One abomination went down, gut open and mouths collectively gasping. The second was pushed over the side of the cliff to the west, its grasping hands gripping the hair of six shrieking men and taking them all with it.
The third Brand burned blind, then ordered his men to take off the limbs together. The legs went down with methodical efficiency. The archers were coming up behind both sides now and exchanged volleys. The humans always got the worst of it, but at least the withering fire was kept from the knots of infantry that struggled with each of the monsters.
Silver horns pealed again, and the elves withdrew, running up to a rise and over, vanishing. Brand and his men made the quick work of the last monsters among them.
Glad for a respite, however slight, his troops sagged down in exhaustion. Many fell to the ground, dying on the spot. Others fell unconscious once the throbbing light of the Amber Jewel no longer gripped their minds with battle fever.
Brand himself fell to one knee and his sides heaved. Every breath hurt, and he supposed he may have taken another cursed weapon into his belly. He looked around for Corbin, but didn’t see him. Had he fallen? He did not know.
“What of the cavalry?” he gasped to one of his sergeants.
The sergeant shook his head. “I think they joined us, they dismounted at the rear of the column.”
“Any word of the goblins behind us?”
The man looked at him with a mix of concern and surprise. “Goblins, lord?”
“Never mind.”
Brand struggled to his feet. It would not do to have his men see him kneel into a puddle. He decided to advance. Time was not on their side now. He suspected that Oberon would use the carnage to form new abominations. They could not defeat them all without slaying the elf lord himself. As well, there were the cursed weapons to consider. Dozens of his troops choked and coughed around him. Some foamed blood like horses ridden too long and hard. Their eyes showed whites all around. They would be dead within hours.
“Advance!” he cried, and his men rose up to follow their champion. To their credit, few moaned aloud.
When they reached the top of the rise, they found no resistance. Instead, the final stretch of ground showed the way to the blasted gates of Snowdon. The sight saddened Brand’s heart. How fared the Kindred? Had they been taken? Was he too late? What hells, he wondered, went on inside that brooding mountain?
Along the slopes all around the crown of Snowdon elves perched. They thronged the mouth of the broken, dusty gates as well. Brand chewed at his lower lip as he gazed upon the scene.
Corbin came up to him then. He stood yet, but with an arm wrapped around his chest as if it hurt him a great deal.
“I’m glad to see you, cousin,” said Brand. He felt an intensity of emotion. He had watched too many fine men die this day.
“Milord,” gasped Corbin.
“Here, lean your back against this rock. Look at our enemy and tell me what you see.”
Corbin did as he asked. He eyed the elves carefully.
“They are hurt,” he said, “badly. But so are we. I suspect they still outnumber us.”
“I agree with all that.”
“What are your orders, Lord Rabing?” Corbin asked formally.
Brand looked at him. His jaws were tight. “Corbin, you are most loyal. None were ever more so.”
Corbin did not reply.
“We must think,” said Brand. He considered putting away the axe, as that always helped clear his mind, but he worried that he might sag down unconscious if he did so. “The elves have pulled back. They broke the gates, but seem to be regrouping. They look defensive. They are not assaulting the entrance, I see no one going inside.”
Corbin nodded. “What’s it like inside? Do the Kindred have a strong defense?”
Brand snorted. “The most fantastic series of towers and castles guards every inch downward into their stronghold.”
“Then it would seem that the elves are up to one of two things. Either they are gathering their strength for the final push, or they are trying to take up a defensive posture.”
“A little of both, I suspect. Oberon will use the Red to heal his troops and form fresh abominations. Possibly, Hob will fly his troops to join him. Maybe there are other allies coming.”
“In that case, milord,” said Corbin. “We should attack at once. They grow stronger, while we weaken.”
Brand nodded. “You are right, of course. We gain nothing by sitting. Do you think we can take them?”
Corbin shrugged. “If the Kindred are able to sally forth, even weakly, we will catch them between us and they will have nowhere to retreat. But…”
“Yes?”
