Witches’ Brew by Terry Brooks

Poggwydd stared, startled by the look on the other’s face. He glanced past the wizard to the other two, found no help there, and looked back again. “I don’t know what she looked like. Who can remember? She was… small. Not very old, maybe ten. Had freckles and blond hair.” He frowned. “She was very clever. Played some games with me while we talked. Pretended to be… She said she was the High Lord’s…” He stopped, no longer certain where to go. “She said her name was Misty.”

“Mistaya,” Questor breathed, backing away. “So Nightshade has her. Or had her. Did she escape, Poggwydd? Is that what happened?”

The G’home Gnome looked at him blankly. “Escape? I don’t know if she did or not. I don’t know where she came from. I don’t even know who she is for sure. What I do know is that the witch was furious when she found me talking with her and that’s why I’m here!” He paused, rubbing at his bristly chin. Bits of dirt flaked off. “Although maybe that’s not right, either. You know, she asked the witch not to hurt me, the little girl did. But I don’t think the witch was paying any attention to her and meant to fry me like a piece of old meat.”

“But she didn’t,” Questor interjected, trying to hurry the story along, anxious to pin down his suspicions.

Poggwydd shook his head. “Well, there was this mud puppy, you see. I think maybe he stopped it from happening.” He looked confused all over again. “Is that possible?”

Eventually they got the whole story out of him although it took a while to do so. They heard about how Mistaya had come upon his camp not far from the Deep Fell and engaged him in conversation. They heard about Haltwhistle and how he seemed to be the girl’s companion. Finally, they heard about Nightshade’s unexpected appearance, her anger at discovering Mistaya outside the Deep Fell, and her attack on Poggwydd, which appeared to have been thwarted in part by the magic of the mud puppy, resulting in the Gnome’s appearance at Graum Wythe.

“Just like us!” Abernathy exclaimed as the Gnome finished. He was standing next to Questor Thews by now, looking quite animated. “Questor, that must be what happened to us, too! The mud puppy intervened, changed Nightshade’s magic, and sent us here! It sounds exactly the same!”

“Indeed,” Questor agreed, pursing his lips, thinking hard.

“Where is here?” Poggwydd asked once again. “You haven’t said yet.”

“In a minute,” Questor replied, turning away momentarily and then back again. “But who sent the mud puppy to Mistaya? It must have happened that night, while we slept, before the witch came. We were in the lake country, so it could have been the River Master. But the only mud puppy I ever heard of outside the fairy mists is the one who serves the Earth Mother.”

“What difference does it make?” Abernathy cut him short. “What matters is that the witch has Mistaya and is using her to hurt the High Lord, just as she promised she would. You were right, Questor Thews. We are here for a purpose, and it must have something to do with helping Ben Holiday. We just have to find out what it is.”

“A book of spells,” Questor recalled, thinking back to where this conversation had started. “All right, then.” He wheeled about, strode quickly to Poggwydd, and placed both hands firmly on the Gnome’s narrow shoulders. “Where you are doesn’t matter, Poggwydd. What’s important is that you are in no immediate danger. But the little girl, Misty, is. We have to get out of here and back to where she is. There is something here, in this place, that can help us do that—if we can find it. That is what we intend to do right now. While we search, I want you to stay right here.”

Poggwydd looked around doubtfully. “Why should I do that? Why can’t I just go home? I can find my way once I’m outside again.”

Questor gave him a sympathetic look. “Not from here, you can’t. You will have to trust me on this.” He paused, thinking. “If you try, Poggwydd, Nightshade might get her hands on you a second time. Do you understand me?”