Dream Magic (39 page)

Morgana could see something happening at the fallen gates. It appeared that the humans had withdrawn, but her Kindred forces were still not advancing into the interior lands beyond the walls.

“What is taking that ancient crone so long?” she demanded.

Every minute or two her eyes flicked up to the Great Tree. That monstrosity had still not moved. It was if it had taken root and grown there. But she knew it would move eventually, if its master still drew breath. And when it did, she was uncertain how she should go about
destroying it.

Finally, a knot of the Kindred left the rest and retreated toward her position. She stood with mouth agape, unable to imagine what they were up to.

As they drew closer, she marched out to meet them. Tomkin stood at her side and the Rainbow towered behind them both.

“Gudrin? What are you doing on a litter? You can’t tell me that you’ve been injured—”

Then Morgana saw the sightless, rolling eyes of the Kindred Queen and she knew the tale in a second.

“Fool!” she screeched. “You tried to do battle with him honorably, didn’t you? One Jewel versus its brother? You, of all people, should know the Orange cannot beat the Amber!”

“I’m sorry, milady.”

“That will not do,” Morgana said. “
What kind of a puppet bites its master’s hand and simultaneously fails to perform the simplest tricks? You’re nothing more than a sightless crone who can’t wield her own Jewel properly. You had an army and a Jewel at dawn, and now you are broken.”

“You have only to send in the elves—and the goblins when they arrive.”

“The goblins? Old Hob has forsaken me. He is not in my power. He refused every entreaty to talk directly, and sent cretins in his employ to talk in his stead. If you’d done the same—well, maybe I was wrong about you and your army. You’re no better than the worthless, absent goblins. You seem helpless against Brand.”

When she stopped talking, no one
else dared to speak. The only sound was the labored breathing of Gudrin, who seemed to be truly spent.

Morgana came to a fateful decision then. She turned to Tomkin.

“Take her Jewel. The Rainbow can do it.”

Tomkin looked startled, but he nodded. “I think it can.”

“No!” moaned Gudrin.

“Hold her!” Morgana shouted at the Kindred who bore the Queen’s litter.

She rapidly backed away, suspecting what was to come next. All who bore a Jewel, even the lowest of them, came to love the stone deeply and would fight to keep it as a bear would fight to protect her cubs.

As the Kindred guard
s reached in, grasping Gudrin’s limbs and restraining them, the Rainbow stepped forward, a shimmering cloud above that resembled a mass of soap bubbles. The elemental’s hand came down from so high it seemed to take a great while to reach the Queen.

Gudrin gave an inarticulate howl as it touched her.
Spittle flew from her lips and her sightless eyes rolled as she raved. She writhed with unexpected strength, but the Kindred held her firmly.

Fire exploded in every direction
a moment later. Burned, the Rainbow cried out, but still it groped with its hand in the flames, seeking what must be there.

The Kindred guard, resolute in their duty, held onto her limbs even as their hair burned away and their clothes caught fire. Soon, they were like ghostly lumps of b
urning flesh. Still they clung to Gudrin, who squirmed and fought them.

The Rainbow at last lifted its prize high into the air.
Sizzling droplets of its molten flesh ran from it. Morgana stepped forward, eyes lighting up. Here, for the first time, she’d dared take a second Jewel for her own. It was a magical moment she’d dreamt of for years.

But her face fell as she realized that the Rainbow was not holding just the Orange Jewel Pyros in its pendant. Instead, it had lifted Gudrin herself into the air.
It had plucked her free of the Kindred guardsmen, who were all dead by now and burning like lumps of wax.

“Just the Jewel, manling,
” Morgana said to Tomkin. “You’re as incompetent as the rest.”

“The Rainbow’s fingers are burned away. I can’t pluck it from her.”

“Drop her then! We’ll pick it out from what remains.”

Tomkin frowned
and seemed to struggle internally for a moment. His own hand, however, had no such misgivings. It simply lifted itself higher then turned over, palm down. The Rainbow mimicked the manling’s actions perfectly. Gudrin fell a good fifty feet, and when she landed with a thud, her flames finally went out. Morgana rushed in and used a stick to remove the amulet. Gudrin was no longer stirring.

