by B. V. Larson
When they stood close enough to converse, Gudrin spoke first: “You’ve had trouble with the Axe before, but never so soon in a battle. Put it away, lad, before you cut off your own steed’s head!”
Brand looked at Morgana with wide, staring eyes. “And you? Do you have advice for me as well, Witch of the Wood?”
Morgana shook her head. Brand turned to Gudrin and sneered. “Why would I listen to a dog like you? A creature that grovels at her mistress’s feet? A soulless, toothless has-been who embarrasses the Kindred throne with her wart-covered arse!”
Both women looked surprised. Neither seemed to have expected this approach to peace talks. But while Brand was able to restrain himself from attacking them on the spot, the Axe held sway over his tongue. He said what he felt and he didn’t give a damn about the consequences.
“Brand,” Gudrin said. “I’m shocked you would be so unable to understand the situation. Morgana seeks to bring us all peace. Have we not fought a dozen wars over these Jewels? What’s the point? What has been gained?”
Brand gnashed his teeth. He gestured with the Axe over his shoulder at the walls behind him.
“You see my castle? That’s what we’ve gained! If the River Folk had stayed quivering in their beds, waiting for the next wandering changeling to steal each of our infants, we’d be living like the merlings in mud huts. But now, we have strength and honor. We bought those goods with our blades and our raging hearts!”
Gudrin turned to Morgana. “It’s hopeless. He sees no reason. He’s in the grip of Ambros, and I can’t overcome that with logic.”
“Perhaps I can suggest a solution,” Morgana said, daring to step her horse a pace closer.
As she approached him, she locked her gaze with Brand and smiled sweetly. He had to admit, she was a comely lass. If she’d been a tavern wench and he’d been a dozen years younger…
But no. He had to hold onto his hate, his rage. These women had marched an army to his castle gates.
“Brand,” Morgana said, “may I mop the sweat from your brow? It’s early, but I can see you’re overheated already.”
She came slowly nearer, and her fine white hand lifted as if to touch him.
Brand shied away and snarled. “Have a care, witch. If you want to keep that hand attached to your wrist, you’ll keep your distance.”
Morgana retreated, rebuffed and angry. He could see in her expression a deep rage. She didn’t like being rejected any more than he liked being touched by a slattern witch.
He laughed at her then, enjoying her discomfort. “Did you think I was some fleet-footed youth trotting about in your forest? No woman alive could command me like the sycophantic flock on the ridge behind you.”
His words did nothing to please Morgana. She sat stiffly, but managed not to curse him openly.
“Very well,” she said, “this meeting is pointless, and thus it is at an end.”
“What? But you’ve made no proposals, woman! Speak a word or two at least! I didn’t ride all the way out here for my health or just to gaze into your snake-like eyes.”
Morgana, who’d turned her horse to leave, wheeled back. Her eyes burned now, and he could see smoldering hate in them. This both amused and enraged him at the same time. The effect of the Axe upon him was like that of strong drink upon an angry young man. He saw grim humor in everything, a humor which might turn to murderous rage at any moment.
“I have a proposal: Put away that Axe, let me caress you and clear your mind of erroneous thoughts. Then we will have peace today, and a thousand lives will continue, rather than being snuffed out pointlessly.”
“Listen to her, Brand, as I have. She speaks the truth. There is no point to war. There is no need.”
“May I remind you who marched from their hollow mountain to my lands under arms? Was that I, who rolled up to siege your home? Am I the one demanding all the Kindred throw down their arms and love me as their rightful ruler? No, ‘twas you, lackey!”
Gudrin shook her head sorrowfully. “You don’t understand as I do, Brand. I will find it in my heart somehow to forgive you, but I’m not sure the Dead will at the end of this day.”
“Go home, the both of you!” Brand shouted, turning his charger back to the gates. “Bake bread, sing songs, drink ale until you can’t see straight! That’s my advice to you both, and before the day is done you’ll wish you’d heeded it!”
