Brand heard the fuss behind him, but was not sure what the matter was. He stood on the path, and urged others forward. “We’re almost there, keep moving, men!” he called, and they shuffled past him. There was yellow fear in every eye that met his as they passed. He could see they were glad to have an experienced veteran who knew how to cross between worlds to lead them.

  When the final knot of men went by, they walked with many glances over their shoulders. “He’s vanished, Brand,” said a Hoot boy who looked too young to take a wife, but who had somehow slipped into the mix.

  “Who?”

  “Bret,” said the Hoot boy. “Bret Silure. He’s lost his way.”

  Brand felt a pang, but it was not a sharp one. “Damn the man. He should never have become so drunk.”

  “I wish I was drunk,” said one of the men, a fat baker of Clan Gwyr who’d lost his wife in the Riverton Fire a year earlier.

  “Me as well,” chorused others.

  Brand called to Oberon, who led the procession to his world on his goat, but the other was too far ahead to hear—or so it seemed.

  “Stand where you are and close your eyes, everyone,” Brand said loudly. “I’m going to try to signal Bret.”

  The men did as he asked after a moment. Brand pulled out the axe, and felt an unexpected surge of excitement. The axe was tense—more than usual. He tried to push aside the strange thoughts that interrupted his mind.

  —treachery!

  The axe spoke to him, telling him the things it imagined with its usual paranoid fervor.

  Brand shook his head of these alien thoughts. He commanded the axe to wink. An amber gush of light bathed every face. Those that had obeyed and closed their eyes winced, seeing it right through their eyelids. Those who had not screamed and clutched at their faces. Brand paid no heed. He had not directed a full strength flash, one that would burn the skin and boil away the eyes. The fools who had not listened to him would be dazzled for a time, but not blinded.

  When he flashed the axe, he eyed the gray world around carefully. He did it again, then twice more. Curses and complaints came up from the men who stood near.

  “Do you want to blind us all, man?”

  “Bret is lost. Stop with the lightning!”

  “Can we walk yet? I want to get away from this place.”

  “Hold,” said Brand. He looked and thought to see movement in the distance. He directed the axe that way, and let it flash one more time. A beam of amber light shined into the infinite fog between worlds, illuminating that which is never normally seen by mortal eyes.

  What Brand saw there caused him to suck in his breath. He caught a glimpse of two creatures he’d never suspected could exist. They were shaped like leaves made of skin, like things that swam in the deepest seas. Between them they held what appeared to be a flopping corpse, but Brand quickly realized the skinny man was still alive. The creatures worked to devour what could not be anyone other than Bret Silure. Blood flowed from his eyes and wide-open mouth. He appeared to be screaming, but no sound issued that Brand could detect. He still had his jug wrapped around a single thumb.

  Brand let the axe drop to his side. There, it bubbled with light, wanting to release more energy, wanting to chop at the things that consumed a man nearby. Brand knew he could not afford to leave the path, however. He could not go to rescue the man—if he could be rescued. The chances were too high he’d never find the path again himself.

  “He’s gone,” Brand said. “Open your eyes, and keep them open until we reach our destination.”

  “What of Bret?”

  “He’s one less fool I’ll take to wed an elf today,” Brand said gruffly. He turned and pushed his way through the throng, walking quickly and shouldering his axe. The men ducked and swallowed in fear as he passed them. None wanted to be near the axe which rippled with yellow light as might a guttering candle flame.

  At the distant head of the line, he found Oberon on his goat.

  “Could you not hear my calls?” he demanded.

  “Hmm?” Oberon purred. “I suppose I could.”

  “There were to be no tricks played this day!”

  Oberon laughed. “I’m not responsible for a trick one of your River Folk plays upon himself!”

  Brand fell silent and brooded the rest of the way. The men following him were subdued and quiet. No more of them strayed from the path.

  When they had circled the mound for the final time and stepped out onto the silver grasses of the Twilight Lands, the men gazed around with open mouths. When their eyes rose to look up to the top of the mound, they froze there and gasps escaped them.

  Atop the mound a great throng stood. Most of them were lovely elvish ladies dressed in spun gossamer. These were the widowed daughters of Oberon. Their hair shone like spun gold, silver, raven-black, cobalt or sparkling magenta. Each fair lady had an attending wisp to orbit her form, tending to her hair and fine clothing. Their clothing was considerably less substantial than when they’d come to visit Brand on his wedding day. In the tradition of elves, these females dressed without modesty. There could be no doubt to any male gazing upon them that they were interested in attracting mates—and with their shapely forms, they would have no trouble doing so.

  Brand walked up the mound toward Oberon, who stood proudly in front of his brood. “How is this to be done?” Brand asked.

  “Such crude manners,” Oberon said. “Put away the axe, axeman, so we may talk civilly.”

  Brand noticed with some surprise that the axe did still ride his shoulder. He thought about putting it away—really, he should do so. But something made him doubt this thought. He did not want to put it away. The axe fairly hummed with excitement, counting every elf it sensed near as an enemy and every man at his back as a warrior to lead to battle.