Morgana paid no heed
to the Rainbow, Tomkin, nor the dead and dying all around  her. Her eyes were fixed upon Pyros. She could stare at nothing else. She stepped over the fallen Queen and walked away to her tent, holding the Orange Jewel on a forked stick.

“
My first trophy!” she shouted. “Too bad it had to come from one of my own.”

Looking around herself at last, she walked to where Oberon sat with his elf warriors on a hillock carpeted in greenery.

“Brand has done well for this land,” Oberon said. “For too long this place was a dismal swamp. I’m surprised he could make it bloom again.”

“I don’t give a damn if it all burns to ash or molders into slime,” Morgana told him. “Get to your feet and get onto your mounts. The
moment has come to attack the inner keep. The Kindred will rest, while you carry the battle to the enemy this time. Follow the Rainbow at its heels, and kill every human within those scorched walls!”

“As you wish, milady,” said Oberon, his face shining with eagerness. Unlike Tomkin, he had no trouble following these orders.

* * *

Brand reached his central keep and mounted the stairs to the outer battlements. Every bell in the place was clanging, and it gave him a headache. To bolster himself and his men, he called upon Ambros to shine. He called upon the Axe to give him strength and his men courage.

On both accounts the Axe outdid itself. Moments later, he was springing up the stone stairs, taking them three a time. His face was split in a wide, feral grin and his garrison began singing rather than grumbling and staring.

Out on the open fields between the outer walls of the castle and the inner walls
surrounding the keep, Brand saw the Kindred fall back while the elves created fresh formations and began their final march. Once the heavy oaken door to the keep went down, there would be nothing left but the steel of their weapons to stop the elves.

Far from being maudlin
however, Brand was shouting and laughing on the gatehouse walls. From time to time he struck a square merlon with the Axe, chipping the stone apart as if it were cordwood.

Less than a mile distant, the Rainbow charged toward them. Behind it came a flood of mounted elves, bows and swords held high, throats calling for blood. They were as mad for it as he was, he realized. They
wanted
battle. They wanted to fill this castle with corpses, and he meant to oblige them.

He counted his numbers and the enemy strength arrayed against him.
The enemy had twice his number—maybe more. Once the Rainbow took down the gates, things would go badly.

Stricken by a sudden thought, Brand twisted his neck to look upward at the Great Tree. He frowned, because it
still
had not moved a fraction.

“What is taking that fool Trev so long?” he demanded of everyone around him.

They quailed back and shook their heads in response. No one wanted to be the perceived cause of anything frustrating for the Axeman.

With a growl of irritation, he turned back to making his arrangements. Ivor he placed behind the oak gate, to give the elves a
nasty surprise should they manage to take it down. His archers and weapon crews were already hurling darts and stones at the approaching army. For the most part, they seemed unable to hit the elves at this distance. The enemy was too fleet of foot and easily dodged the projectiles.

The Rainbow, however, was not so agile. It took great hits, which tore chunks from its running body. Shimmering masses of translucent flesh quivered on the ground behind it.
These chunks of gauzy meat slowly dissolved into a dozen brilliant, oily colors.

Brand chuckled to see it. Soon, the beast would howl and low until it went mad. Then, with luck, it would stop hammering on their gates and turn to slay the elves at its back instead. Many
were the battles in which the Rainbow had gone mad and damaged its comrades as much as its foemen. The witch was inexperienced. She should have sent the Rainbow alone, or not at all. To send it into harm’s way at the head of an army was the height of foolishness.

The next minute, however, shattered Brand’s confidence. Despite the intoxicating effects of the Axe in his hand, he could not believe his sudden misfortune.
For at that moment, a new player decided to step onto the field: Old Hob had finally arrived.

Goblins appeared on the walls all around Brand’s men. They were not just stealthy this time—they were like ghosts. Brand could only surmise that Hob had become a better master of his Jewel, and that perhaps the Lavender was not so impotent as everyone said it was.

Stepping out from the dark pool that was each soldier’s shadow, hundreds of goblins appeared on the walls with jagged blades in their hands. These daggers were thrust deep into the soldier being stalked. Some veterans managed to wheel and grapple with the goblins before the daggers could bite them, but many fell in shock, hamstrung. These men had to turn painfully and do battle on their knees.

