Dark Magic (66 page)

Your friend and ally,

-Gudrin

P.S. Look for the Dead Shepherds. Without them, the Dead will not know their purpose.

The axe quivered in Brand’s hand as he finished reading the letter. He raised it suddenly and brought it down with a resounding crack and flash. To the others, it was as if a lightning bolt had struck inside the tent. The heavy oak table split and the axehead stuck in the massive block of wood. Brand cursed and tugged at it.

Telyn put a hand on his elbow. “Brand, perhaps you’d best leave it there for a moment. None can pull it from the table save for you. It is safe there.”

Brand stopped and looked at her. His mouth hung open and his eyes were wide and blazing. Slowly, he nodded. He pried his fingers from the haft and staggered, free of its influence.

Corbin pressed a chair at the back of his legs and Brand sank gratefully into it.

“I need a drink,” Brand croaked. They brought him both ale and tea, not knowing which he wanted. But by the time they pressed the mugs into his fingers, he had already fallen into a deep slumber.

* * *

Brand awakened with a start. He thought he might have met the Dead again in his dreams…no, he could not remember. Like dewdrops under a blazing sun, the memory of his dreams faded away. He looked first for the axe and saw it, still thrusting up from the center of the table where he’d buried the head. Others lay about the place here and there, sleeping.

He stood up and grabbed the mugs of tea and ale they’d brought him over an hour ago. He drained both, gulping, then went outside to relieve himself. He heard sweet music outside, and went to find the source. He found Puck, gently piping alongside the stream.

“Don’t think you’ll pipe your way into my head, elf,” he said.

“Where is your axe, axeman?”

“Buried in the table. I will have to take it up and draw upon its power to free it. Once I do so, I’m liable to perform…rashly.”

Puck chuckled. He nodded. “Best to make your plans before you grasp that haft again.”

“Exactly. What are you doing out here if not coaxing maidens?”

“I’m soothing another creature.”

“What creature?” Brand asked curiously. He gazed this way and that, but saw nothing other than the stream, the thick reeds and a grove of willow trees.

“Shhh!” whispered Puck. “Take care not to wake him. He is my nephew.”

Brand still saw nothing. “Your nephew? Is Kaavi then….”

“No,” Puck said, “it is not her child. Let me introduce you.”

Puck made a flourish with his hands and long fingers. He pointed toward the willows, where a small glimmering figure now walked toward them. Brand turned his head to gaze at her. She was indeed an elf maid. A small one. He thought perhaps he had seen her before…then he knew.

“Tegan?” he asked. “I’d thought you’d left the Haven.”

“I was expelled, axeman,” she said.

“By whom?”

“Thilfox Drake.”

“Thilfox? He is a just man. What was your crime?”

“I had a child that was not to his liking.”

“What kind of a crime is that—” Brand began, then he halted as understanding dawned. “Oh, you bore a—a monster?”

“So rude,” Tegan said, looking annoyed. “I’d not thought
you
of all your folk would be—”

“I’m sorry,” Brand said.

Tegan flipped her head and her locks flew. “I’d thank you to keep a civil tongue.”

“His bigotry is normal for his kind,” Puck said.

Brand glanced at him in irritation. “I will do better,” he said.

“My boy is—different,” Tegan said.

“What can I do to help you?” Brand asked, hoping she would not request him to speak on her behalf. He trusted Thilfox Drake’s judgment more than most men. If he had cast out Tegan’s child, he’d done so with good reason.

“I came to help
you
, not to ask for help,” Tegan said. She then told him of Grasty, and how he had come to her and told her the River Folk were to be attacked.

“Thanks for the warning,” Brand said. “But I think we all know now the nature of the threat.”

“But it is more than that,” she said. “Grasty said Riverton would fall.”

Brand took three steps forward. He stared at her. “Riverton?”

“Yes,” Puck said. “You didn’t think the Dead would walk only here, did you?”

Brand’s eyes swept to the south. It would take days of marching and boating to get there. “We must leave at dawn,” he said. “I must get back to the Haven, to protect Riverton.”

“We can go back directly at dawn,” Puck said, as if he had anticipated Brand’s thoughts. “I can guide you there if we walk the mound again.”

“We’ll have a lot of Dead to remove from the landscape first. We’d best be about it. Do you think your father will lend us a hand, Puck?”

