by B. V. Larson
After a moment’s pause, Brand began speaking again: “Beneath this castle is a labyrinth of twisting passages which hold gallery after gallery of ancient Dead. If you were to go down there, you might be able to master them.”
Slet reached out and ran his fingers over the bars again. “This iron is fresh. You built this gate.”
“The old one had rusted away.”
Slet nodded, and kept fingering the bars. “You want an army, don’t you? An army of the Dead?”
“I would rather my walls be manned by the Living, but I fear that Morgana will be too strong.”
“Open the gates then,” said Slet.
Brand noticed that the other’s voice had changed. It had become somewhat lower, and preoccupied. He almost shuddered as he produced the keys, shoved them into the thick Kindred-built locks, and allowed Slet and his cold companion to disappear down the echoing steps.
He waited there at the entrance, lingering. When he could no longer hear the two moving about, he quietly closed the gates and locked them again.
Brand felt a pang as he did this. It was treachery of a sort—but he could not bear the thought of Slet emerging from this place with an army of ancient Dead-things at his back. They might man the walls thickly, but they would in turn dampen the courage of his own living garrison.
Walking away, he shoved the clanking keys into his pocket.
Chapter Sixteen
The Last Battle
Four days later Brand met with his living comrades, such as they were. Brand with his Axe, his wife Telyn, Myrrdin with Vaul cut into the shape of a greenwood staff, and Trev, who Brand had learned, was himself the Quicksilver met in council.
Slet was missing, of course, still being locked in the catacombs. Brand told the others Slet was busy with his preparations, and no one seemed upset about the Necromancer’s absence.
“We don’t have a lot of troops,” Brand said, “but we wield power.”
“The Great Tree is worth an army by itself,” said Myrrdin proudly. He coughed when he finished speaking and spat wetly.
Brand looked on in concern. Ever since the wizard had run for hundreds of leagues to escape the elves, he’d been in poor health. Reviving Trev and causing the tree to move prematurely had drained him terribly. He hoped they all would be given time to recover before the great battle began.
“We’re holding this council of war to decide how best to defend ourselves and Castle Rabing.”
“Hold on,” Trev said, raising a hand. “Are you sure that war can’t be avoided? I’m not aware of any attempts to parlay with them.”
“That’s because if we send anyone to talk to them, they’d be charmed and turned into a dupe.”
“Not so,” Trev said. “I’ve met with her, she tried to bend me to her will, and failed.”
Brand tried not to get angry. It had been a long time since anyone had sat at his oak table in his own castle and told him he was wrong. He managed to control himself and continued in an even tone of voice.
“Look, we can’t hold out any hope of peace. Morgana has dominated most of the others and her goals are clear. She wants nothing less than to own the minds of all the Jewel wielders—or to slay us outright.”
“I have to agree with the Axeman,” Myrrdin wheezed.
Trev lowered his eyes. He seemed troubled. Brand frowned as he thought about this. Trev had actually met the witch, perhaps he was still slightly under her spell. Not totally enslaved, but partly smitten with her. It was a worrisome thought.
“All right,” Brand said, “I see it this way: Myrrdin will mount his tree and patrol the walls. There isn’t a gate nearly large enough to allow it to enter the castle. I will stand with the castle garrison. They know me and they trust me.”
“And what of me?” Trev asked.
Brand smiled grimly. “You have the most important job of all. When she reveals herself, you must find her and execute her. Only that way will all the rest become free of mind again.”
Trev looked troubled, but didn’t object. He frowned at his dagger instead. It was pitted and worn with use by now. Brand thought to offer him a new one, but he knew that a man fought better with a weapon he knew well, rather than a new one with no spirit.
At last, Trev gave him a flickering smile and a nod. Brand felt badly for the youth. He’d had to do a lot of growing up in a very short time. People were telling him to slay the only woman he’d ever laid with. That was a task that would not come easily to any man.
“Think about your mother,” Telyn said, speaking up for the first time. “She’s back in the Haven, helpless. If we all fall to this witch, there will be no mercy for her or a thousand others like her.”
Trev nodded and his jaw tightened. “When the time comes, I won’t lose my nerve.”
Myrrdin stood first. This gave him a coughing fit. He swayed on his feet, but batted away the hands that came to support him. “I will see to the health of my steed. The Great Tree will be useless if I’m not there to direct her.”
“Her?” Telyn asked.
“Yes, her,” Myrrdin said. “Trees have genders, just as the rest of us do. My steed is no different.”
Telyn shrugged and they watched him leave. The moment he was out of earshot, she leaned over the table to Brand, whispering urgently.
“We must take the Jewel from him and give it to another!” she said.
“There’s no time, and I have no right to do that.”
“But he’s at the edge of keeling over!”
“That’s as may be, but even if we did manage to wrest it from the old buzzard, who could wield it in his stead? Who could quickly learn how to drive the tree and get it to follow their will?”
“Someone! Anyone. We must try.”
“Attuning oneself to a Jewel isn’t easy,” Brand said. “I once managed it in a burst of frenzied need, as did Slet. But I wouldn’t want to repeat the process. I can’t even contemplate what it would be like to have two of the Jewels warring over my single mind again.”