* * *
“I’m going to kill that man,” Morgana said flatly.
“His mind is affected by the Axe, milady,” Gudrin said. “He’s not himself.”
Morgana and her followers watch as Brand went back to his castle gates laughing, and in high spirits. His garrison troops cheered to see him return unharmed. As best they could tell, the parlay had gone extremely well.
“I don’t care who he is. When this is over, he dies. There will be no weaseling by any of you on that point.”
She turned and glared at each of her top servants in turn. Oberon nodded and smiled, seemingly unperturbed by the edict. Gudrin and Tomkin seemed concerned, but nodded obediently.
Morgana whirled around to face the walls again, her eyes wild and blazing. “Forward! March the army! Bring down those gates! Gudrin, send your crawlers in first to open the path for the rest.”
Gudrin cleared her throat loudly and the rest looked at her. Morgana’s eyes flashed dangerously.
“Milady,” she said, “I like the simplicity of your new plan, but it does not follow our strategy. The goblins have yet to come. They were supposed to open the gates by taking the walls by surprise from the air.”
“I know what the plan was!” Morgana screeched at her. “Are you daft or incredibly stubborn? The goblins have not arrived. Either they’ve been waylaid or—well, they must have been distracted somehow. Perhaps Old Hob’s hold over his barbarous people is not as firm as he’d like us to think. In any case, we’ll have to do this without him. You’ll have to do this with the crawlers. Take down the gates. With your flame combined with that of the machines, the task should be a simple one.”
“But what about the tree, milady? The Kindred forces were to be used to counter it, as was my flame.”
Morgana frowned and walked close to Gudrin. She cocked her head to the left, and stared into her eyes. “You’re not fully my creature, are you Gudrin? You pretend, but I know the truth.”
“Ask me what you did upon our first meeting,” Gudrin said evenly. “My answer has not changed.”
“Very well. Do you want me to hold all Nine of the Jewels of Power? Do you want me to thus rise to the level of Queen over all nature, and god over all lowly mortals upon this world?”
“I do, milady. I do. I would see you gather all the ancient stones together. I would see you possess them all.”
Morgana stared at her closely and then, after a time, she nodded. “I can’t detect a lie in your speech. Perhaps it is simply the nature of the Kindred to be irritating and disobedient.”
“That is quite possibly so,” Gudrin admitted.
“Well, I don’t like it. There will be changes after this is over. Discipline will rule even your flagrantly obstinate folk. But I don’t have the time to alter your minds properly now. Enough talk. You all have your orders. Let the battle begin!”
No cheers went up from those present. They were all as silent as stones. Morgana turned away and mounted a fine dappled stallion. The others rushed to their troops, save for Tomkin who stayed on the ground near his mistress. He had no army to command, as the Wee Folk had stayed well clear of him once the witch had grasped his mind.
Gudrin marshaled her forces and ordered them to march to the walls. Each crawler creaked and hissed as it moved and was followed by a company of Kindred heavy infantry. This was the heart of Morgana’s army, and she watched keenly as they deploy.
As expected, the humans fired a volley of flaming pitch and man-long arrows from their siege engines the moment the Kindred were in range. Before they’d gone a hundred yards, one of the machines
was skewered and burning. Two other infantry companies had taken hits and losses. But the Kindred were not weak folk. They pressed ahead valiantly.
“At least they know how to die for their love of me,” Morgana said to Tomkin. “I find it touching to watch.”
“Yes, milady.”
“When the Great Tree moves to intercept them, call the Rainbow.”
“But the Rainbow and the tree have done battle before—my servant can’t stop it.”
“I know that. Its job will be to press the attack against the humans. The walls aren’t tall enough to keep it from marching right overtop the battlements and into the enclosed lands. There you will knock the men from their posts on the walls until they are all dead or the Rainbow perishes.”
“It will go mad!”
“All the better,” Morgana said, smiling at him. “When madness takes the beast, make sure it is inside the walls surrounded by human troops. It wouldn’t do to have the monster damage our own armies.”