Cackling and shrieking manically, the goblins slaughtered the helpless and fled from those that they c
ould not take down by surprise. Instead of fair fights, each sought another back to sink their steel into.

Brand himself felt the bite of steel at the back of his right knee. It was driven with great force, but such was the strength of the Kindred mail he wore that it
could not punch through.

He turned and barely glanced at the surprised goblin
that’d just been given birth by his shadow. He swept away its head, sending it spinning out over the battlements. The head fell with a thud to the distant ground.

“
HOB!
” Brand thundered. “I will slay thee for this!”

Hob himself di
d not answer, nor did he make a personal appearance. Brand knew the goblin’s cunning mind. He did not believe Hob had fallen under the influence of the witch. Hob was too deceitful—too wary. Instead, he’d been watching this struggle from a cloud or a puff of mist nearby. When the outer gates had fallen and the enemy was charging toward the inner keep of Castle Rabing, seemingly unchecked, he’d decided to do what wise goblins always did: join the winning side.

Brand had no time to further contemplate the depths of Hob’s treachery now, however. He ran along the battlements, striking down a goblin with every stroke of his Axe. This made the twin blades happy. They flashed with the light of the sun with each head they took, and soon Brand was lost to the slaughter. He sang, he laughed, and when there were no more goblins
in sight to be slain, he had to control himself to keep from killing his own men. The Axe was like a fire: it wanted blood and licked everywhere for it with growing heat as it burned.

The goblins that survived fled by
jumping off the walls or stepping into shadows that embraced them, vanishing as inexplicably as they’d appeared. But they’d done their work well. Half the garrison was dead or wounded to the point of incapacitation.

Then the charging
Rainbow reached the gates at last.

Chapter Seventeen

Of Madness and Battle

Trev and
Fafna had arrived at the Great Tree to find Myrrdin in a sorry state. The old wizard was disgusting to look upon. Madness and physical hardships had taken a terrible toll on his body.

Rather than squatting inside the inner sanctum of his tree, attached by a dozen green tubers and supping upon the saps of the plant, he was stretched full length on the wood floor, barely breathing.

Trev tried to rouse him, but the half-dead wizard didn’t respond.

“What are we going to do,
Fafna?”

“I can awaken him,” said
the dragon, sidling forward. Her jaws dripped flame and her eyes were alight with ill intent.

“No,” Trev said, holding up a hand. “Don’t burn him. I know you
hate him for imprisoning you, but we must have his help in this battle.”

“Again I’m asked to sacrifice my wants for the benefit of others. I ask you why any thinking being would submit to such proposals time and again?”

Trev smiled. “I’m not sure, but you’ve been very cooperative for a dragon. Perhaps you like having friends and comrades. Most of your kind live out their existence in the lonely underworld with nothing more than an occasional shrieking kobold to talk to before you eat it.”

The
dragon huffed, sending up a plume of smoke. “There’s no need to become insulting,” she said. “If you want to play with this dead wizard, go right ahead. I was only thinking of burning him to a perfect cooked texture so I could taste his flavorful meats before he died. I mean, there’s no point on fooling ourselves concerning that score.”

Trev turned back to Myrrdin, frowning. The
dragon had a point: the man looked like he was done for. All that running away from the elves, from one world to the next, must have exhausted him. This tree he’d grown and driven so far, so fast, had taken all the energy he had to give. Now, he was spent.

“What’s that he’s lying upon?” asked the
dragon.

Trev cocked his head and squatted beside the old man, examining the situation. It was gloomy inside the tree, but he could make out a shaft of wood. Ten gnarled fingers had woven themselves around it, and he was lying atop it as well.

“It must be Vaul, the Green Jewel.”

“Really?” said the
dragon curiously. “Shall we take it?”

Trev l
ooked up in surprise. “I can’t—at least I don’t think I can. I’m a Jewel myself. An anti-Jewel, sort of. I’m sure that I either can’t wield it, or it wouldn’t work right my hands. I once tried to use the Black, and that went badly.”

“How about me, then?” asked the
dragon.

Trev laughed. “A
dragon wielding the Green? How absurd.”

Fafna
growled deep in her throat. She’d never liked being laughed at, and Trev cut off his rude chuckles.

“Sorry,” Trev said.

