Dark Magic (56 page)

She came closer, gliding over the water. Neither her clawed feet nor her gauzy skirts touched the silver stream. She came half-way and reached out with her long white arms to greet him. He did not even know he was stepping forward until his boots splashed into the stream.

Brand stopped then, abruptly, standing in ankle-deep water. The stream trickled and laughed at his feet.

“Once again, you torment me, Shining Lady. I would know why?”

“You speak to me still, Brand?” she asked. “You sadden me.”

“Don’t—don’t be sad, fair one!” he shouted. His voice cracked, such was his emotion. Compared to this vision of ethereal femininity, Telyn was nothing—less than nothing. She was a memory he could not quite recall. Right then, if he’d been questioned closely, he could not have recalled the names of his wife, daughters or single son.

“You should not speak,” the Shining Lady said, reaching out with her arms.

“Do not reach for me, I beg of thee,” Brand said, feeling lost in his heart. “Let us talk of your husband.”

“Would you not rather embrace?” she asked. Her arms came closer. They seemed longer than before—impossibly long. It was as if she could slowly extend herself until he was enveloped.

Brand knew her touch could be fatal. A man so touched might sink into a coma, a fitful, feverish slumber from which he could never awaken. He wept, for he knew what he must do.

He reached over his shoulder and drew forth the axe. Its blades shown as if they were grinning white teeth. The Golden Eye of Ambros flashed, lighting up the stream and the milkweed and willows that grew all around. The axe flashed on its own, such was its delight at being drawn.

“No!” she cried, it was a soulful, whimpering sound. He heard in his mind the pleas of every young maid ever faced with death, on her knees in front of a grinning tyrant. He was that tyrant. He was a horror beyond description.

“Why do you tempt me thus?” Brand asked. “I know it is your nature, but I can’t allow you to possess me—if it were only for me, I might relish your embrace, but I will not forsake my folk for my own base pleasures.”

“Thus is the reason I’ve come,” said the Shining Lady. Her arms retreated. She still floated over the stream, but she no longer approached him.

Brand dared gaze at her directly. “Why then, have you come to torment me again?”

“For the same reason I’ve always come to you, Brand. You are strong. You attract me as much as I do you.”

He stared at her, trying to think. It was beyond difficult. He still dreamed he told himself—at least, he thought he did—and in dreams forcing one’s mind down logical paths was like trying to run in hip-deep water. Every step of sensible thought took a great effort. Every thought was resisted, and distractions abounded. The scene around him, he knew, might fade away and become someplace else, making it hard to keep his train of thought under control.

“I’m strong, so you want me…” he said. He almost lost the thread then. He gazed around at the skies and they seemed to shift to grow brighter. Could dawn be approaching? What was he doing here? He strove to complete his thoughts. The Shining Lady watched him and did not interfere in his internal struggles.

“I am the Champion of the Haven!” he said loudly. He urged Ambros to shine, and it did so. He held it aloft over his head like a brilliant second sun.

The Shining Lady did not retreat, but she did hold up her pale arms to shield her face. Her arms looked normal again. The light was intense enough to burn lesser beings, perhaps even to cause blindness. Here, in this dream world facing this powerful creature of the Dead, it only caused her discomfort.

“Yes, you are a Champion,” the Shining Lady said. “That is precisely why I’ve come. I want you to be
my
champion, Brand. I want you to wield an even greater Jewel. I wish to gift you the Black.”

Brand lowered Ambros and tried to speak sensibly. His tongue was thick in his mouth and his mind felt like cotton in his head. “I—I wield a Jewel now. I could not forsake it for another.”

“There would be no need,” she said soothingly. “You can keep your beloved axe, axeman. The Black Jewel will compliment it. Both will serve you. What better combination could there be? Think of the twisting magicks you could perform! The Black, blended with the Amber…Light and Dark working together. One bringing death to any who come near while the other commands the freshly hewn corpses to rise and serve their new master who has just slain them. It is a perfect combination.”

“What of your husband, fair lady?”

“Without the Black, he is only a tangle of old bones. I’ve grown tired of his gropings. I would know a new man, clothed in clean flesh. It will not be with us as it has been with a thousand others, Brand. Not with you! I will gift myself to thee, even as I gift you the powerful Black. You will know pleasure and power as no man of your folk ever has.”

Vaguely, Brand was able to grasp what she offered. Bliss and power undreamed of. He did not know if he could master these two Jewels. Briefly, he’d managed to hold onto the Blue and Amber, but he’d almost lost his mind in doing so. What would the Jewels of death and heroism do to his mind and soul if he attempted to wield them both?

Brand took a step forward, deeper into the stream. His boots sloshed with water as he took three more. There, in the midst of the flood, the Shining Lady awaited his embrace. All he had to do was take her in his arms and release his passions. Everything else would take care of itself after that.

He took another step, and now stood before her in the midst of the flowing water. He felt the coolness of it on his knees, which contrasted sharply with the fire in his loins. The Shining Lady looked inhumanly beautiful—and inhumanly pleased.

She lifted her arms slightly to receive him. He had only one more step to take to be hers.

“It pains me more than I can say, milady,” he groaned out the words. “To reject thee. You are damned and you would damn me to comfort you.”

Her face fell and filled quickly with great sorrow. She reached out to touch him, and he swept away both her hands with the blade of Ambros. As each pale wrist was severed effortlessly by the blades, the Amber Jewel flashed. Brand knew the spirit of the axe was delighted to cleave through flesh again—even that of the Dead.

She dropped to her knees before him, keening. Tears ran freely down his face. It was difficult to see her, as his own eyes now wept with her, profusely.

He knew with absolute clarity he was a vicious bastard. The lowest form of villain. A slayer of the weak, the beautiful and the virtuous. He knew all these things in his heart of hearts, but still he continued. He raised the axe high and tasted his tears as they ran down into his mouth.

