Haven 5 Blood Magic BOOK

by Larson, B. V.

  It had been a grave miscalculation, and it was entirely her fault. She had not known Oberon wielded the Red. In retrospect, she realized now she should have let them utterly destroy Gronig. That would have been the safe move, but she had not in her heart been able to abandon so many of her people to slaughter. She had none to blame but herself for the capture of the bombards. Hopefully, that mistake had not cost her people their existence. Without them, even the abominations had not the strength to hammer their way through the Great Gates.

  “My queen,” said the chamberlain behind her. There was open worry in his voice, as she had scorched him earlier upon learning the bombards had been captured.

  “What is it?”

  “I would suggest you gaze upon Gronig.”

  She blinked and glanced at him. “What new hellish news do you bring me?”

  He smiled hopefully. His fingers waggled in the air. He was a diffident member of the Talespinners, one that she had never liked much. “If you would but look,” he said. “I think you will find the news pleasing.”

  She sighed and stumped over to the viewing apparatus that gazed eastward. There she worked the wheels until a vision of the smoking ruin that was once the thriving town of Gronig came into view.

  “I fail to see what—” she began, then she broke off. “Are those horsemen? They mount the ridge. The River Folk! Brand has come at last.”

  “Yes, milady, that was our conclusion,” said the Chamberlain, effusing at having pleased her. “Now that the sun is rising, you can see clearly that the River Folk have a serious force and are marching up to trap the elves on the ridge.”

  Gudrin hooted and laughed. It was a sound she’d not made in a weeks. “If we can hold here, we have them.”

  She hammered her fists upon walls around the viewing apparatus and stared into the mechanisms. Her fists ran with flame and blackened her already crispy leather coat, but she took no notice.

  She turned away then, calling for her captains and for messengers. They would relay her orders throughout the caverns, transmitted to her troops via flashes of light generated by lantern-like devices built with mirrors, lenses and flame. Using these communication systems, they were able to send coded orders over great distances to troops in the field, so long as there was nothing blocking the beams.

  She had distributed her troops as best she could, given the circumstances. The kobold raiders ran about burning lichen farms, breweries and mining operations. She had companies of scouts armed with crossbows hunting them, but they were not her primary concern. They were an irritant and a distraction, this she knew. The real threat came from the concentration of gnomes and kobolds that had boiled out in the dusty wastes near the vents of the Earthlight itself. They could not be allowed to destroy the works there, nor could they be allowed to take the citadel. So far, they had not made their move. They had spent the hours since breaking through the plug gathering their numbers and organizing. Soon, however, she knew they would move. She suspected they waited until the gates were breached. Then, they planned to strike her army from both sides at once.

  She and her Kindred regiments had not been idle, however. Between the gnome army and her own city, at the center of which stood the broken citadel, she had gathered the majority of her forces. Fully five regiments, each led by a squadron of three crawlers, stood at the ready. In reserve, she had the golems, called back from guarding the plugs. They had proven to be the most difficult for the enemy to defeat.

  Now, however, with Oberon at her gates, she wished she had a greater force up here. If those five regiments or the golems were available, she could sally when Brand arrived and crush the elves between two armies with no retreat.

  Chewing on her hand, she felt flames tickle her nostrils. The bright orange light of them, dancing up from her hands, did not burn, but made her squint. It was odd, she thought briefly, how accustomed she’d become to the gentle licking of flame. As the master of the Orange, flame did not burn her, but it did feel as if the finest gauze was being fluttered over her skin by a mischievous child.

  She nodded to herself, coming to a conclusion. She would order her remaining five golems to march up the long walk to the gates. The good thing was that when they arrived, they would devastate the elves. But she had to hope that five regiments of heavy troops with crawlers leading them were enough to stop the gnomes and the kobolds.

  The mountain shook with another impact, as the bombards snapped and hurled another volley. There was no time for further dithering. Still chewing upon her flaming fingers, she shouted out her orders.

