Tylag's brow was a storm of furrows and he rubbed at his scowling face with his fist. “Myrrdin is not here. He has yet to arrive.”
The three younger men all exchanged concerned looks. Brand felt more ill at ease because of Tylag's manner. His actions spoke louder than words. Tylag was usually full of bluster and never daunted by anything.
“But, who will present the Offering if he is not here?” asked Brand.
Tylag shot him a grim stare. “None other can perform it properly,” he said. “None have the craft.”
“The Offering must be made. It is as simple as that,” said Jak, shrugging. “If it comes down to it, I will make the offering for Rabing Isle myself. The Pact can't be allowed to fail.”
“Yes,” said Corbin, his speech slow and rational. “The Offering will be made. It is not that, but the etiquette of the ceremony that will be flawed. We must recall that the ceremony is as important to the Faerie as the Offering itself.”
“We are only the simple folk of the River Haven,” said Jak, spreading his hands. “What can be done?”
“Perhaps we can find the Clanless One,” said Brand. “Surely, there must be some way of locating him.”
“Sensibly, he would be on his way here, sailing on the Berrywine perhaps, or crossing the Border Downs,” Corbin said thoughtfully. Brand felt he could see the cogs working in his mind. Corbin wasn't a fast thinker, but his ideas were often more penetrating. “Where does he usually hail from at this time of year?”
Tylag, who had been staring at nothing while tugging on his beard, glanced up at his question. “What? Oh, well, it depends. Most years he comes done from the north, from the wilds of Snowdonia, where he spends most of his time, it seems.”
Brand's eyes blinked twice at the mention of Snowdonia. He could only imagine what those white-peaked mountains were like, what strange creatures might dwell there. “From Rabing Isle,” he said half to himself, “you can see the crags of Snowdon itself on a clear summer's day.”
Corbin looked at him. He paused for a long moment before speaking. “It would seem likely that Myrrdin would pass Rabing Isle then-if he were going to come by water.”
“Yes, unless he came through the High Marshes or the Deepwood.”
Tylag smacked his fists together decisively. “Right! That would be the way of it. The thing to do is post a lookout up at Rabing Isle. You must return home tonight, Jak. We must watch the other approaches as well. Something has delayed him and it is likely that he needs help.”
“What could have delayed him?” asked Jak, frowning.
Tylag made a sweeping gesture with his thick arms. “How should I know? Anything! His boat could have sprung a leak. His horse could have come up lame.”
“If he's on horseback, I doubt he will swim past Rabing Isle tonight,” grumbled Jak. It was plain to Brand that his brother didn't relish the idea of returning home and missing tonight's celebration on the Riverton Commons.
It was Tylag's turn to frown. “Boys, I am the leader of Clan Rabing, is this not so?”
All of them nodded. Jak's nod was noticeably glum.
“I will not have it said that the Offering was rejected and the Pact broken due to the inaction of Clan Rabing,” he boomed at them, hooking his thumbs in his wide belt and rocking on his heels while eyeing them each in turn. “I ask again, Jak, will you return home and try to escort Myrrdin to Riverton before the Harvest Moon?”
“Of course,” said Jak, straightening and dropping the frown.
Thinking of Telyn, Brand gave a tiny sigh of regret. “It will take two to handle the skiff properly, even when it is unloaded. I will come with you.”
Tylag nodded approvingly. He slapped his son on the back suddenly. “Corbin will go as well. His back is as strong as the river is wide. Besides, I would not think of breaking you boys up on such a night as this.”
Corbin looked startled, but said nothing.
“When should we set out, Uncle?” asked Jak.
“Straight away, nothing is more important. Get yourselves some lunch up at the Spotted Hog,” he said, handing Corbin a silver half-crown. “I must be getting back to the council meeting.”
“What about the shadow man?” asked Brand, his voice hushed. “Shouldn't we tell the council about it?”
Tylag pursed his lips and gazed back up at the manor, as if seeing the meeting hall and the clan leaders within. “They will take it better from my lips than from yours,” he said finally. “Only Myrrdin will properly be able to puzzle out this mystery, so it is all the more important that you find him and tell him what you have seen. In any case, the Pact must not be broken. We will send men into the Deepwood and the High Marshes. Myrrdin's attendance is critical.”
He bade them farewell and crunched gravel on his way back to the manor. Brand watched him go regretfully. He didn't relish the trip back to Rabing Isle under the watchful stare of the shadow man.
“Look at it this way,” said Corbin cheerfully. He threw his arm around the shoulders of Brand and Jak, having to reach up in Brand's case and down in Jak's. “At least my brothers will be troubled with the burden of delivering the offerings.”
“I also see it as justice for this morning's surprise chores,” added Jak. They all laughed at this and walked together to the Spotted Hog. On their way in, they met up with four Hoot boys who were just leaving. The sour smell of ale was strong about them. They scowled darkly at the Rabing boys. The entryway way to the common room was low-ceilinged, and they all were forced to shoulder their way past one another in close quarters.
“Merling fodder,” muttered one of the Hoot boys, a skinny slouching youth with hair that stuck up at random angles. Brand knew him to be Slet, a dockworker. Another of them snorted in amusement.
Jak reacted as if stung. He grabbed Slet's tunic, halting the two groups in the cloakroom. “What did you say?” he demanded. Corbin put a heavy hand on Jak's shoulder, but Jak ignored him. He only stared into Slet's face, awaiting an answer.
Slet's eyes slid around to the faces of his companions. None of them met his gaze, not wanting trouble. Slet took a moment to spit onto the floor between Jak's wading boots. “Nuthin'“ he said. “For now.”
Jak released Slet with a visible effort of will. The two groups separated without further incident. Corbin ordered lunch with the silver half-crown, which Brand knew was much too much money for a prince's lunch in Riverton, but such was the generosity of their uncle. With the rest of the money he made several other purchases before returning to the table.
Jak ate the lunch of beef and kidney pie without interest. Brand and Corbin exchanged glances. They had hoped his mood would have improved with food and time, but it hadn't. “Jak, I'm sure they didn't mean…” began Brand, but his brother cut him off.
“You don't remember rightly. You were too young, and I was younger than you are now. When the River took our parents, they said it was merlings. It looked like everything was finished… Everything was too much…” he said. He stabbed his fork into his kidney pie and forced down another bite.
Brand thought about what it would be like if he were left to care for Rabing Isle, all of it, right now. It wasn't a pleasant thought. He turned to Corbin and grinned in surprise. Corbin already had the tavern's Jump-Pin board out and was setting the metal pegs up for a three-way match. Without a word, he made a move and pushed it to Jak. Jak ate two more bites before acknowledging the game, then moved with a sigh and pushed the board to Brand. The three ate and played in silence. As usual, Corbin won.
After the meal, they walked down to the docks in a dark mood. Although the sun was still bright, the autumn air seemed colder, the wind stealing the warmth from their bodies and stinging their eyes with their whipping hair. Corbin soon threw up his hood as he often did. When they got to the dock and made ready to board the skiff, they were surprised to find Telyn sitting in the prow, already in the act of casting off.