Haven 3 Shadow Magic (Haven Series 3) (17 page)

Brand walked back to him, his footing made uncertain by the shifting soft backs of the dead. “Are you injured?” he repeated.

Corbin looked up at him gasping. He shook his head. “No, I’m just sickened by the slaughter. Aren’t you?”

Brand blinked at him, and realized with a shock that he wasn’t. The coppery smell of blood and the roasted-meat smell of burnt flesh did nothing to turn his stomach. Vaguely, he wondered at what he had become. After a time, Corbin regained his feet and went to rest by the fountain. Someone had removed the body of the lookout that had died the day before at this very spot, but his blood still stained the bowl of the fountain.

“Am I unnatural, Corbin?” asked Brand.

Corbin looked up at him and shook his head. “No more so than Modi. Look at him. He is a veteran of many wars, I suppose. He is no more concerned by the dead than we would be for a pile of fresh-picked broadleaf melons that leaked their sap upon our cart.”

After they had cleared the dead from the entrance and replaced the gate, no more attacks came. Dawn finally arrived, and the cold light of early morning lit up the awful scene of carnage. Brand thought that it had been better left hidden by darkness. They watched the battle that progressed some distance away at the main keep. At first, Tylag and his men had surprised some of the rhinogs, having dug into hiding places amongst the brush surrounding the crumbling keep. Soon, however, the enemy had encircled them and hemmed them in. The catapults had been concentrated there as well.

As they watched the battle rage, they ate salted beef and swallowed their rations of water. Corbin worked at not sicking up all that he ate. Brand ate steadily, without sickness or gusto.

“Somewhere, in the middle of all that, is Telyn,” said Brand in a distant voice.

“Tylag, too,” echoed Corbin.

“Had I known she’d left, I wouldn’t have come here first.”

“Then all might have been lost for these men,” Corbin sighed. “Besides, we had no way of knowing.”

“We should go to their aid.”

“How can we? If we leave here alone, entire companies of rhinogs will fall upon us.”

“We need not go alone. We can lead the men on a charge. They won’t suspect such a thing.”

“Of course they don’t expect that! It would be suicide! Even your axe can’t stop a storm of arrows, Brand. Our armor might see the two of us through, but we would be killing our fellows, as surely as if we had swung the blades ourselves.”

“We shall go alone, then,” said Brand.

“You shall do no such thing,” said a bass voice.

Brand turned from eyeing the keep to see Modi looming over them. He turned back to the keep. Another fireball arced high and belched more smoke and flame from the crumbling battlements. Distant screams could be heard.

“I shall do as I will, warrior,” said Brand.

“Then you are a fool.”

“Have a care.”

“You are the one without a care. Haven’t you noticed the conspicuous absence of Herla? Do you not wonder why he lets the children of goblins do all his work and waits to launch his huntsmen?”

“He’s right, Brand,” said Corbin, “he’s right. Herla is only interested in the Jewels, naught else. Rhinogs will die and more will be spawned, the same can be said of River Folk. True power lies in the Jewels. In a way, this battle is just a distraction for us.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Brand.

“Don’t you see?” responded Corbin. “Herla’s just waiting for a chance to come out of hiding and sweep down on you. He wants nothing but the axe. We can’t just give it to him.”

Even as Corbin spoke, thunder rumbled in the North. Brand followed the sound and turned toward the Faerie mound.

“What I want to know is what happened to Myrrdin,” said Corbin. “Perhaps we were wrong to stop him from arranging a renewal of the Pact with Oberon. Right now he could be bringing his archers to our aid. Surely, that would rout the enemy.”

Brand turned on him. “We weren’t wrong. Is that all we of the Haven have died for here today? To return to serving tribute to the Faerie? Perhaps you would have us wash their feet for them as well.”

Corbin made no answer. The thunder in the North rumbled again, and the sky seemed to darken a bit as clouds rolled in from that direction.

“Another storm?” asked Modi with a grunt. Brand could see that his military mind was factoring that into the situation. “We could use the water. I’ll have the men set up buckets to catch the run-off,” he said, stumping off to shout orders to the weary troops. Many of them slept now, slumped over their weapons and using cold stone blocks for pillows.