“Yes, milady,” said Tomkin. He bounded away to work his magic.
Already, the winds were picking up. Morgana relished the cool breeze. She smiled in anticipation of the carnage that was soon to come.
Oberon was the last one at her side. He smiled at her and seemed to enjoy her company.
“You know,” he said, “of all the humans I’ve spent time with over a thousand years, I understand you the best of all, Morgana.”
She laughed at that and wondered if his words were true.
* * *
To Brand it seemed like he’d barely reached the gates when the battle started. The enemy was on the move in the fields outside. The Kindred led the charge, marching resolutely behind their crawling, clanking machines. Each of the machines was powered by a small elemental, a salamander from the magma beneath Snowdon. Their heat, when applied to a boiler, provided steam which forced the metal limbs into motion.
Behind each machine was a cloud of smoke and steam. Inside this pall of vapor marched the Kindred infantry, each staring with glassy-eyes and odd smiles. It was as if they heard music no other could comprehend.
Brand wasn’t fearful of this army at his gates. Far from it. He relished the rush that was to come, the battle to the finish for thousands. He held aloft the Axe and brandished it in the sun, letting it flash and shine for all to see.
His men around him pelted the oncoming Kindred with a steady storm of arrows, stones and burning pitch. The Kindred marched on, heads down, shields raised. They did not scream in agony, not even when their beards were alight. They kept marching—even those who resembled pine cones, they had so many arrow shafts sticking out of them. Only the ones that were burned to the point where their bodies no longer functioned slumped down, still burning until they guttered out and turn to ash.
They reached the walls without being halted. There, however, the stones were strong and their axes were useless. The enemy seemed to not have a coherent plan. Where were their ladders? Where were their catapults to knock down the gates? They had neither.
Brand felt a hand on his shoulder and he whirled, lifting the Axe high. Here at last an enemy had reached him and dared to forfeit his life!
How disappointed he was to recognize the face that he saw. It was Trev.
For some reason, Brand saw Trev clearly, and he heard the boy’s speech as if he were not in a fog of battle.
“Brand, the Great Tree isn’t moving! The enemy is at the gate, but Myrrdin still stands at the far wall, motionless!”
Brand blinked, and after a time managed to comprehend the words. He turned, mouth gaping, to look at the Great Tree to the west. There it was, just as the boy said. The battle had begun, and Myrrdin was sitting on the sidelines.
He cursed with savage intensity, mostly naming Myrrdin and his ancestors as the worst stripe of coward and charlatan.
“Must I rouse him again?”
“Let me go,” Trev said, daring to touch Brand again, as if holding him back.
“It’s strange,” Brand said, eyeing the boy’s hand. “Most often, in the heat of battle, I would at least attempt to sweep that hand from your wrist. But I don’t feel that way with you, Trev.”
“I guess that’s an effect of my Jewel.”
Brand’s eyes lifted to Trev’s hair, which the boy now wore openly. He grunted. “Silver hair. Odd to think it has properties like no other thing in the world.”
“I’ll get Myrrdin to march,” Trev said. “You hold the walls, Lord Rabing.”
“You’re supposed to be flying on that dragon the other way!” Brand roared suddenly, pointing out to the distant fields where Morgana sat with Oberon and his elves. “You’re to get out there and slay that witch—no other can do it!”
“I will, milord,” Trev said confidently. “Just give me your leave to rouse Myrrdin. He must stop the Kindred from breaking the gates. Already, they’re laying fire upon it.”
Brand looked down and saw the boy was right. The Kindred army had reached the walls. They had no one to cut with their axes, but their machines were still operating. Only two had been stopped by direct hits from the castle’s siege engines. The rest were breathing gushes of flame onto the wooden gates. The gates were already alight and burning steadily. The Kindred cast oil upon it and the flames rose higher. The intense heat drove back defenders and attackers alike.