“I’m going to try,” said the dragon. “My father was said to have borne the Orange for a very long time. It made his flame all the hotter, you know. Really, the Kindred owe that Jewel to me. It is my inheritance.”

Trev was pretty sure the Kindred would argue the point, but he decided not to bring this up to the
dragon. What would be the point of antagonizing her?

“Take it from him,” said the
dragon, looming near.

Trev could feel the
dragon’s hot breath. She was so close it was like being in front of an open furnace.

“Why me?”

“You said yourself you’re immune to the Jewel’s powers. You should be able to touch any of the Jewels without repercussions.”

“If you want to steal Vaul, you’ll have to do it yourself.”

The dragon snaked forward a black claw. With trepidation she touched the wizard’s shoulder carefully. Trev was amused to think the dragon was so cautious around Myrrdin, who seemed helpless.

With a sudden rolling motion, the
dragon spun Myrrdin over onto his back.

Despite a bleeding hole where
a claw had punctured his shoulder, the old Wizard did not awaken. Nor did he let go of his single possession of value. The Jewel was still in the grasping hands of the wheezing old man. His eyes didn’t open, but his bony wrists seemed to flex, tightening the grip he had upon Vaul.

Fafna
reached out with a claw again and sought to pry the staff away from Myrrdin. Who made a mewling sound. His eyes fluttered, but did not open.

“You see that?” asked Trev. “You
got a reaction.”

“And such a useful one, too. We’ll have this bag of bones up and running the length of the tree within the hour.”

“That will be too long.”

“Yes, and if you don’t help me take the Jewel, I’ll gut him wit
h my claw by accident. I swear—it will be an accident.”

Trev twisted his lips in disgust. Sometimes, the
dragon could be heartless. He knew he shouldn’t expect anything else, but somehow he did.

Reaching down and grabbing the staff, Trev tried to wrestle it from the old man’s fingers. He touched it delicately at first, but then after a minute or so, he grabbed it full on.

He’d expected a shock of connection, but there was only an odd tingle. He was certain then that the Jewel could not harm him, even if it wanted to. That was a nice detail: he could come in contact with the Jewels, maybe even carrying them all at once. But he could never wield them as others did.

Growing frustrated, Trev took out his knife and sawed away the shaft. The staff was now two separate things: a small head with Vaul mounted inside, and a long, skinny stick with no
distinguishing features. He left the latter in Myrrdin’s white-knuckled hands while he lifted the former up with his hands upon it.

He showed it to the
dragon, who seemed more fascinated than ever.

“It’
s so lovely,” said the dragon. “I’ve never seen an object of such beauty before. This is my first.”

Trev watched him bemusedly. The Jewel was nothing special to Trev. He’d seen several others and even touched the Black briefly. That had been far more dangerous than this.

“Do you truly want it?” Trev asked the dragon.

“Yes.”

“How can we bring it into contact with your body? You can’t hold a staff, and the shaft has been cut away in any case.”

“It will grow back.”

“Not today, it won’t. We’ll have to do something else. Maybe we could hang it around your neck like an amulet.”

“That would do. Cut away one of those tubers attached to the wizard.”

“They feed him. I can’t do that.”

“Cut away a strip of his hide, then!” shouted
Fafna. “I want no further delays. My scales ache to touch Vaul. It must happen.”

Trev looked at
her warily. She was acting as if she were entranced by Vaul. Possibly, she was. But Trev hadn’t thought the minds of dragon kind could be manipulated so easily.

Trev opened his mouth to speak further, but a series of surprising occurrences made him forget whatever it was he’d been about to say.

First, the cave-like interior of the tree darkened, so much so that neither of them could see the exit that had been in plain sight a moment before. At the same time, Trev felt a tugging at his ankle.

He looked down in surprise to see Myrrdin’s hand clutching at his foot. The oldster’s lips were working too, mouthing words. No sound issued from the quivering tongue, however, nor the clacking teeth.

Then, Trev caught sight of his uncle’s staring eyes. They were filled with madness.

“Here Uncle,” he said. “I have what you long for. All you have to do is sit up and drive this tree one more time and then you can sleep for a dozen years if you want to.”

Myrrdin smiled up at him. But Trev thought to see something predatory in that smile. He looked behind him, but it was almost too late.