“It will likely be very bloody, milord.”
Brand nodded. “I’m loathe to see us all die here. I will try another approach first. Give me your undershirt, will you?”
Corbin eyed him, then did as he asked. Brand put the fluttering white, stained with blood, upon the head of his axe. He marched down the stony cobbles, still slick with blood and fresh raindrops. He held the axe high, and none of the elves who raised their bows fired at him.
In a few minutes, Oberon marched forward to meet him. His bloodhound trotted faithfully at his heels. Brand had to wonder if it had ever, in all its existence, feasted upon so much blood as it had this day.
“Lord Oberon.”
“Lord Rabing.”
“Will you treat with me?”
“Speak,” said the elf, making a smooth gesture with his white hands.
“We have you at an advantage. I suggest enough elves have reached the end of their very long lives this day.”
Oberon blinked at him. “I had thought you might want to settle matters between us.”
“A duel?”
“Crudely put. But yes.”
Brand nodded his head. “What would you say to such a suggestion?”
Oberon laughed. His laugh, despite the terribleness of this long day, was light and full of easy joy. How could he, in the face of such horrors, laugh like nothing was wrong? Brand knew he would never understand the Shining Folk.
“That’s your answer? You laugh at me?”
Oberon tilted his head and gazed at him. “I would deny your request. If you attack me now, I will prevail. Each battle we have, I grow respectively stronger. I shall use the bodies of your own troops against you. I have only to wait for midnight, and half your men will fall dead. You have no chance, River-boy. Go back to your Haven and wait out your few remaining years. You should not be here, amongst your betters.”
Brand’s mind flared. The Amber Jewel throbbed, and almost, he launched himself at Oberon. But he checked himself. Perhaps this was exactly what the other wanted. If he broke the parlay first, the elf archers would pepper him with arrows. He was too far from his lines to make it back.
With great difficulty, he nodded and smiled. “I see you are afraid.”
Oberon’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Clearly, this was not the response he had expected. “Whatever do you mean, child?”
Brand nodded, as if with growing certainty. “Gudrin prepares to push out and finish you. We stand at your rear. There is no escape, so you try to trick me into breaking the parlay. A desperate gambit, well-played.”
Oberon made a gesture of annoyance. “If that is all you came to say, then be off with you. Attack or not, as you will.”
“We will attack then. Tomkin will have his new Rainbow up here soon, and we will finish the pack of you. Perhaps the Kindred will help, perhaps not.” Brand shrugged.
“You have no new Rainbow. Tomkin could never have mastered Lavatis so tightly.”
Brand shrugged again and turned to go. “Believe as you will. May the River allow us all to sleep soundly tonight, dead or living.”
“You would be mad to attack. We will fight to the death.”
Brand turned back around, and smiled with half his mouth. “Exactly. Many of us will die, and just as many of your folk. But, our folk grow back at an aston
ishing rate. In a dozen years, I’ll be back here with an army just as big. My heir will carry the axe if I can’t. Your people will be broken, too few to matter. The world will know new masters.”
Brand turned his back on the elf then, and marched away. He managed to make it a dozen paces.
“Hold,” called Oberon. “I would ask you: what terms might be acceptable?”
Brand allowed his face to split into a grin for a second, then he stuffed the expression away. He turned around, frowning and thoughtful. He bargained then, as he had watched Jak bargain, when he truly wanted a plow or an ox, but pretended all along to be uncaring. They talked for some minutes. Brand got him to agree to healing all the folk of every army, to use the bloodhound in a positive way. Afterward, the elves would never attack the Haven or Snowdon again.
Oberon shook his head and smiled sadly. “No immortal can ever swear to a Pact that is unending. We live too long for that.”
“Very well. For ten years and a day, no elf shall raise a weapon to the Haven, the Kindred or the Wee Folk. We will do your folk the same favor.”