Telyn heaved a sigh, sat back in her chair, and shook her head in defeat. “I didn’t mean you, husband. I know I could do it myself if I had the time. But I suppose I don’t.”
Brand looked at his wife in surprise. He hadn’t considered the possibility of her taking up the Green. It gave him a shock of worry just to contemplate the idea. The Jewels were so dangerous, so malevolent in their own individual ways. He didn’t want to inflict such a fate upon his beloved.
At the same time, he knew that Telyn had always felt an urge toward magic. She’d dabbled with it long before he had in their youth.
He wondered at her motivations: was she truly worried about Myrrdin’s health, or did she harbor desires for the Green? He didn’t like the idea of his wife manipulating the situation for her personal gain.
But he also didn’t blame her—not directly. Just being around the Jewels for a long time made greed blossom in the hearts of normal folk. It would only be natural, after watching her husband wield the Axe for long years, that Telyn would want power of her own. The Jewels were like sirens, singing their songs in the minds of anyone who ventured close enough to hear them.
The meeting broke up and they separated to their quarters. Telyn followed Brand to their chambers. They discussed the plans further, and she seemed most concerned about Trev’s part.
“His mother would be horrified to know you’re seeking to use him this way.”
“He’s not a child any longer, Telyn.”
“I’d wager you won’t say the same when it’s time to send our own children into harm’s way. Mari has suffered so much. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to have her Dead husband return and sit on the rocker.”
Brand felt sympathy with everyone’s plight, but he could not afford to dwell on any personal problems. He had to operate as if each day was their last.
* * *
When morning came and Brand awakened, it seemed to be early. He looked out toward the east and there were only
tinges of pink to be seen there.
He sat up suddenly as he realized what had awakened him. A horn was trumpeting distantly. Telyn was up a moment later.
“It’s just before daybreak,” she said, “the hour of the elves.”
Brand nodded dazedly. The Faerie were most alert and energetic at sunset and dawn. They were most torpid at midday, when they could rarely be found.
Together, they dressed and prepared for battle. Telyn threw the curtains wide and the gleaming line of light outside grew slowly into a rising sun.
Wearily, hearts and boots thumping in rhythm, the garrison awakened and manned the walls. Brand had already fielded a dozen reports. The enemy had been sighted to the east. They were coming from the swamps with the sun at their backs.
His men made ready and worked hard to prepare for the worst. None knew what kind of forces the enemy might have. They squinted into the bright red rays of sunshine as the mists burned off the waters and revealed the enemy on the march.
Brand was immediately disheartened. From the walls of his central keep, he could see the farthest. At his side was Telyn. She gasped when she recognized the forms that crawled toward them.
“Those are war machines!” she cried. “Gudrin truly is among them!”
Brand nodded glumly. The Kindred had come to their queen’s call. They were a loyal folk, and not ones to disregard an order even if it seemed mad. Fortunately, there did not seem to be too many war machines. A dozen crawlers, no more. They blatted smoke and steam and came forward with ticking, hissing bodies of metal. Behind each of them marched a full company of the Kindred. Already, with just these, there were more troops in the enemy army than he had manning his walls.
“Where’s Slet?” Telyn asked.
“He lingers at the entrance to the catacombs under the castle.”
“Still? Shouldn’t we call him to the walls?”
Brand chewed his bearded lower lip, thinking for a moment.
“Not yet,” he said at last. “He’ll be needed, I think, but I want my men to start this fight with nothing but righteous light in their eyes. Let them feel good when they die—and let’s hope few of them have to die twice today.”
At these grim words, Telyn looked at him in shock. But he did not meet her gaze. He kept watching the approaching army.
“There’s no sign of Hob and his goblins, is there?” Brand asked.
“None.”
“That big green bastard,” Brand muttered. “He’d sell his own mother for firewood on any night he felt an uncomfortable chill.”
Trev joined Telyn and Brand on the wall top a few minutes later. He stared out into the lands beyond the walls of the castle. He seemed saddened.
“She just won’t stop, will she?” he asked.
“You mean Morgana? No. Not until she’s one of Slet’s Dead things. Maybe not even then.”
“I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” the boy said.
Brand glanced at him. He saw in Trev a shadow of himself. He thumped the youth on the shoulder and smiled.
“Don’t worry, boy. We’ll win this fight. Just look behind us, to the west.”
They did as he suggested together, and they saw the Great Tree towering there. It was motionless now, but it dwarfed every other aspect of the landscape. It resembled a mountain spire or a massive tower of stone.
“Wait until the Kindred see that tree pick up and march itself toward them,” Brand said. “They’ll find fear in their hearts for the first time in a handful of centuries.”
Trev formed a line with his lips and nodded. He didn’t seem heartened by the thought. Brand turned away, scowling. He wondered if it was time yet to draw the Axe. The enemy was so near! He was slightly afraid, when he thought about it, that he would be too late somehow to join in the fun. What if the Great Tree smashed their ranks and drove them all squalling back into the swamp? That would be a fine waste.
It’d been so long since he’d been in a true, pitched battle. The screams of the dying, the smell of blood and smoke mixing in one’s nostrils. It was intoxicating.