The clasping hand on his ankle tightened like a manacle.
A branch had been summoned from outside the hollow area. Called to reach inside and pluck Trev from his feet. It almost managed to complete its quest.

“Here Uncle!” Trev shouted, tossing Vaul down at him. “Take it, and wield it! All humanity needs your help now. All of us will be forever in your debt.”

Myrrdin’s fingers snatched Vaul from the air as it dropped. He brought it to his lips and kissed it. Then he began to slowly, painfully, sit up.

“I told you we should have burned him,” complained the
dragon.

Tubers began to move now, all around them. And the leafy vines from the outside crept closer every second.

“It’s time we leave now,” Trev whispered. To his Uncle, he shouted as if the man was deaf. “March the tree, Uncle! Destroy those who would kill your comrades. We need your aid. Honor your bargain, so no one can call you a cheat.”

Myrrdin seemed not to be listening. He was communing with Vaul, cradling the Jewel like an infant.

Inside the tree, things became stranger every moment. Branches were reaching inward, clawing and scraping over the floors, wood against wood. They reached inside so deeply that their countless finger-twigs snapped with each inch they traveled.

Tr
ev vaulted up upon Fafna’s back, making the dragon grunt in irritation.

“Fly, my
friend,” Trev said.

Needing no
further encouragement, the dragon scuttled to the vanishing tunnels that led to the outside world and launched into the clean, fresh air outside.

Trev was more than glad to have escaped Myrrdin again. Either
the old buzzard was going to march to battle, or he wasn’t. Either way, Trev felt he’d done his best to rouse him.

* * *

On the inner walls, the battle was not going well. The elves were outside still, but Rainbow was beating on the gates and they shuddered and groaned with each hammer-blow.

The problem was Brand was almost out of troops. His garrison had fought well, holding the outer wall until force
d to retreat. He had no doubt that the last of them would stand with him when the gates fell, and that they would sell their lives well, singing to the end as Ambros inflamed their hearts with songs of war.

But it would not be enough to prevail. Already, the goblins had managed to take sections of the wall
, and they held two of the towers without opposition. They were cowardly, but their strike had devastated Brand’s thin line of troops.

Outside, the elves had only to wait. They took potshots at his men when they could, but mostly they amused themselves with the villagers, burning huts and forcing maidens to dance with them even while their families died in the mud at their prancing feet.

Brand was sickened and enraged at the abuse, but he could do little about it. He had to hold the keep at all costs. If only the Rainbow could be destroyed…

“Brand,” Telyn said, appearing at his side.

He looked at her with unfocussed eyes. She’d been in their apartments all this time, guarding their children. He knew she would fight to the death for them in the end, if it came to that. He was surprised to see her here.

She wore a chain shirt and carried twin dagger
s. He knew her battledress well but had not seen her wear it for many long years.

“Have you come out to join me at the finish, my love?” he asked.

“Their finish, not ours,” she said. “You know what must be done now, don’t you? Look at our Dead. They outnumber us.”

Brand turned his gaze along the walls, and he counted the fallen men by tens. There were hundreds. Telyn was right, more lay on their faces than stood upright and fought.

“What can be done?” he asked.

“You must go into the catacombs and summon Slet. He must march in our streets.”

He looked at her, and gnashed his teeth at the thought. But at the same time he knew she was right. Without another word he raced for the grates over the crypt entrance. He’d had them chained when he’d sent Slet down here. It had been an exile as much as anything else. But now, he had need of the necromancer.

He lifted Ambros high and the Axe slashed down, severing the chains. With his free arm he wrenched the screeching
metal doors open. An unwholesome smell rose up to greet him as he did this, and even in the grip of the Axe, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

Telyn followed him as he ran down the steps. She was good at this, playing his second. She was a quiet shadow, always there in case he needed to be guided slightly, but never intruding, never annoying the Axeman without good cause. Doing so had gotten many people killed in
the past.

They ran from gallery to gallery, calling Slet’s name. At last, a shadow moved away from the rest, stepping out of an alcove behind them. Brand and Telyn turned and faced the necromancer.

“Slet, we have need of you!” Brand shouted. “Follow me, man, and bring as many of your bony puppets as you can command!”