Oberon agreed rapidly. He gestured for Brand to follow him into the broken gates of Snowdon.
“Where are we going?”
“We must get Gudrin to agree as well.”
“And the hurry?”
“Her golems are almost upon us.”
Brand laughed then, and followed the wily elf into the gaping mouth of broken stone. He wondered at that moment, who had truly swindled whom?
Gudrin was agreeable, if distrustful. She had seen enough bloodshed. So many had died, and hundreds more were wounded on every side. King Groth and his gnomes were shown white banners and listened to the parlay. Learning that the elves had been defeated and had agreed to peace, they had no choice. The gnomes and the kobolds retreated back into the Everdark, with no promises made in either direction.
Oberon worked all night to heal all the wounded, serving the worst first, then those with lesser hurts, until he proclaimed all that could be saved, saved.
Dawn broke over the battlefield. It was pink and glorious. Fresh rain dribbled from the skies, and Brand tasted it with his tongue.
He met Corbin and Jak. Wearily, they all smiled. They would see the Haven again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Figure among the Dead
Brand clapped Corbin on the back when he saw him, hale and pink-faced again. It was good to see his cousin whole, rather than ghastly, gray and drawn.
Corbin, although looking health enough, seemed troubled. He pointed down into the grassy rise of Snowdon’s flanks.
Brand’s eyes followed his cousin’s gesture.
He saw there, upon a field of fallen dead men, elves and merlings, what appeared to be a cowled old man moving among the corpses. He walked between them, wandering. At each body, he bent and touched the brow with thin fingers.
“Some relative, perhaps? Looking for a fallen child?”
Corbin shook his head. “I don’t know. He touches every brow. Every man, Kindred, Fae or even goblin. How can he be looking for a relative, if he is not looking for a particular folk?”
“If he is robbing the dead, he must be stopped.”
Jak with his archers stood behind him. He gestured to his men, and bows were lifted and bent. Brand waved them down, and the bows were lowered.
“I will speak to him,” he said, and he marched alone downslope to speak with the stranger.
“Hail there! Old man! What are you doing here with our dead?”
The other stopped and turned to regard him. The cowl stayed in place, drooping over the figure’s face, but Brand thought to see ice cold eyes beneath it. But Brand did not hesitate. He did not break his stride. He walked up to the strange man. His axe was in his hand, but not held upraised.
“I ask you to leave the battlefield,” said Brand. “I ask you not to molest those who have bravely fallen here.”
“The Dead are not yours, axeman.”
“What? Who are you?”
“The Dead are mine.”
“No. Not those of the Haven. And not those of these other folk, either.”
“Why do you care so, axeman? A few hours ago, you were so kind as to slay them all for me. What a fine harvest it has been, too. I’ve not seen the like for a very long time. Do you now regret your actions?”
“No, I do not regret the battle. But I will not have you, whoever you are, molesting these corpses.”
“I seek only to bury them. Look! Gaze upon those I have touched.”
Brand did, and he saw that they indeed had been interred. Each body lie beneath a neat hummock of soil. But something was desperately wrong, because there should have been fresh black earth upturned over each shallow grave. Instead, each raised portion of ground had undisturbed grasses and flowers growing over it. The graves appeared as if they had been buried there for a season. Or as if someone had lifted the top layer of the earth and tucked them under it. The vanished corpses reminded him of how a shoe might look, hidden beneath a carpet.
As he watched, the cowled figured stepped to another, a fine young elf with eyes of magenta and hair the color of cobalt. He touched the pale brow, caressed it. The corpse immediately sank into the ground, as a drowned man might slowly drift to the bottom of a placid lake.
“Whatever you are doing, it is unnatural. We will bury our own dead. We do not need your help.”
“I’m reluctant to drink your soul, axeman,” said the other, taking a step toward him. Brand felt an undeniable urge to step back, but he held his ground. The stranger continued speaking. “I admire you and I’m in your debt. You have provided me a great bounty this day. Those lost souls at Gronig, they were sweet and countless. But these are better. These are the Dead of true warriors, not shepherds and miners. They will not simper and bemoan their fate. They will march as proudly in death as they did in life.”
