Witches' Brew Read online

  The armored rider’s black gauntlet lay before them in the center of the bridge.

  “You see what I mean,” Questor whispered enigmatically.

  Ben didn’t, but it made no difference. Not wanting to prolong the confrontation, Ben shouted down to the two on the bridge, “I am Ben Holiday, King of Landover. What do you want with me?”

  The armored rider’s helmet tilted upward slightly. “Lord Holiday. I am Rydall, King of Marnhull and of all the lands east beyond the fairy mists to the Great Impassable.” The man’s voice was deep and booming. “I have come to seek your surrender, High Lord. I would have it peaceably but will secure it by force if I must. I wish your crown and your throne and your medallion of office. I wish your command over your subjects and your Kingdom. Am I plain enough for you?”

  Ben felt the blood rush to his face. “What is plain to me, Rydall, King of Marnhull, is that you are a fool if you expect me to pay you any mind.”

  “And you are a fool if you fail to heed me,” the other answered quickly. “Hear me out before you say anything more. My Kingdom of Marnhull lies beyond the fairy mists. All that exists on that side of the boundary belongs to me. I took it by force and strength of arms long ago, and I took it all. For years I have searched for a way to pass through the mists, but the fairy magic kept me at bay. That is no longer the case. I have breached your principal defense, Lord Holiday, and your country lies open to me at last. Yours is a small, impossibly outnumbered army. Mine, on the other hand, is vast and seasoned and would crush you in a day. It waits now at your borders for my command. If I call, it will sweep through Landover like a plague and destroy everything in its path. You lack any reasonable means of stopping it, and once it has been set in motion, it will take time to bring it under control again. I do not need to speak more explicitly, do I, High Lord?”

  Ben glanced quickly at Willow and his advisors. “Have any of you ever heard of this fellow?” he asked softly. All three shook their heads.

  “Holiday, will you surrender to me?” Rydall cried out again in his great voice.

  Ben turned back. “I think not. Maybe another day. King Rydall, I cannot believe that you came here expecting me to do what you ask. No one has heard of you. You bring no evidence of your office or your armies. You sit there on your horse making threats and demands, and that is all you do. Two men, all alone, come out of nowhere.” He paused. “What if I were to have you seized and thrown in prison?”

  Rydall laughed, and his laugh was as big and deep as his voice and decidedly mean. “I would not advise you to try that, High Lord. It would not be as easy as it looks.”

  Holiday nodded. “Pick up your gauntlet and go home. I’m hungry for breakfast.”

  “No, High Lord. It is you who must pick up the gauntlet if you do not accept my demand for surrender.” Rydall eased his horse forward a step. “Your land lies in the path of my army, and I cannot go around it. I will not. It will fall to me one way or another. But the blood of those who perish will not be on my hands; it will be on your own. The choice is yours, High Lord.”

  “I have made my choice,” Ben answered.

  Rydall laughed anew. “Bravely said. Well, I did not think you would give in to me easily, not without some proof of my strength, some reason to believe that your failure to do as I have commanded will cause you, and perhaps those you love, harm.”

  Ben flushed anew, angry now. “Making threats will not work with me, Rydall of Marnhull. Our conversation is finished.”

  “Wait, High Lord!” the other exclaimed hurriedly. “Do not be so quick to interrupt—”

  “Go back to wherever it is you came from!” Ben snapped, already turning away.

  Then he saw Mistaya. She was standing alone on the parapets several dozen feet away, staring down at Rydall. She was perfectly still, honey-blond hair streaming down her narrow shoulders, elfin face intense, emerald eyes fixed on the riders at the gate. She seemed oblivious to everything else, the whole of her concentration directed downward to where Rydall and his companion waited.

  “Mistaya,” Ben called softly. He did not want her there where she could be seen, did not want her so close to the edge. He felt sweat break out on his forehead. His voice rose. “Mistaya!”

  She didn’t hear or didn’t want to hear. Ben left the others and walked to her. Wordlessly he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her away from the wall. Mistaya did not resist. She put her arms around his neck and allowed him to set her down again.