“Brand?”
Brand frowned. He found he was marching down the steps of the keep. Someone or something was pestering him. He lashed out with a gauntlet, aiming to smash the underling down and away. People had to learn a proper respect for their rightful lord.
His target ducked deftly, switched to his opposite side and plucked at his sleeve.
“You’ve got the Axe out, Brand. You’re marching outside, aren’t you? Control yourself, my husband.”
Brand stopped and blinked at Telyn stupidly. He then slowly turned his head to see the Axe was in his hand. It had gotten there mysteriously. He had no memory of grabbing it from his pack and pulling it forth.
With a great effort of will, he lifted it up, and up, and placed it back in his pack. Even then he had to force his fingers to untwine themselves individually from the haft. When he was done, he loosed a great sigh and nodded to his wife.
“I didn’t hit you, did I?”
“No, missed by a mile.”
He nodded again. “You know, I don’t seem to be as good at controlling it as I used to be. I’m not sure if that’s due to being out of practice, or my age.”
“You’re young yet.”
“Old enough to be a grandfather.”
She smiled at him and patted his sleeve. He embraced her, and the Axe squirmed on his back in frustration.
* * *
The enemy army halted just out of range of the siege engines and stood their ground. They were quiet and resolute. Brand eyed them with concern. They were almost silent, unmoving. It was not natural.
His own men were shouting taunts and curses from the walls. They beat upon their shields and hurled insults and laughter. It was normal enough for men to behave that way when facing a foe on the battlefield. They sought to build their courage by belittling their opponents.
But there was no sign of such bravado on the opposing side. They just stood there, silent, staring… Brand knew it had to be an effect of the witch, Morgana. Could she truly be affecting the minds of so many? If so, it seemed to him that the White was the most powerful Jewel of all.
“Milord!” called a breathless courier who ran up the steps to greet him. “They call for a parlay! They bear the flag of truce and approach the walls.”
“Shoot them down,” said Fafna, stepping near.
Everyone around her looked shocked at the suggestion. They stepped away from her everywhere she went, as if they could smell burnt flesh. Perhaps, thought Brand, they could.
Brand shook his head, but he did not admonish the dragon for the suggestion. “That is not our way.”
“But it should be, if you want to keep your own sanity. The woman will talk, and she will twist any who go out there to meet with her. You can’t parlay with a witch!”
“I understand what you’re saying. But I’ll not fire upon a flag of truce. I’ll not dishonor these walls on the morning of their first battle.”
The dragon slithered away, grumbling.
“I’ll go talk to her,” Trev said. “She can’t affect me.”
Brand looked at the boy with upraised eyebrows. “Not a bad idea, I have to admit. But it won’t do. I’m the lord of this castle, and I will meet with the witch under the flag of truce. If she breaks the truce by attempting to subvert my thinking, we will have no further compunction. Any form of knavery will be allowed. In fact, if I do not return, I want you to order the Great Tree to attack immediately. With luck, it will catch them by surprise and do them great harm.”
The rest of them looked unhappy. Trev dared to touch his arm as he made his way to the stone steps that spiraled down to the courtyard.
“Brand, I beseech you. She is not what she seems. I have met her, you have not.”
Brand took the advice seriously. He reached back and took hold of Ambros and a strange grin spread over his face.
Trev immediately removed his hand from Brand’s mailed sleeve and
took a step backward.
“Good move, child,” Brand said, in a voice that was not entirely his own. “I will not bow to this witch. She’ll not bend my mind now—for it is bent already!”
With a wild laugh, he charged down the steps, taking them two at a time. The rest watched him go in alarm. He vaulted onto his horse, which nickered and shied in dread.
“How can he parlay like that?” Fafna asked.
“Maybe he doesn’t mean to,” answered Telyn.
The ride on his charger was a blur to Brand. One moment, he was sprinting across a courtyard, and the next it seemed to him he was whipping his horse and roaring with impatience. The great gates swung open and he galloped out alone to meet the enemy.
The flag was held by none other than Gudrin herself. At her side was a woman who had to be Morgana. They rode under a flag of truce, but they did not seem pleased at Brand’s reckless approach.
On the walls behind him, Brand heard his men cheer. They saw him charge, the Axe raised high and shining with yellow light. They all felt its power come over them, and their spirits were raised. In its own way, the Axe was like the Sunstone, in that it had power over the minds of men. But it only served to goad them to combat, nothing more refined than that.
The two women held their ground as he charged closer, his horse throwing up black clods of earth behind it. He only slowed at the last moment, pulling on the reins.
“No!” shouted a voice in his mind that was not his own. “Don’t stop now, cut them down! You will have won in a stroke!”
Not following that advice took all the strength Brand had in his mind. He wanted to do it. Gudrin was a traitor, a turncoat, a worthless cur! The witch Morgana was pure evil, a vicious creature like a poisonous spider crawling from beneath an overturned stone. They both had it coming, and none would blame him for a deed well done!
No, he told himself, pulling harder on the reins. He could not. He would parlay, but he would do so from strength. While the Axe gripped his mind he could not fall to the witch’s charms.