“Who are you?” demanded Brand again.
“I am King Arawn,” said the other. “And I say again, I do not wish to strive with you. None in the recent memory of the world have been so kind to me as you have.”
Brand stared at the figure that faced him. “King Arawn? Lord of Castle Anwyn?”
“None other.”
“Then know, King of the Dead, that I am Lord Rabing, champion of the River Folk and Lord of Castle Rabing. Both of us are lords of fallen castles. Places remembered well only by those long gone from this world. I ask you, as an ally of those ancient times, to withdraw. And take no more of the honored dead from this place.”
King Arawn cocked his head. His cowled face and cold eyes, which Brand now suspected were empty sockets lit from within by an eldritch glow, regarded him curiously.
“You claim kinship with me?”
“I do,” said Brand, thinking of King Herla. Perhaps there was a spark of humanity in this creature yet. And if not that, then perhaps there was some desire for honor. Perhaps, it still craved respectful acknowledgement from the living, if nothing else.
“None but a true lord would know to make such a request so politely. Very well. As one King to another, I will withdraw from this place. I shall plant no more seeds here. But do not seek to cow me upon our next meeting, Lord Rabing.”
Brand bowed and walked back up the slope to Corbin and his waiting line of men. By the time he reached them and looked back, Arawn had vanished into the mists of the mountaintop.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Solstice Wedding
The trip home was wearisome and long, but when they reached the far edge of the Deepwood and stepped back into the Haven, everyone’s face broke into a troubled smile. It was good to be home again, but so many had been left behind.
The army disbanded officially in Hamlet, and there were many reunions, both tearful and joyful, in that town. They had chosen to bury the dead on the gentlest slopes of Snowdon, where enough soil and grass could be found to cover them. Bearing so many bodies back through the Deepwood for several days was deemed untenab
le.
Summer stretched out and Telyn grew more frantic with each passing day. Her wedding plans grew ever larger and more intense, until finally, the great day came.
Brand rode the family skiff, which sagged with a heavy cargo of broadleaf melons. Trailing behind it on a painter were a dozen floating berrywine casks. The casks bobbed in the rushing waters of mid-summer like a row of fat, dancing innkeepers.
“Here, Brand, keep that pole in your hands, boy!” complained Jak good-naturedly. “Are you asleep, man?”
Brand looked startled and grabbed for the pole that was slipping away from him. Corbin laughed and Brand gave him a sheepish smile.
“That’s right!” exclaimed Corbin. “Why, you’d think a man would have naught else but poling in mind on his wedding day!”
A thrill ran through Brand at the mention of the wedding. Somehow, he often managed to keep the frightening thought away for several minutes at a time, but always, all too soon, someone would bring it up. On other occasions, his treacherous mind would send unbidden thoughts of Telyn and the ceremony that stalked him this very evening.
“Everyone will be there today, Brand,” said Jak, sensing his mood and not wanting to leave him in peace. “The word is that the gnome king himself will put in an appearance.”
“Do you think Oberon might show up?” Corbin asked Jak loudly.
“I’m not sure, but if he does, wouldn’t it only be right that Brand return the favor?” asked Jak.
“Right, I say!” said Corbin. “It was good enough for King Herla, why not King Brand?”
“Brother, Cousin: it’s best that we not mention the Old One’s name aloud, even on such a fine day as this,” Brand admonished lightly.
Jak and Corbin looked at one another in mock astonishment. “Unless I’m mistaken,” said Corbin, “we’ve just been rebuffed.”
Jak nodded in agreement. The conversation continued in a light vein, but Brand noted that there was no more mention of Herla. Which was just as well, as he wanted to think of no such evils on his wedding day.
Haven 5 Blood Magic BOOK Page 24