  Oberon hopped from his goat and trotted close. He leaned near and whispered. As he did so, the axe shivered in Brand’s tight grip.

  “Recall, axeman, how badly things went with another of my daughters upon such an occasion. I do not relish a repeat performance.”

  Brand jerked his head at the elf lord’s words. He had slain one of Oberon’s innocent young daughters long ago on a mound such as this when the axe had goaded him into swinging it thoughtlessly. He nodded.

  “As you say,” he said, putting Ambros away and releasing the handle. It was more difficult than usual, but he managed it. The axe had been drawn and had used its power over light, but had not been sated with blood. It felt cheated, and was reluctant to be set aside.

  Everyone relaxed around him when the axe was safely out of sight. Brand forced a smile. “So, how shall your daughters and my men choose their mates?”

  Oberon clucked his tongue. “Directly to the point, is it?” he asked. “How disappointed Telyn must be every eve.”

  The elves and a good number of the River Folk snickered. Brand’s face darkened and he yearned to draw out the axe again. Ever it was with these little—

  “Brand?” asked Oberon. “Do I have your attention again? I said it must be done randomly, with beauty and decorum.”

  “Randomly?” echoed Brand.

  “Aw,” complained a man behind him. “I had my eye fixed upon the gold-haired nymph in the front row.”

  Oberon flicked a look of annoyance at the man. It was Brand’s turn to smile. Calling an elf maid a nymph was an insult. Nymphs were mindless beings of sensation, not the same as elves, who viewed themselves as infinitely more sophisticated.

  “Randomly…” Brand said thoughtfully. “We could roll dice, I suppose. The men who roll the highest can choose.”

  Oberon huffed. “Where is the fun in that? My daughters will choose. But they will do so blindly.”

  Brand shrugged and agreed. The men were sent out to the bottom of the mound in a great circle standing a few yards apart. The elf-maids were blindfolded and instructed to dance their way down the mound until they fell into the arms of a prospective husband.

  Elf males appeared, a trio of them. Brand recognized a few as Oberon’s sons. Puck was among them and held a lute, another lifted a grand set of pipes and the third worked upon skinned drums with his fingertips. All of them wore broad smiles and seemed eager to give away their sisters.

  Oberon stood with Brand behind the circle of hungry-seeming men, who laughed and called to one another. Atop the hill the females blindfolded one another securely, making sure none of their sisters could see and thus cheat. When they were all blinded, the music began. It was sweet and enchanting. The tempo increased and the elf women began to dance. The sight of eighty lovely maids moving with poise and grace made Brand’s heart pound. His men stopped their calls, so stricken were they all.

  The elves twirled and kicked and dipped low. Ever as they cavorted, they seemed about to crash into one another, but never did. Each wild movement moved them this way and that over the hilltop, causing the men at the bottom to lunge and grasp as they came near but then danced out of reach again.

  “Your men must stand, Brand,” said Oberon.

  “You can grab, but keep your places, boys,” Brand called. “Don’t worry, you’ll catch one eventually.”

  As they process continued, Brand himself became almost overwhelmed by feelings of lust. He even thought for a short span, that he regretted being the only married man here today. Then he closed his eyes and conjured Telyn’s face to keep himself under control, if not calm.

  A shriek and a giggle made him open his eyes again. The first maid had been caught. A long-fingered man from North End had managed it. A marshman by the look of him. He looked as if he’d caught the biggest fish in the swamp and leered happily at his prize, a small elf with curly hair of shining black.

  The process continued and men grabbed their new wives-to-be with gusto. At last, only a few danced and Oberon ordered the remaining men to advance. Soon, it was over except for a single elf female who stood atop the mound.

  “Stop the dance!” shouted Oberon. He clapped his hands and the piping halted. The last silver-haired maid stood still, crestfallen and silent. Her lovely chin dipped until it touched her chest and stayed there.

  Brand realized he had brought one less man than he had promised. That fool Bret Silure had left this fine woman with no mate. Teased and spurned, the girl was dejected.

  “What of the last one?” Brand asked Oberon.

  The elf lord shrugged. “She will go back to being a spinster. There is nothing for it.”

  Oberon led them all off the mound then into the trees that surrounded it. Brand looked about in wonderment.

  “Would this be the Great Erm?”

  “Yes, my forested homeland. It is something like the Deepwood for your people. We’ve shunned this place in the past, but now that I have the Red attuned, I can keep the creatures that walk here under control.”

  Huge trees towered over them. Brand was astounded by their size and thickness. Truly, they stood as tall as the peaks of the Black Mountains themselves. He could not credit his eyes when he saw the animals that lived here. Gnats were the size of birds. Creatures that were of no consequence in the Haven, things that crawled in the grasses and were ignored by all, were big enough here to be collared and yoked to a farmer’s cart.

  In a clearing at the foot of a dozen towering trees that spanned a mile, a strange town had been built. The structures within the town were like nothing Brand had yet seen. Shaped like mushrooms, but hollowed out with windows in the caps and doors in the stems, Brand came to realize as he toured the place that they were mushrooms. So tall, stiff and strong were they that the elves had decided to live among them and make them into homes.