  She had a heavy heart, for she was committed now. The golems were far too slow to switch fronts a second time.

  * * *

  Like a great blue snake, Brand’s army wound up the steep cobbled road to the ridge. They were tired, but still game, when they reached the top. But once there, they saw nothing of the enemy. To the north rose up Snowdon, looking majestic, its crown laden with icy mist. Below a great battle raged, they could tell that by the continued flashing and booming of the bombards. But they could not see how it went.

  “That way, comrades, lies the enemy,” he shouted to those nearest. “By moving up behind them, we have trapped them on this ridge between the army of the Kindred and our own. I do not expect this to be easy, but we clearly have the advantage.”

  Jak had joined with the archers since he had the most training as a hunter. He tugged at Brand’s leg as he sat upon his roan, watching the army march by.

  “Brand?”

  “What is it, Brother?”

  “Some of our hunters have noticed—shapes moving about on this mountain behind us.”

  Brand craned his neck, frowning. Jak referred to the nearest peak of the Black Mountains, which loomed to the south. He knew nothing of it, but plainly it wasn’t as large as Snowdon and was rather barren at the summit.

  “I don’t see anywhere for troops to hide upon its face. But the Fae are nothing if not tricksy. If your men see more shapes up there, shoot them!”

  Jak nodded, and gazed up at the mountain with troubled eyes. Brand turned back to toward Snowdon. There, in his mind, lay the real battle.

  It felt good, so very good, to be close to battle again. It had been too long. His mind, his hand, and most of all his axe ached to get into the thick of it again.

  He urged his roan to a trot and pushed through his marching troops to the front. Tomkin hopped up there with Corbin. Everyone was eager. After the horrors they had witnessed in Gronig, there was a general desire to get to the elves themselves, to slay the real culprits.

  * * *

  Gudrin watched in alarm as the Great Gates cracked. It was near midmorning now, and she could see Brand’s forces coming up the ridge behind Oberon’s. The elves had played a cagey game, skirmishing with their archers to slow down the advance of the River Folk. Every time they drew near, elves would shower them with deadly arrows with squirming tips. The humans answered with snapping crossbows, but their fire was never as accurate and never as deadly. A single scratch from one of the Fae enchanted arrows would cause it to send a worming sliver into their bodies.

  Brand’s axe was no defense against such evil weaponry. The humans had put up large walls of shields, behind which their archers wound their crossbows. The elves kept retreating out of range, and the humans kept advancing, but it was slow going.

  This had given them time to work the bombards upon the gates in earnest. They had run out of proper shot long ago. They now loaded the steam-driven weapons with whatever was available, stones from the fells, Kindred heads, even buckets of gravel. The bombards, as long as they had water to feed the angry elementals inside them, could keep firing indefinitely.

  Unfortunately, Snowdon’s gates, although very ancient and extremely thick, were not boundless. Now that cracks had finally appeared, Oberon had rushed forward two of his largest abominations as the crews reloaded the bombards between volleys. These monsters had at least thirty hands each and an equal number of legs. Mo
st of the protruding limbs and heads were Kindred Gudrin noted with a shudder. Straining in frenzy, the abominations ripped pieces of stone from cracks, widening them. A dozen throats raved with madness and exertion as the monsters strove to rip their way into Snowdon. Fingers were torn loose and bones were snapped as often as chunks of masonry were brought away, but Oberon quickly patched these injuries. All that was required was the gentle caress of the swirling bladder of blood that floated behind him and his ghastly hound.

  She was more than tempted to give the elf a surprise. She could allow the gates to fall open suddenly, and light up his monsters and his hound with a gush of flame that would be the envy of any dragon. That, however, would give Brand less time to get into the battle and would give her golems less time to arrive.

  She considered retreating further into her mountain fortress. She could not take this option, however. It was the safest, but smacked of cowardice. Out there, Brand marched to her aid with every man he could bring, she knew. He had come at her call, and she could not leave him to face the elves in a relatively even fight. This fight involved the Kindred, they were obviously the target, and she would not have it said that her folk sat out the battle at their doorstep. The Kindred would not huddle and quake inside their caverns while humans fought their war for them.