“No Brand,” she said, pleading. “No, I will have you, or he will. Let me be the one! I will be infinitely more pleasant. I swear this! Know it to be true!”

Brand knew her promise was true, and that she had made just such a promise to King Arawn one distant day in the past when she had gifted him the Black Jewel. But it did not matter. He would not forsake Telyn, his children, his folk or his mind. He had taken an oath to protect and serve them all.

He was the axeman, and he did what must be done. He clove her diagonally, from her left collar down through to her right hip. She fell apart, but she did not die—as she was already of the Dead. She wept and howled with disappointment. Her severed hands grasped at him beseechingly from the sandy bottom of the stream, clutching at his boots. Her eyes looked up at him from where her upper portion had fallen into the flood. Wavery though the view of her was through the water, he could still see her lovely face. He had caused her such pain, such anguish. It was unimaginably cruel.

He backed away from the horrors he had created and sloshed to the banks of the stream. He sank down there upon the fresh earth and lay on his back, sobbing. He stared up at the stars which faded with the coming dawn. They seemed cold and merciless, unmoved by his suffering or that which he caused others. The stars had forsaken him, he felt, as had all others.

It seemed to him then that he fell asleep, while in reality, he awakened.

* * *

In the morning, when he stumbled blearily out of the tent, he still wondered about his nightmare. How much of it had actually happened? Was the offer a real one, and what did it mean that he had refused the Shining Lady?

Telyn followed him as he blinked in the sunlight, lost in thought. “What’s the matter, my love?” she asked.

“I had a dream. It was a bad one, and I’m not sure what it meant.”

“Everyone has evil dreams now and then,” she said, soothing his shoulders with her touch. “Do not dwell in that place husband, wherever you were! There are no answers there, only madness.”

Brand turned to her and hugged her until the breath was driven from her body. “You’re right,” he said.

Telyn looked at him strangely, seeing his emotions ran high. Her face was quizzical, and he feared she would ask him to tell her of the nightmare—but she stopped herself, and for that he was grateful. He had no desire to relive what had happened while he slept.

“Let’s go and gather our companions,” he said. “It is time we explored the roots of this land we plan to live upon.”

Brand led the way to his command tent, where he found Kaavi and Puck waiting. Staring at Kaavi, Telyn frowned immediately and crossed her arms in irritation. Brand glanced at her worriedly. Clearly, jealousy had caused his wife to change in demeanor.

His natural course of action would have been to leave Kaavi behind, but she had shown up with her brother Puck. How could he order her from the group? That would do nothing to endear Puck, who he needed on his side to entreat Oberon to help him, should things be even worse than they looked.
He wondered how this trip into the earth was going to go, with both Telyn and Kaavi along and in close quarters.

Brand sighed and washed his face with cool water brought up from fresh streams. The Kindred had redirected the cleanest water sources so they flowed under his walls through a grate and helped cleanse the land of years of taint. Death, blood and a thousand crimes had haunted this place for nine hundred years. Perhaps when his history was written, trying to revive this dead place would be known to all as his greatest folly. But he was determined to make the attempt.

He got an idea, looking at the stream on its unnatural course of flow. Why not redirect it down into the underworld? It would not kill the Dead, but it would drown out other things that may exist in dark corners. He thought that if this trip went badly, he might take such a drastic action—or do worse. Oil could be dumped into the pits and set alight almost as easily as water could be sent down.

“All right, all right,” said Grasty, stumping up to greet them. “I’m here now, we can begin, milord!”

The two women came up and stood on either side of the foreman. Puck sat on a bench nearby, sucking on a clay pipe. Blue smoke wreathed his head. There was a half-smile on his face as he watched the two females, neither of whom looked pleased. They did not, in fact, make eye contact with one another. As far as Brand could tell, neither had even acknowledged the presence of the other. Brand didn’t know much about these matters, but he knew this was a bad sign.

“Anyone want to opt out of this trip?” Brand asked loudly. “Now would be the moment.”

“Not me,” Telyn said quickly, sharply.

“Nor I,” Kaavi
snapped.

Telyn cast her an acid glance, but Kaavi pretended not to notice.

“I’d rather play my pipes than go down a dusty hole,” Puck said, “but I’m on official business.”

“Er,” said Grasty, raising a leathery hand. There was a hopeful glimmer in his one working eye.

“Forget it, Grasty,” Brand said. “You’re bones are mine to command. I’ve got the writ here from your Queen.”

“No need to rub it in, boy!” grumbled the foreman. He shouldered his pack and headed off toward the ruins of the Castle, muttering.

“Are we supposed to follow him?” Telyn asked, coming near.

“I believe so,” Brand said. Together they all marched after their reluctant guide.

“This place is dangerous,” Grasty said. “That goes without saying. But it is worse than just a mass of skulls and ghosts in a crypt. There are dark things down there, and cunning traps built to take a limb off a man. Legend has it King Arawn had kobolds build them for him. They lay the best underground traps.”

“King Arawn?” asked Telyn. “You mean when he was alive?”

“Yeah, of course when he was alive!” Grasty said, laughing. “Not even a kobold would work for the Dead. They’d likely piss themselves and try to run off if a dead-thing so much as offered them coins.”

“Where is the entrance?” asked Telyn, changing the topic.

“There are lots of them now. At first, the only reachable one was through the mouth of that statue head over there.” Grasty paused to point toward a swampy bit of land where a massive stone head sat rolled upon its ear. The mouth gaped open and a trickle of oily water escaped from it. “That thing was a fine sight in its day, you know.”

“Which entrance do you recommend then, if not this one?” asked Puck.

“Eh?” asked Grasty. “No, not this one. I said that already! Listen up, elf.”