Brand stared northward.

Corbin followed his gaze, and then looked at him. “What is it?”

Brand just stared. He reached back and pulled the axe from his pack. “I’m only glad it was not I who had to decide how things would go this day,” he said.

“What are you talking about, Brand?” asked Corbin, sounding alarmed.

Brand stood up. He planted his feet and set his spiked helm upon his head. To Corbin he said:  “Follow me, my cousin, or follow me not, as you will.”

With that, he paid no more heed to those around him. A feral grin split his features as he felt the joy of wielding the axe once more. With three deft strokes he cut a path through the thick blackened vines. Sap ran and bubbled like blood from the damaged growths. They parted and fell away from the incredible sharpness of the axe, vines that had withstood fire, knives, axes and arrows.

Brand kicked out the vines that choked the opening and tensed himself to jump through. He felt hands upon him, and had he not known them to be Corbin’s, he might have severed them at the wrists. Instead, he used the strength of arm that the axe lent him to throw his cousin to the ground. Gathering himself, he crashed through the living barrier, which already crackled as it sought to knit itself back together.

He hit the ground hard and grunted heavily. He climbed quickly to his feet and set off at a trot toward the main keep. He never looked back to see if Corbin followed, nor did he watch for rhinogs or the Wild Hunt. His eyes stayed upon his destination, only glancing now and then to the north and the growing storm that brewed there.

The rain began to spatter down and the sky darkened rapidly. The morning sun had long since vanished. Clouds of steam rose up from the smoldering encampment and the burning keep ahead. The thunderclaps to the north became more regular and louder.

Brand heard another, running beside him. He knew without turning that it was Corbin.

“The thunderclaps,” gasped Corbin. “They’re footfalls, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“It must be Tomkin, then! He’s summoned the Rainbow, even as Dando did before!”

Brand didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Even as Corbin shouted the words in the growing wind and lashing rain, the shimmer of the Rainbow was clear in the north.

They topped a low rise and looked down into a gully. The gully was filled by a dozen or so huddling rhinogs. A single goblin walked among them, administering salves to the wounded among his brood and lashes to those that irked him. Brand hesitated only a moment. With a wild howl of ferocity, he jumped down amongst them. Ambros winked of its own accord, bringing shrieks of terror from the huddled enemy. Corbin plunged down the slope after Brand.

The rhinogs scattered in all directions as would rabbits discovered at midnight in a farmer’s garden. Even the goblin scrambled to get away, perhaps believing that these two armored soldiers were but the point men of a company of attackers. Brand strode after this last and ended its long life with a single stroke. The head he grabbed up and hurled after the fleeing backs of its offspring.

“That one will never spawn another monster!” he roared. He grinned at Corbin, who panted and stared at him as if he stared at a stranger. “Thanks for following me, my cousin! Are there any others behind us?”

Corbin shook his head. He was gasping for air, beyond speech. He leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. His sides heaved.

“So be it,” said Brand. “We shall win through alone. These foes have no stomach for a fight unless they have carefully planned every detail. We will baffle them by assaulting them single-handedly!”

As he climbed the far side of the gully, Brand heard Corbin mutter after him, “the River save us if they lose their bafflement.”

When they gained the far side of the gully and set off for the keep, they were buffeted by powerful winds. The shimmering colored lights of the Rainbow grew in the north. The huge feet and legs were almost visible in the pouring rain. With each fantastic footfall, a deafening clap of thunder rang out over the landscape.

“Fool Tomkin! You are the greatest of fools!” screamed Brand. The storm tore the words from his mouth. Blood, sweat and rainwater trickled down his cheek into his beard and his mouth. He tasted the salty mixture and it was sweet to his tongue.