  He kept his annoyance hidden as he bent close. “Go inside, please,” he told her.

  She looked at him curiously, as if puzzling something through, then turned obediently, went through the door, and was gone.

  “High Lord Ben Holiday!” Rydall called from below.

  Ben’s teeth clenched as he wheeled back to the wall one final time. “I am finished with you, Rydall!” he shouted back in fury.

  “Let me have him seized and brought before you!” Abernathy snapped.

  “A final word!” Rydall called out. “I said I did not expect you to surrender without some form of proof that I do not lie. Would you have me provide that for you, then, High Lord? Proof that I am able to do as I have threatened?”

  Ben took a deep breath. “You must do as you choose, Rydall of Marnhull. But remember this—you must answer for your choice.”

  There was a long silence as the two stared fixedly at each other. Despite his anger and resolve, Ben felt a chill pass through him, as if Rydall had taken better measure of him than he had of the other. It was an unsettling moment.

  “Good-bye for now, High Lord Ben Holiday,” Rydall said finally. “I will return in three days time. Perhaps your answer will be different then. I leave the gauntlet where it lies. No one but you will be able to pick it up. And pick it up you shall.”

  He wheeled about and galloped away. The other rider lingered a moment, all hunched down and still. This rider had not moved or spoken the entire time. It had shown nothing of itself. Now it turned away unhurriedly and moved after Rydall. Together they crossed the open meadow through the wildflowers and grasses, black shadows against the coming light, and disappeared into the trees beyond.

  Ben Holiday and his companions watched them go until they were out of sight and did not speak a word.

  Breakfast that morning was a somber affair. Ben, Willow, Questor, and Abernathy sat huddled close at one end of the long dining table, picking at their food and talking. Mistaya had been fed separately and had been sent outside to play. As an afterthought, Ben had dispatched Bunion to keep an eye on her.

  “So no one has heard of Rydall?” Ben repeated once again. He kept coming back to that same question. “You’re sure?”

  “High Lord, this man is a stranger to Landover,” Questor Thews assured him. “There is no Rydall and no Marnhull anywhere within our borders.”

  “Nor, for all we know, anywhere without, either!” Abernathy snapped heatedly. “Rydall claims to have come through the fairy mists, but we have only his word for that. No one can penetrate the mists, High Lord. The fairies would not permit it. Only magic allows passage, and only the fairies or their creatures possess it. Rydall does not seem one of those to me.”

  “Perhaps, like me, he possesses a talisman that allows passage,” Ben suggested.

  Questor bent forward with a frown. “What of that black-cloaked companion? I told you I sensed magic in that pair, but it was probably not Rydall’s. Perhaps the other is a creature of magic, a fairy being of the same sort as the Gorse. Such a being could secure passage.”

  Ben thought back to the Gorse, the dark fairy that had been released and brought back into Landover at the time of Mistaya’s birth. A creature of that sort was certainly capable of negotiating the fairy mists and visiting as much misery as possible on any who stood in its way.

  “But why would a creature of such power serve Rydall?” he asked abruptly. “Wouldn’t it be the other way around?”

  “Perhaps the fairy creature is in his t
hrall,” Willow offered quietly. “Or perhaps things are not as they appear, and it is Rydall in fact who serves.”

  “If the black-cloaked one has the magic, it might be so and still appear otherwise,” Questor mused. “I wish I could have penetrated their disguise.”

  Ben leaned back in his chair. “Let’s review this a moment. These two, Rydall and his companion, appear out of nowhere. One of them, or maybe both, possesses magic—considerable magic, they claim. But we don’t know what that magic does. What we do know is that they want an unconditional surrender of the throne of Landover and that they seem confident that they will have it one way or the other. Why?”

  “Why?” Questor Thews repeated blankly.

  “Put it another way,” Ben continued. He pushed back his plate and looked at the wizard. “They made a demand, offering no evidence that it should be given any serious consideration. They revealed no magic of the sort that might intimidate, and they showed nothing of their vaunted army. They simply made a demand and then rode off, giving us three days to consider. To consider what? Their demand that we have already rejected? I don’t think so.”

