Faerie blood in his veins. Some say that his mother was a human princess exchanged for a changeling at birth, others that his father was an elf of almost human stature. All this aside, there is no doubt that Myrrdin is a man of rare talents.
In his early life, he was raised by the Faerie themselves. He lived in their wondrous lands, which as all know can be found by mortals only at twilight or midnight, and only at the foot of a rainbow or widdershuns nine turns 'round an enchanted fairy mound. In this place, Myrrdin grew wise and tricksy, and though he was not ageless, age took a great while to catch him.
It was on his hundredth birthday or so that manhood finally began to take him. He began to know the females among the Faerie then, in their mryiad forms. He was quite popular among them, as his true youth and semi-mortal life were refreshing and innocent to the ancient ones. He knew enough to avoid those that would kill with their embraces-as I said, he had grown wise in their tutelage. The lovely green-complected mermaids of the sea and the