  So, she heaved a sigh. There would be no easy way out this day. The golems were coming, but by all estimates the gates would be rubble before they arrived.

  She called for her battlemaids. She donned a full suit of armor. She girded for war in steel that gouged her skin, with only a layer of mechnicians leather beneath, though she expected that would soon burn away in the tremendous heat she planned to release. She insisted that every piece of mail she donned be made solely of metal, though it might tear at her skin. She had no hair left to speak of, so that wasn’t a problem. Her armor was specially made using the hardest high-carbon steel her people could forge, each piece folded one hundred times or more. It was very important that her armor could not melt.

  Once properly attired for battle, she summoned her regiment of heavy infantry, bolstered by the only squad of crawlers that garrisoned the Great Gates. As per the ancient defensive plans of the Kindred, they would not make their stand right behind the gates. They would withdraw to the first tower. There they would have to hold.

  And if they fell, it would all be up to the golems.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Stone Fists

  Brand grew tired of the cat and mouse game very quickly. He called Tomkin, who hopped to his side. Brand’s face was tight, his breath hissed through his teeth.

  Tomkin grinned. Clearly, he had expected this moment to come. The Wee One was unusually eager for battle. Brand could tell he was as interested in beginning this fight as anyone was. It had to be the influence of Lavatis.

  Brand looked at him, and nodded. “It is time.”

  Tomkin grinned widely. Far too many teeth for such a mouth showed there wetly. They were very white teeth, and many of them boasted fine points.

  “It is high time!” shouted the manling, slapping his palms together. He pulled Lavatis into the open and the Blue Jewel did flash. For just a single second, Brand’s eyes were captivated by its beauty, its power. He thought then that this was the Blue’s perfect arrangement of elements. A high mountain ridge with windswept stone everywhere. There was nothing in sight around them but clouds, blue skies and wet rock. Lighting and blasting winds would be at home in this spot.

  “Tomkin!” shouted Brand, giving the other a moment’s pause.

  Tomkin stopped his reaching fingers with difficulty. He all but trembled with the desire to summon the Rainbow. His eyes, black shining marbles, glittered. Brand hoped that his small friend would not go feral this day.

  “Tomkin, I did not want to send the Rainbow against the elves while the bombards are still in their hands, but I fear we have no choice. They will soon breach the gates and we must strike them before they push into Snowdon. I don’t know what the situation is inside. Gudrin may be overwhelmed if struck from a new front. The very fact she closed the gates and has not answered their attack on her front doorstep makes me think things are not well inside.”

  “Stop prattling, river-boy and let me do my work!”

  “I’ll speak quickly. The bombards will destroy the Rainbow, given the chance. You must march right through them to the bombards and destroy them.”

  Tomkin paused, struggling to think. Having the Lavatis in his hands, staring into the Blue Eye itself, must be difficult, thought Brand. Much like fondling the axe when it wanted to be free and swinging.

  “The Rainbow will lose its legs amongst such a host,” said Tomkin. “It will go mad.”

  Brand nodded. “Likely so. Drive it to the bombards, and let’s pray you can silence them all with your mad creation before it falls.”

  Tomkin heaved a great breath. “Your plan is sound. The bombards must be destroyed first.”

  He gave a great bound then, directly into the air. A gust caught him and tossed his tiny body up higher still. Brand threw back his head and squinted to see where he would alight.

  Tomkin came down upon a spire of rock up over their heads. There, exposed to the winds and the rains, he threw his thin arms up toward the heavens. The clouds darkened the day and horses nickered and stepped nervously everywhere along the ridge. A rain began to fall, a patter of fat drops from the gray skies.

  Brand turned up squinting again, to watch the manling at work. The Blue flashed like lighting and somewhere in the great distance out over the sea, a crackling flash answered Lavatis’ call.