  “You think they intend to offer us some demonstration of their power,” Willow surmised.

  Ben nodded. “I do. They haven’t given us three days for nothing. And they made a fairly obvious threat on leaving. Rydall was too quick to back away from his demand for immediate surrender. Why make it if you don’t intend to enforce it? Some sort of game is being played here, and I don’t think we know all the rules yet.”

  The others nodded soberly. “What should we do, High Lord?” Questor asked finally.

  Ben shrugged. “I wish I knew.” He thought about it for a moment. “Let’s use the Landsview, Questor, to see if there is any sign of Rydall or his army in Landover. We can make a thorough search. I don’t want to alarm the people by giving out word of this threat until we find out if it is real, but it might not hurt to increase our border patrols for a few days.”

  “It might not hurt to increase our watch here as well,” Abernathy growled, straightening himself. “The threat, after all, seems directed at us.”

  Ben agreed. Since no one had anything further to offer, they adjourned from the table to begin the day’s work, much of which was already set by an agenda that had been in place for weeks and had nothing to do with Rydall and his threats. Ben went about his business in calm, unperturbed fashion, but his apprehension about Marnhull’s King remained undiminished.

  When there was time, Ben went up into the castle’s highest tower, a small circular chamber in which the wall opened halfway around from floor to ceiling, to look out across the land. A railing rose waist-high along the edge to guard against falls, and a silver lectern faced out from the center of the railing into the clouds. Thousands of intricately scrolled runes were carved into the metal. This was the Landsview. He closed the door to the room and locked it, then pulled a worn map of Landover from a chest and crossed to the lectern. He spread the map across its reading surface and fastened it in place with clips.

  Then he placed himself directly before the lectern, gripped the guardrail, and focused his attention on the map. A warm vibrancy began to emanate from beneath his hands. He centered his concentration on the lake country, for that was where he wished to begin his search.

  Seconds later the walls of the tower fell away, and he was flying across Landover with nothing but the guardrail for support. It was an illusion, he knew by now, for he was still within the castle and only his mind was free to roam Landover, but the illusion created by the Landsview’s magic was powerful. He sped across the lake country’s forests, rivers, lakes, and swamps, all the details of the land revealed to him, his eyes as sharp as an eagle’s at hunt. The search revealed nothing. There was no sign of Rydall or his black-cloaked companion or their army. The borders to the fairy mists were quiet.

  Ben was still brooding over the matter at midday when Willow took him aside. They walked out into a private garden that opened just off the ground-floor rooms Willow kept for herself and Mistaya. Mistaya was not there. She was eating with Parsnip in the kitchen.

  “I want to send Mistaya away,” Willow announced without preamble, her eyes fixing on him. “Tomorrow.”

  Ben was silent for a moment, staring back at her. “Your premonition?”

  She nodded. “It was too strong to ignore. Perhaps Rydall’s coming was its cause. Perhaps not. But I would feel better if Mistaya were somewhere else for a while. It may be difficult enough protecting ourselves.”

  They walked down a winding pathway into a stand of rhododendrons and stopped. Ben breathed in the fragrance. He was remembering Rydall’s veiled threat about harm coming to those he loved. And Rydall had seen Mistaya on the wall.

  Ben folded his arms and looked off into the distance. “You are probably right. But where could we send her that would be safer than inside these walls?”

  Willow took his hand. “To my father. To the River Master. I know how difficult he has been in the past, how opposed to us at times. I do not defend him. But he loves his granddaughter and will see that she is well cared for. He can protect her better than we. No one can come into the country of the once-fairy if they are not invited. Their magic, for all that it has been diminished by their leaving the mists, is still powerful. Mistaya would be safe.”