As they ran, they saw the Rainbow reach the three catapults that sat at the edge of the dank swampland. Great shimmering hands descended from the skies and picked up one of the war engines as a child might pick up a toy. The catapult was raised up, up, out of sight, then came crashing down upon the second engine. Both smashed apart and burst into flames as their loads of hot oil and pitch ignited. The third catapult crew, under the harsh lashes of their masters, bravely worked to turn and aim at the monster. Even as the Rainbow took a step forward, the catapult snapped one final time and sent its fiery load into the shimmering mass of the Rainbow’s shoulder. A wad of gauzy, insubstantial flesh was ripped loose from the creature. It loosed a deep otherworldly cry of pain that caused agony in the ears of all that heard it. The catapult crew cheered and the Rainbow staggered, but didn’t fall. Moments later the last catapult was crushed beneath the heavy tread of glimmering feet.

Most on the battlefield had their heads turned to watch this struggle of titans. Brand and Corbin used the valuable time to run up undetected behind another band of rhinogs. Brand saw they were archers, and he felt a hot hatred for their black-fletched bolts. Ambros cut down several in a flurry and then they were through the enemy lines and running toward the keep. They ran right past a knot of struggling men and rhinogs.

“We should help!” cried Corbin.

Brand shook his head. “Can’t. If the Rainbow reaches the keep, Herla could at last gain Lavatis. We must be there.”

“Brand, look!” cried Corbin, pointing to the east.

Brand turned and saw the Wild Hunt. Following their bounding vanguard of Wee Folk were the Huntsmen, the unmistakable stag head of Herla among them. They were hellbent for the keep as well, and were moving much more rapidly than Brand and Corbin could on foot. Brand watched as Osang was raised to the stag head’s mouth and a long, low, mournful note was winded that rolled over the land.

“The charm has failed!” shouted Corbin in despair. “We can never beat them! Perhaps not even the Rainbow can reach Tomkin first!”

Brand cursed and wished for a horse, although he was no master rider. He was a man at home riding the ripples of the Berrywine, not the undulating back of a warhorse.

As it was, both the Rainbow and Wild Hunt beat him to the keep. A terrific struggle ensued: men, rhinogs, coursers and the great feet of the Rainbow all met and slew one another. The first gate they met as they panted up to the top of the rise was only a ruin of stone and twisted metal. Brand cursed as he saw the tunnel behind it had fallen.

“Must we climb the walls themselves?” he demanded aloud.

“Here!” cried Corbin. “The side door! It has been smashed in! Perhaps we can get into the tower!”

Brand followed him at a dead run and soon passed his exhausted cousin. He shouldered aside the last remnants of a once stout door whose ancient timbers crumbled to the touch. Into unexpected blackness they stumbled, groping their way over bodies and fallen bricks to a spiral staircase of cut stone. They quickly wound their way up the steps, ducking their heads and scrambling over yet more bodies.

“There are many more rhinog dead than human,” said Brand. “But we can ill afford the losses anyway.”

“I can’t but think of how many firesides will go without family members after this business is finished,” said Corbin. “I believe I just climbed over the fat body of Osho, the grocer from Riverton. Remember him, Brand? He used to give us barrel-apples for free when we were kids.”

“I can’t but think that there will be no firesides for any of us to go back to, should we lose this day,” replied Brand grimly. He continued to climb over the warm, sticky bodies to the top, ignoring the smells and the textures. Behind him, Corbin followed, making gagging sounds. Brand wondered that he had anything left in his stomach to sick up. For once he was glad for the axe and the callous courage it seemed to give him.

Up ahead the din of battle and the pink light of dawn filtered down. They tumbled out onto the crumbling battlements of the keep and almost immediately were spotted by a bounding figure. It gave a strange, warbling cry and pointed at them as if accusing them of a most heinous crime. Brand stepped forward, snarling at the Wee One.

“It’s one of Herla’s foul little jackrabbits!” he roared as he swung.

Bursting out with laughter, the Wee One launched into the air, doing a flip before it came back down in the same spot. It waited for Brand’s next move, its legs tense. Brand grinned grimly and took a half-step forward. The Wee One crouched, watching closely, clearly confident and enjoying the sport. Behind them, Corbin averted his eyes as he knew what would come next.