“Go then,” Brand shouted. “Go and fly fast. The Great Tree must move!”
Trev raced away, and Brand looked down into the maelstrom of battle. Almost before he knew what he was doing, he found himself marching along the outer battlements toward the struggling armies.
He’d told Trev that only he could slay the witch—but that wasn’t true, of course. Brand knew he could do it as well. It would not be easy. She would work to twist his mind. She would seem pathetic and lovely to his eye. He would be the worst of devils, cutting her down.
He forced himself to remember the Shining Lady. This woman reminded him of that ghost. She could twist the minds of men, and only the strongest could evade her wiles.
Brand considered himself among the strong. As far as he knew, he was the only mortal male who’d stood up to the wishes of the Shining Lady and even struck her down. It had only been in a dream, but he’d managed it.
He told himself with certitude that if he could master the Shining Lady, he could master this witch as well. He would not suffer her to continue breathing after what she’d done here today. She’d set the Kindred at the throats of the River Folk, and he could never forgive her for that. She’d given up her right to live.
Loosing a battle cry as he drew close to the struggling men, Brand flashed the Axe into the attacking army’s eyes. The Kindred shielded themselves and staggered back in their hundreds. Brand’s own men squinted and cursed, but then howled with glee as the Axe began to cheer them. Unlike the White, which worked to dominate the minds of people who talked to Morgana, the Axe lightened the hearts of men who were near it. The effects were much shorter, but no less dramatic. The garrison had been wavering, but now they burst into a throaty song of battle in a language none of them knew.
But even as Brand was about to vault the wall and fall into the midst of the Kindred, slaying them with his Axe, two things happened: first, the Rainbow appeared on the horizon. It was running toward the battle, and it let out a warbling, otherworldly cry as it came.
Second, Gudrin had reached the front lines of the Kindred forces. She stood with her machines and let fly a gush of flame from her fingertips.
Brand and a hundred men like him were forced back, shielding their faces from the looming wall of flame. She had directed her magic toward the gates, and they were rapidly burning away to nothing.
So hot was the flame now that the wood seemed to howl with released gasses. The rivets that held it together turned red, then white, then melted away in rivulets. Still, the blasting flame went on.
“It’s going down! Pull back, retreat!”
Brand cried out his frustration, but his garr
ison troops quailed all around him. The unleashed power of the Kindred Queen, focused upon his walls, was unstoppable. He was swept down stone steps with the rush of men.
But he did not flee like the rest. Instead, he moved to place himself in front of the tumbling gates. When the enemy did dare to enter his castle walls, they would meet him in person.
The gates were soon nothing but black charcoal. The Kindred axes flashed, rising and falling with heavy blows. They chopped their way through and rushed into the castle.
Rather than fear, joy split open Brand’s face and he laughed and shook Ambros at them when the Kindred outside could see him. A moment later, they rushed through the broken gates and came at him.
Brand met them alone. He did not hesitate. He asked no quarter and he gave none. He swung Ambros in great arcs, cutting away heads at his shoulder level. His reach was greater than that of any Kindred warrior. His blows were far more powerful. And his fanatical zeal for battle was greater than their deadened, fearless self-sacrifice.
In addition to the twin blades of his Axe was the Jewel itself which flashed with beams of blinding light every time it took a head. The Kindred were not only dazed by the light, their eyes burned and steamed within the sockets when they got close enough and the beams caught them directly.
Brand, for his part, sang as he worked. It was a song of valor and bravery from nine centuries past in a language no longer spoken by any living soul. He did not know the words, but found the song uplifting nonetheless.
Any other army might have broken, even a Kindred army, but these warriors did not possess minds that understood retreat. It wasn’t until a company of them lay dead that they were ordered back by their Queen.
Gudrin came forward, rippling with fire which burned everything but her. The Orange Jewel was plain upon her neck and flames ran over her body like water.
“Brand!” she cried. “You cannot stand. You must fall back, or I will be forced to slay you!”