  She was right, of course. The River Master and his people possessed considerable magic, and their country was secure from those who were not welcome. Finding the way in without a guide was all but impossible; finding the way out again was harder still. But Ben was not convinced. The River Master and his daughter were not close, and while the Ruler of the lake-country people had been pleased by the birth of Mistaya and had journeyed to Landover to visit her, he was still as aloof and independent as he had ever been. He accepted Ben as King of Landover grudgingly and without conviction that the monarchy served any real purpose in the lives of the once-fairy. He had obstructed and refuted Ben on more than one occasion, and he made no effort to hide his own ambitions to extend his rule.

  Still, Ben was as worried as Willow that Mistaya would not be safe at Sterling Silver. He had been thinking about it ever since he had taken his daughter down off that battlement. If Willow’s premonition was correct—and there was no reason to think it wasn’t—then the real danger was here, since the threat that faced the family was principally to him. It made sense to remove Mistaya to another place, and there was no safer place in Landover than the lake country.

  “All right,” he agreed. “Will you go with her?”

  Willow shook her head slowly. “No, Ben. My life is with you. I will remain here. If I can, I will help protect you. Perhaps I will have another sensing.”

  “Willow …” he began.

  “No, Ben. Don’t ask it of me. I have left you before when I did not want to, and each time I almost lost you. This time I will not go. My father will take good care of Mistaya.” Her eyes made it clear that the matter was settled. “Send another instead to see her safely on her journey. Send Questor or Abernathy.”

  Ben gripped her hand. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll send them both. Questor will keep Mistaya in line, and Abernathy will counsel Questor against any rash use of his magic. And I’ll send an escort of King’s Guards to keep them all safe.”

  Willow pressed herself against him wordlessly, and Ben hugged her back. They stood holding each other in the midday sunlight. “I have to tell you that I don’t like letting her go,” Ben murmured finally.

  “Nor I,” Willow whispered back. He could feel her heart beat against his chest. “I spoke with Mistaya earlier. I asked her what she was doing on the wall, staring down at Rydall.” She paused. “Mistaya said that she knows him.”

  Ben stiffened. “Knows him?”

  “I asked her how, but she said she wasn’t sure.” Willow shook her head. “I think she was as confused as we are.”

  They were quiet then, still holding each other, staring off into the gardens, listening
to the sounds of the insects and the birds against the more distant backdrop of the castle’s bustle. A connection between Mistaya and Rydall? Ben felt something cold settle into the pit of his stomach.

  “We’ll send her away at first light,” he whispered, and felt Willow’s arms tighten about him in response.

  Haltwhistle

  Mistaya’s parents told her that evening that they had decided she should visit her grandfather in the lake country and would be leaving in the morning. In typically straightforward fashion she asked if anything was wrong, and they said no. But the way they said it told her there most definitely was.

  Still, she was astute enough in the ways of parents to know better than to contradict them by asking what it was—even though she was quite certain it had something to do with the man who had come to the gates that morning—and she was content to let the matter lie until she could speak to one or the other of them alone. It would be her mother most likely, because her mother was more honest with her than her father was. It wasn’t that her father wanted to deceive her. It was that he persisted in viewing her as a child and sought continually to protect her from what he considered life’s harsh realities. It was an annoying habit, but Mistaya tolerated it as best she could. Her father had trouble understanding her in any event, certainly more than her mother did. He measured her against a standard with which she was not familiar, a standard conceived and developed in his old world, the world called Earth, where magic was practically unheard of and fairy creatures were considered a myth. He loved her, of course, and he would do anything for her. But love and understanding did not necessarily go hand in hand in real life, and such was the case here.

  Her father was not alone in his puzzlement. Most of those who lived in the castle found her a bit odd for one reason or another. She had been aware of it almost from the beginning, but it did not bother her. Her confidence and self-reliance were such that what others thought mattered almost not at all. Her mother was comfortable with her, and her father, if bewildered, was supportive. Abernathy let her do things to him that would have cost another child a quick trip to its room for prolonged consideration of what good manners entailed. Bunion and Parsnip were as odd as she, all ears and teeth and bristly hair, chittering their mysterious language that they thought she couldn’t really understand when, of course, she could.