  In the town square, the ceremony was to be held. Oberon did not have the time nor the patience to perform seventy-nine weddings, so he married them all at once. Every man of the River stood with his spine straight and his eyes shining with excitement. Every lovely maid stood at his side, her hands on her man’s elbow and her eyes no less alight.

  Words were spoken, vows were murmured, and the ceremony was over quickly. Brand was accustomed to the droning affairs of the River Folk, and so the early ending surprised him. No less surprising was the striking up of the musicians, who burst into a lively tune the moment Oberon stopped speaking.

  Every maid turned to her surprised new husband and kissed him passionately. Their fervor was returned by the crude River Folk males, but their rough lips and bristling beards caused some consternation.

  “It appears your daughters will have some adjusting to do,” Brand said to Oberon, who had come alongside him.

  “As will your men, I assure you,” Oberon replied.

  Brand glanced at him sidelong, not sure what his meaning was. He soon was handed a cup of Fae nectar however, which tasted as fresh as morning dew. He quaffed it and reached for another. The celebration had begun in earnest.

  While he watched the merriment, participating little save for an occasional cup of Faerie wine, Brand wondered where it all might lead. These marriages between elves and men must result in children. What would their offspring be like? Would they be loyal to the elves or to the River Folk—or to both, as he hoped? He could not think of a way to predict the outcome.

  An hour or six later—it was difficult to measure the passage of time here under the permanent glow of the stars—Brand thought again of the maid who had gone without a mate.

  “Oberon,” he said, his tongue thick with drink. “I have a proposal.”

  The elf lord leaned close and stared at him fixedly. “Describe it, by all means.”

  “The maid who was left upon the mound. I would take her home to Riverton to find her a mate…” he said. “If you approve of the idea, of course.”

  Oberon’s eyebrows rose high and stayed there. “Interesting. She is lovely to look upon, isn’t she?”

  Brand startled. He realized now that the person his eyes were gazing fixedly upon was the girl in question. She was lovely…in fact, that term was almost too weak to describe her.

  She had silver shoulder-length hair that made him think of moonlight. Her lithe form had more curves to it than most of her sisters, making her look more womanly, but she still appeared very young and entrancing. Both her eyes were a tawny orange, and a light burned there when she met a man’s gaze.

  If he had to put a ranking upon this vision of beauty, he would say she was more intensely attractive than any other elf present. Perhaps even the Shining Lady had not been so pleasantly alluring. And as a bonus, this girl did not have the clawed feet of a bird of prey.

  “I’m sure I would have no problem finding a man to match her,” Brand said.

  Oberon laughed. “I would be shocked if you could match her. But I will allow it. Kaavi will be grateful for your offer, I’m sure.”

  “Kaavi?” asked Brand, slurring his words slightly.

  “The one you are staring at,” said Oberon with smirking delight. “I’ll tell you another secret: she is my youngest daughter of marriageable age. She was married moments before the war broke out, and never managed to consummate the relationship as her fiancé died in the conflict.”

  Brand eyed him. “You mean she’s...?”

  “A maiden, yes,” Oberon said.

  “I detect subtlety in your voice,” Brand said, frowning at the elf lord with sudden distrust. “Don’t think that I’m helplessly drunk, elf.”

  “Oh no,” Oberon purred. “I’m quite sure you are as dangerous as ever. Perhaps even more so.”

  “Right,” Brand said, satisfied. He sat back and sipped his nectar more slowly. It went down like drinking spring water, but hit a man like whiskey.

  Kaavi, he thought, nodding off. He wondered what she would be like.

  Chapter Three

  Coming Home

  When Brand led sixteen men of the River with their elvish brides back to Riverton Common, he was bleary-eyed and tired. The drink from the night before had taken a toll upon him. The rest of the couples had stayed behind in the Twilight Lands. Each couple had been provided a mushroom cottage, fresh grown from the thick loam of the Great Erm. Some had decided to live there, liking the world so much. Others had been talked into at least continuing their honeymoon with the Fae. In truth, Brand thought it was only the most stubborn and homesick that returned with him. Those whose fear of being left with the elves outweighed the promise of wild pleasures.

  Brand might have been in a sullen mood due to his aching head and the long journey, had it not been for the seventeenth elf girl in the group: Kaavi. She brightened things considerably, and was a delight in every sense of the word. She reminded him of Telyn, as she had been when they were younger and at their most flirtatious. He felt a strong desire to bed her, and wondered if there had not been so many witnesses trailing him if he would have tried to do so there in the silver grasses. Would she even have him? She gave every sign of interest, but that could just be the natural demeanor of her kind.

  Kaavi twisted about under his scrutiny and smiled up at him. She was incredibly flexible, and could bend about like a stalk of grass in the winds. She wore little in the way of clothing, and thus provided Brand with a continuously changing and always pleasant view.

  Brand grinned at her antics, but the grin faded into a frown. He gave his head a shake. What kind of thoughts were these? He had a wonderful wife who sat at home even now, worrying about him and the child that quickened in her belly.