mysterious place where the alvar had their palaces and, somewhere on the highest peaks, Lord Zuamar had his eyrie.
Somehow she kept walking through the pebbly shallows after Fionn. A fish darted from her feet, and she nearly fell over. They came to a series of small waterfalls. Finn did not let her touch the dry rocks on either side but made her scramble up through the slippery splash. And then they came to a long narrow pool between huge boulders—boulders the size of two houses each. A far larger waterfall poured splashily into the far side, maybe thirty yards away, but the ripples from it were lost in the mirror smoothness of the water. The pool fell away from the clear yellow and brown pebbled shallows into the blue-grey depths. Her heart fell. It looked deep, and she already knew that it would be bitterly cold. She was relieved when he held his hand up for her to stop. He whistled.
She hadn't seen it until it moved. The furry head dropped under water with a plop and a set of rings on the still water. A dark shape swirled away.
"Otr," said the Jester.
"Otter?" She'd heard of those, and had seen sea-otters.
"No. Otr. He's a tricky one. One the oldest. He'll have gone to talk with the rest."
Meb looked back toward the town they'd left that morning. Finn caught the glance.
"Zuamar's rising. You feel it, do you, Scrap?"
She did. She could feel the rage. And she wanted to run and hide. He put a steadying hand on her shoulder. "You are safest in the water. Anyway, with luck we'll have a hiding place."
Fionn knew that he was taking a chance. He'd stretched their traveling as much as he could . . . and she'd showed that the working did not affect her. He'd seen her response to Zuamar's fountain of rage. She'd clutched her ears. Fionn knew that it wasn't actual sound that she was aware of. The principle of reciprocity applied well with magical forces. If you could feel the other, the other could probably feel you. The water would help. Water force would dissipate her sendings, scatter them down the stream. But it was time to call a favor due. The dvergar owed him. Of course no one liked being reminded of that.
Chapter 12
The furry, sleek head poked itself up out of the water. "What do you want, Fionn Troublemaker?" asked the otter. He sounded, Meb thought, both suspicious and resigned.
"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" said Finn, grinning.
"Means you're in trouble again," said the creature wrinkling its whiskers. "The human with you? Breshy will have to bring a boat."
The otter submerged again, this time a fraction more slowly, with barely a ripple.
"What . . . ?" Meb stared.
"They're water-dvergar," explained Finn. "Black water dvergar. Shape shifters. They have chancy tempers so you want to be cautious with them. But they're all right if they take to you."
Meb knew of shape-shifters. There were wolves that could take the form of men, and other terrifying things whispered about in fire-side stories. "W . . . won't they kill us?"
Finn laughed. "Their food might. They like to eat frogs."
"Frogs," said a gruff voice, "are good for you."
Meb looked up. The speaker was paddling a coracle made of skin and withy along the pool. Fierce dark eyes peered back at her out of a mane of black hair. There was almost more hair than person . . . but the person was small and stocky, half her height if about the same weight. "I can only take one of you. You'll have to swim, Fionn."
"You can come back for my new apprentice," said the jester, walking through the shallows to the small boat, and getting into it. "You stay put, Scrap. Exactly where you are, and don't touch the shore."
So Meb stood. Her feet were numb now, anyway.
The black dverg turned the little boat and stirred it back up the pool to an overhanging wall of one of the huge boulders. Then . . . he vanished. Meb shivered
Somehow she kept walking through the pebbly shallows after Fionn. A fish darted from her feet, and she nearly fell over. They came to a series of small waterfalls. Finn did not let her touch the dry rocks on either side but made her scramble up through the slippery splash. And then they came to a long narrow pool between huge boulders—boulders the size of two houses each. A far larger waterfall poured splashily into the far side, maybe thirty yards away, but the ripples from it were lost in the mirror smoothness of the water. The pool fell away from the clear yellow and brown pebbled shallows into the blue-grey depths. Her heart fell. It looked deep, and she already knew that it would be bitterly cold. She was relieved when he held his hand up for her to stop. He whistled.
She hadn't seen it until it moved. The furry head dropped under water with a plop and a set of rings on the still water. A dark shape swirled away.
"Otr," said the Jester.
"Otter?" She'd heard of those, and had seen sea-otters.
"No. Otr. He's a tricky one. One the oldest. He'll have gone to talk with the rest."
Meb looked back toward the town they'd left that morning. Finn caught the glance.
"Zuamar's rising. You feel it, do you, Scrap?"
She did. She could feel the rage. And she wanted to run and hide. He put a steadying hand on her shoulder. "You are safest in the water. Anyway, with luck we'll have a hiding place."
Fionn knew that he was taking a chance. He'd stretched their traveling as much as he could . . . and she'd showed that the working did not affect her. He'd seen her response to Zuamar's fountain of rage. She'd clutched her ears. Fionn knew that it wasn't actual sound that she was aware of. The principle of reciprocity applied well with magical forces. If you could feel the other, the other could probably feel you. The water would help. Water force would dissipate her sendings, scatter them down the stream. But it was time to call a favor due. The dvergar owed him. Of course no one liked being reminded of that.
Chapter 12
The furry, sleek head poked itself up out of the water. "What do you want, Fionn Troublemaker?" asked the otter. He sounded, Meb thought, both suspicious and resigned.
"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" said Finn, grinning.
"Means you're in trouble again," said the creature wrinkling its whiskers. "The human with you? Breshy will have to bring a boat."
The otter submerged again, this time a fraction more slowly, with barely a ripple.
"What . . . ?" Meb stared.
"They're water-dvergar," explained Finn. "Black water dvergar. Shape shifters. They have chancy tempers so you want to be cautious with them. But they're all right if they take to you."
Meb knew of shape-shifters. There were wolves that could take the form of men, and other terrifying things whispered about in fire-side stories. "W . . . won't they kill us?"
Finn laughed. "Their food might. They like to eat frogs."
"Frogs," said a gruff voice, "are good for you."
Meb looked up. The speaker was paddling a coracle made of skin and withy along the pool. Fierce dark eyes peered back at her out of a mane of black hair. There was almost more hair than person . . . but the person was small and stocky, half her height if about the same weight. "I can only take one of you. You'll have to swim, Fionn."
"You can come back for my new apprentice," said the jester, walking through the shallows to the small boat, and getting into it. "You stay put, Scrap. Exactly where you are, and don't touch the shore."
So Meb stood. Her feet were numb now, anyway.
The black dverg turned the little boat and stirred it back up the pool to an overhanging wall of one of the huge boulders. Then . . . he vanished. Meb shivered
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