Dark Magic (42 page)

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. Most 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.

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.

“You called for bandages?” asked an older gent who came to check on Brand. He eyed him, looking for injury. Brand looked at the man, thinking he was a barber from Riverton, but he could not recall his name.

“See to the wounded horsemen. I’m fine.”

The barber nodded, but eyed him strangely. He carried a roll of fresh white linen bandages and a large bag of medicines. “Aye, Lord Rabing.”

Brand mounted his horse, got together the infantry and ordered them to march forward. Before they had moved out, however, Jak came hustling up to him. The look in his eye made Brand call a halt and he bent to speak with his brother.

“Brand,” said the other. “There are ghosts behind us. Hundreds of them!”

Brand looked down from his roan at Jak, clearly suspecting his mind.

“No, no brother. You have to come look. They are sneaking up behind us, on the ridge.”

Brand tried to think. The axe wanted to decapitate his foolish brother and charge the elves. The Rainbow, he could see now, was about to reach the foot of the Starbreak Fells. Once it climbed to the top, they needed to strike the elves with it, to grind them between several forces with no escape. With luck, the Kindred would sally forth and join in.

But at the same time, he could not allow an unknown force come up behind them and strike them from behind.

“You have two minutes,” he told Jak.

His brother nodded and hustled toward the rear of the column, pushing through the infantry who followed Brand’s orders and marched north toward the battle.

There, at the rear of the column, Brand climbed from his horse and followed Jak, who he believed had quite possibly had lost his mind. He came to crouch beside him, peering through a slit between boulders.

“There, did you see that?”

“See what?” snapped Brand. His axe twitched violently. The battle was the other way, and this fool wasted his time!

“There! In the grasses, and amongst the puddles. See the splashing? What splashes, where there are no feet?”

Brand finally saw it. Something—yes,
something
, was splashing in puddles behind them. Something crushed down the wet grasses. It was as if feet, scores of feet, passed over the land, but the owners could not be seen with the eye.

“Are they ghosts, Brand?” asked Jak with a quaver in his voice.

Brand looked at him, and the splashing puddles. Whatever they were, there were a lot of them, and they were following closely.

“Call up your archer company, this instant. Order them to fire, pepper the road with arrows.”

“What are we shooting at?”

“Tell them the road is haunted. Tell them anything. Just fire, now!”

Jak hustled off, and in less than a minute, arrows began to loft. Soon crossbowmen came up and dutifully fired into the puddles of the road behind the army.

It was only a half-minute before the first scream went up. It was high-pitched, enraged, inhuman.

Brand smiled widely. He had Ambros in his hand. “Goblins!” he roared. “Fire around me. Try not to shoot me in the back, men!”

Baffled, the company of archers nodded and watched him lurch up with eyes possessed. He charged downslope into the invisible ranks of the enemy, commanding Ambros to flash.

In that single flash of Amber light, a hundred goblins, each bearing two daggers, were lit up. The archers had time to mark their targets and snapped off a volley. The goblins, caught by surprise and without cover, fell by the dozens.

Worse, Brand charged among them, axe aloft, eyes insane and as filled with a yellow light as Ambros itself. Heads flew off and arced over the cliffs. Ambros flashed again and again as he struck, revealing the goblins to everyone.

The enemy panicked. Few things are worse for a stealthy group, confident in its unaware prey, than to be caught by surprise. Not known for their stalwart qualities, and distrustful of Hob’s magic in any case, they broke. Hob had clearly flown them to the southern peak and made them into rippling shadows. But now the axeman was among them, slaying with abandon. Brand’s archers showered them with arrows and blood was everywhere. Some threw themselves screaming off the cliffs to escape the sweeping axe. Others made it over the next ridge. Many died to the axe or the endless stream of bolts and arrows.

Within two minutes it was over. Brand scanned the area, but there was no sign of old Hob himself.

Then, he saw something. Footprints exploded into being in the mud, splashing hugely. Something was moving fast, with massive feet, running away from the battle southward.

Brand lurched after him, only Hob could have feet so large, but he stopped himself. He had no time. He looked back and saw that the Rainbow now climbed the Starbreak Fells. The battle would meet soon, and he had to be there. He must command the infantry. They would grind away the elves.

At a dead run, Brand went to his roan and mounted. Panting, he managed to get Jak’s attention. “You did well. Stay on station here. If you see any more puddles splash, or shimmering, or anything, lay a volley upon the road. You are our rearguard.”

His brother shouted a reply, but it was lost to Brand’s ears. He was already galloping northward, toward Snowdon.

* * *

When the gates of Snowdon gave way finally and completely, Gudrin stood ready. Fresh cold air tinged with dust and the smell of rain blew into her face in a sharp gust. If she had had hair, it would have been ruffled and left fluttering down her back. She waited until the tremendous din of falling masonry subsided, then shouted a guttural warning to her troops, a whoop that they knew well. It was the sound any sergeant of the Kindred might use to awaken the slovenly amongst his squad. This was the moment. The battle for Snowdon was at hand.