Free Haven 3 Shadow Magic (Haven Series 3) by B. V. Larson Page B

is it?” he repeated.
    Piskin sighed with a burst of exhalation. It was a sound of bemused exasperation. “Persistence is a virtue!” he said. “But in your case, you might be taking things too far! Allow me to give you a word of advice: don’t inspect every gift given too closely—or you might find people stop giving them to you.”
    Tomkin blinked, then tilted his head. “Where…is…this…gathering?”
    “Very well, if you must know, it is atop mount banning in the Red Rock range. We’ll be there in a trice, if you would only follow along like a good fellow.”
    Piskin arranged his hat on his head, twirled his walking stick twice and hopped off into the night. Tomkin did not move. He stood staring downslope at the other’s retreating back.
    Finally, as Piskin reached the edge of the marshland, the border where the territory of Rabing Castle’s walls once stood, he halted and looked back in surprise. “Hullo? What’s the hold up?”
    “I’m not going,” said Tomkin.
    “WHAT?” Piskin cried, and came hopping back up the slope. His hops were small, rapid and irritable. “How can this be? How can a bumpkin refuse the hand of a dozen maidens who might otherwise be unwilling to grace his lumpish face with their spittle? This is your hour, man! This is your moment. You simply have to make the most of it.”
    “No,” said Tomkin.
    “Why?” hissed Piskin in utter vexation.
    “Because I will stand here with the River Folk. I trust them more than I trust the likes of thee.”
    “Fool!” said Piskin through clenched teeth. He hopped in spun in angry circles around Tomkin, who watched him closely all the while. “You will do no heroics. You will die here, as did Dando. You are even less attuned to the Jewel. You will be forced to use it, and you will die, and they will take it from us. Can you not see, brother?”
    “Do not come near me again,” Tomkin said.
    “Why ever not?”
    “Because I will remove thy head and thy limbs,” said Tomkin in utter sincerity. “I will toast them over a peat fire and chew the meat from thy bones.”
    “Barbarian!” huffed Piskin, but he retreated a yard or more.
    Tomkin turned away and headed toward the River Folk and their fire. He glanced over his shoulder several times as he went, but he saw no more of Piskin.

    * * *

    “Brand! Wake up, Brand! Look, it’s wonderful!” said Telyn. Her hands shook him. Brand groaned aloud and opened one bleary eye. Instead of bright sunlight, he found himself bathed in a cool green gloom. He sat up blinking in astonishment.
    Vines as thick as tree trunks plunged up from the ground, growing before his eyes. Trees and bushes rippled and thrust upward, reaching for the morning sun. Stone blocks heaved and were shouldered aside by living green spears. A tangle of tea roses battled a sapling tree, each climbing the other like bundles of twisting snakes. Even the grass rustled and groaned. At the edge of the wall, dancing with his staff upraised, Myrrdin coaxed each of the drooping shoots they had planted the night before into explosive growth.
    The walls now completely surrounded them, but still Myrrdin worked. Sweat sprouted from his brow despite the chill morning air. He ran back to the center of the gatehouse and stood upon the cracked fountain. Spring water bubbled up into the bowl of the fountain and trickled away through the mossy cracks. He held his staff overhead with both hands. At his feet the moss rippled and grew up over his boots. Tiny purple flowers sprouted around the buckles and laces.
    The walls continued to grow. Brand watched in amazement as the stone ruins of the gatehouse were overcome by towering walls of dense vegetation. As the plants surged ever taller they turned inward, bowing to form a dome. Rustling leaves knitted themselves together. Vines grew crosswise now, binding together the curving tree trunks like the poles of a river raft. As the vines thickened, they sprouted sharp thorns as long as