Denner_s Wreck

Again, Mardon nodded without comment, and circled out a little further, correcting the mare's intended course.

A moment later, at Bredon's signal, he began whooping. The mare shied and ran, straight toward the pool. She plunged heedlessly through the grass and into the water. The youths heard her hooves beat on the hard ground, and then a moment of tremendous splashing, which ended abruptly when, tripped by the mud, the horse fell and vanished from their sight behind the waves of green.

Ignoring everything but their prey, the two charged headlong across the plain and reached the waterhole within seconds of each other.

The mare had struggled to her feet, but was up to her fetlocks in muck, her whole hide soaked and dripping. She turned her head, staring at them with eyes wide with terror.

Bredon readied his only remaining rope, determined to keep it where she could not chew it this time. He was scarcely four meters away when the mare abruptly stopped her thrashing. Her great brown eyes went calm as she said, very distinctly, “I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Bredon's mouth literally dropped open, a reaction he had always before considered to be artistic license on the part of the village storytellers, rather than something that really happened. Mardon, in turn, was so shocked that he tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his face in the mire at the edge of the pool.

The air was suddenly full of roaring laughter. Following the sound, Bredon and Mardon both looked up at what should have been empty sky.

A glittering platform that looked one instant like crystal and the next like metal hung unsupported in mid-air, about three meters off the ground. Bredon estimated it at perhaps a meter wide and twice that in length. Upon it stood a small, brown-haired, spade-bearded man clad in gleaming violet plush, laughing uncontrollably. His laugh seemed far too big for his stature.

Mardon cowered, trying to compose a good final prayer, certain he was doomed. There could be no question that he was facing a Power. The stories he had heard since childhood rarely made the Powers out to be unthinkingly hostile, but always emphasized incredible supernatural abilities, short tempers, and a ferocious disregard for the sanctity of human life. Mardon could not imagine surviving an encounter with a Power. He was certain he would make some little error in protocol, or trip over his own feet again, or otherwise bungle, and that this Power would take offense and destroy him.

Bredon simply stared, unable to cope with what was happening. He had never entirely believed in the Powers. Despite the assurances of the tellers, he had secretly assumed the stories to be myths, or at least exaggerations. His view of the world was a pragmatic and logical one, and there was no place in it for whimsical demi-gods.

The man on the platform laughed heartily for several seconds, revelling in the youths’ confusion, before allowing his mirth to trail off into a smile and the relative silence of the wind in the grass.

“My apologies, gentlemen,” the little man said when he had finished his laugh. “I'm afraid I've been having my fun at your expense."

Bredon stared up at him, then as some of his scattered wits returned, and his priorities reasserted themselves, he threw a quick look at the mare. She was standing calmly motionless in the mud.

“You made the mare talk?” Bredon asked.

“Yes, I'm afraid I did,” the violet-garbed stranger replied, gri

“Is she yours?” Bredon demanded.

“No,” the stranger said, his smile growing broader in response to Bredon's single-mindedness, “but I brought her here, and I'm afraid you can't have her. She belongs to a friend of mine by the name of Grey; I merely borrowed her."

“Oh.” Bredon's disappointment was so obvious that the man on the platform laughed again, somewhat more quietly this time.

Mardon, still lying in the mud, cringed at the mention of Lord Grey the Horseman. The stories about him were few, but they all described him as one of the least tolerant Powers. He favored his horses over all else, especially mortal men-and they had trapped one of his mares!

Bredon was still confused. He had been so intent on the mare, had her so firmly fixed as the most important fact of his existence, that his mind was still refusing to function properly regarding anything else. He realized that he was facing a stranger, however, and as childhood training leaked to the surface he remembered his ma

The man on the platform burlesqued a bow. “Honor to both your families, Bredon the Hunter. I am known as Geste."

A dozen childhood tales came back, even to Bredon, at the mention of that famous-or infamous-name. Mardon's terror abated slightly-or at any rate changed its form. Geste the Trickster was not reputed to kill on a whim, but he was dangerous in other ways.

Still, Mardon did not dare speak aloud to a Power.

Bredon was less reticent. “Geste the Trickster?” he asked. “The one who tamed the giants, and tricked Arn of the Ice into melting his own house?"

Geste smiled. “I see you've heard of me, but the tales seem to have grown in the telling. I don't recall that I've ever tamed any giants. And Arn only melted a part of the Ice House."

“And now you've tricked us?” Bredon was recovering himself, finally, and found himself filling with rage.

“Yes, I believe I have.” The little man gri

“You led us on for three wakes for a stupid joke? And we can't even keep the horse?"

Geste stared for a moment, then burst out laughing again. Bredon stared back at him coldly, and when the hilarity showed signs of subsiding he said, with intense dignity, “I had always heard that you were one of the more compassionate Powers, that you weren't vicious or petty or vindictive, but I think that this trick of yours was… was…” Words failed him, and he simply stared accusingly.

“Oh, calm down, Bredon,” Geste said, still smiling down from his platform. “Don't take it so seriously. I like you; you say what you think, don't you? There aren't many mortals who would dare talk to me like that any more. But really, Bredon, what's three wakes? Besides, you enjoyed every minute of the hunt. Don't claim you didn't!"

“But that was because I knew I'd catch her!” Bredon insisted.

Geste's smile faded. Struck by the young man's persistence and sincerity, he sobered. “Maybe you're right,” he said, looking at Bredon thoughtfully. The smile was gone, or at least buried, as he said, “Listen, Bredon, I'm sorry. I didn't realize it would upset you so greatly. We sometimes forget how important these things can be to you mortals. Let me give you a gift to make it up to you. I can't give you this horse because, quite sincerely, she isn't mine to give, and we Powers don't break our promises, to mortals or to each other. I gave my word that I would return her unharmed, and so I must return her unharmed. I'm sure you understand that. However, instead, I will do you any other favor within my power-which is considerable, as I'm sure you know.” He waved a hand and drew a glowing rainbow through the air, which burst into a thousand golden sparkles and then vanished. “Ask, and it's yours.” His smile returned, bright as ever.

“I want the mare,” Bredon said.

“You can't have her,” Geste replied immediately.

“I don't want anything else,” Bredon insisted.

“I could fetch another horse, perhaps,” Geste suggested.

“No.” Bredon's answer was prompt and definite, his mouth set in a scowl.

Geste repressed a smile at Bredon's petulance. “All right, Bredon, have it your way. You can't have the horse, and if you won't take anything else, you won't. I won't argue about it. I like you, and I'll respect your decision. That's for now, though, and you may reconsider eventually. I owe you something, and if you won't take it now, maybe you will later. Take this.” He plucked something from the air and tossed it to Bredon, who caught it automatically. “Break that when you've decided what you'll take instead of the horse."