  The Rainbow had been born. It marched across the sea toward its master. Each crashing step flashed with blinding light upon the waves that surged at its gauzy feet. A riot of colors made up its translucent body, and briefly Brand was reminded of the blood bladders Piskin had formed. Perhaps the two magics were remotely related, one like the other in that they both manipulated elements both liquid and gaseous.

  Brand turned to Corbin and his men, who had watched these last proceedings with a mix of awe and terror in their eyes and hearts. “It is time to attack! We stand shuffling about on this ridge no longer! Corbin, the next knot of elven archers that stand before my column will be ridden down by your cavalry!”

  Corbin snapped a salute. “Yes milord!” he shouted over the growing winds. He spurred his horse, and Brand watched him gallop forward screaming for his bugler. He wondered, just for a second, if they would both live through this day.

  The bombards flashed again. They made the skies rumble with their own unnatural form of thunder. Brand’s eyes flew immediately to the charging Rainbow, but was relieved to see no great chunks were torn from its body. Instead, they still fired upon the crumbling gates of Snowdon. Perhaps the elves did not yet realize their danger, or perhaps they were desperate to break inside.

  Brand looked up to see Tomkin atop his spire. He appeared to be running in place with great sweeping strides. He stayed in place, but mimed the actions of the behemoth that charged to the shore and past it, into the forests. Soon, it would reach the foot of the Black Mountains.

  Watching, Brand realized the wisdom of Tomkin’s choice. Rather than walking along the ridge, possibly killing their own men, the monster would scale the Starbreak Fells and come up among the elves, striking into their midst.

  Nodding, he walked the roan forward. He would command the infantry directly. In the end, this would be their fight.

  Corbin’s cavalry did indeed gallop into the surprised face of the enemy after a short charge. The elves only had time to get off two volleys then a ragged third, before Corbin’s horsemen crashed into them. By that time fully a third of the light horse had taken mortal injury. Stricken, many horses tripped and slid off the ridge. Riders and animals screamed all the way down until silenced by the sharp teeth of the fells. Blue cloaks and banners fluttering, others rode on with arrows in their breasts, eyes bulging, sabers uplifted and lances leveled.

&
nbsp; At the last, the elf company broke before them. A few stood with light, flashing blades in their hands, others ran, but all were ridden down. Within two minutes, the last of the shining warriors sagged down in disbelief that their own tremendously long lives could have ended this day. An exhausted cheer went up from the milling horsemen. Their hooves splashed into hair of silver and gold, which floated upon oily slicks of rainwater, mud and blood.

  When the infantry trotted to the scene, Corbin met Brand with a broad grin.

  “Well done!” Brand shouted, and the two cousins clasped and hugged.

  They parted, and Corbin’s smile faltered.

  “What is it, cousin?”

  Corbin didn’t reply, but instead had a coughing fit. Brand looked quickly. As he feared, there was blood at the corners of Corbin’s mouth. He was wounded inside.

  Corbin looked at him sheepishly. “I must have caught something back there.”

  Brand shouted for bandages, but Corbin grabbed his arm with a firm grip.

  “It’s nothing, Brand.”

  “You need patching up.”

  “No,” said Corbin, shaking his head. He leaned close, coughed wetly. “It’s in my lung. Such a tiny thing.”

  “I’ll have you taken back down to Gronig.”

  Corbin straightened. His eyes were angry. “What’s the point of that? If I’m going to die this day, at least let me lead my men. I can still sit a horse. I’ve got one good charge left in me.”

  Brand nodded, although the idea crushed his heart. Somehow, letting Corbin carry on in battle when he was so grievously wounded—somehow that forced him to admit his cousin was dead on his feet.

  Brand sucked in his breath and shook his cousin’s hand. He dared not hug him, although he wanted to. His eyes stung, but he did not allow himself to shed a tear. Death would come to many this day, he felt sure. He sent Corbin back to his horsemen, and ordered them to press ahead. The enemy ranks were sure to be over the next rise or two.