“There is not much time to go ask him,” Puck said doubtfully. “I’ve got family in Riverton too, remember. I will go back for them even if you don’t.”

“I see.”

“I can offer some small help,” Tegan said.

Brand turned back to Tegan. He looked at her, and did not consider her much of a fighter. Telyn must have outweighed her by half. “I am grateful for the warning you gave us, Tegan,” he said. “Especially in light of how you’ve been treated. What became of Grasty, by the way? I would like to have words with him.”

Tegan laughed. “You are too late for that, I’m afraid. My Ivor has already had words with him.”

Brand blinked. “How old is your son?”

“Four years now. My, how time flies!”

“And
he
bested Grasty?”

“Maybe it’s time you met my son, Brand,” Tegan said. “He might be of use to you in the coming dark days.”

“He’s as dangerous as that?”

“Only when he’s hungry. He’s been well-fed lately, and shouldn’t be a problem. I must caution you, however: Don’t raise your voice to me or move suddenly in my direction!”

Brand hesitated, staring at her, but he finally followed her toward the willows. Puck walked behind them, playing lightly on his pipes.

Beneath the gently swaying willows Brand met his first ogre. He tried not to gag at the stench when he came near it. He was particularly glad he did not have his axe upon his back in that first moment of disgust. He might not have been able to control himself.

“Ivor,” Tegan said, reaching high to rub the monster beneath his chin. “This is Brand. He’s a lord here. He is our friend. He and his men are
not
food.”

Ivor stared at Brand with black, triangular eyes. Brand thought he detected an expression of vague disappointment in the slack face. Perhaps the young ogre was becoming hungry again.

“Now,” Tegan said gently. “I want you to wave to Brand.”

Ivor lifted both hands and worked his fingers in the air. Brand felt himself soften, the gesture reminded him of a normal toddler.

“Can you speak, Ivor?” Brand asked.

The mouth worked. The lips fluttered and spittle ran down in strings. “E-vor,” the ogre said at last.

Brand nodded and managed a smile. “That’s very good,” he said.

“He’s very young,” Tegan said. “You see, ogres mature physically much more quickly than they do mentally.”

“I see,” Brand said, and he thought about the ogre’s size. He realized that a creature such as this, with some weaponry, could be a formidable ally indeed. “Do you mind if I arm him? Or is he too young to fight?”

Tegan looked worried. She shook her head. “I hate the idea of putting my baby into battle, but it is his calling. Will good service buy good will?”

Brand thought about it. “Anyone who marches with me will be taken into these walls and have a home. As long as you are civil enough to live with, you can both stay here. We have a wooded corner…and a large wetland to the west.”

“Put the freak off in a corner, is that it?” Tegan snapped.

“I’m sorry—” Brand said.

“Never mind,” Tegan interrupted, putting up a hand to stop his apologies. “It is I who have to accept certain realities. He’d probably like it better in an isolated area anyway, and it would be safer for everyone.”

Brand walked back to camp with Puck. They awakened the men of the camp, and told them they were marching back to Riverton at dawn.

Brand found Corbin in the underground armory once cared for by the redcap of the castle. Corbin watched as Brand picked out a heavy maul with a ten-pound head and a massive shield of oak and iron.

“Have you grown an extra arm, cousin?” Corbin asked.

Brand frowned. “What?”

“The axe…plus a maul and shield?”

“Oh no, that’s not it. This is for a new—recruit,” Brand said, grinning at him.

“I don’t like the expression you’re wearing.”

“Just wait until you meet the recruit! Get all the men out of bed, Corbin. We’re marching to
Cairn Browyyd now.”

Corbin looked startled. “The Faerie mound? But…that’s where all the Dead are.”

“Exactly. It’s also the fastest way to get to Riverton, with Puck’s guidance.”

“You trust him?”

“Well enough. His wife and child are in Riverton, remember.”

Corbin nodded. “I understand your thinking. I’ll have fifty men ready to march in half an hour.”

“Fifty? I left at least a hundred blue cloaks here.”

“There were losses when the Dead surprised us. And others deserted into the marshes in terror. They’ve been trickling back.”

Brand looked stern. “Deserters? How many did you hang?”

“None sir,” Corbin said. “I found it hard to fault a man chased by snapping skulls. They hit us in the night and it was a grim scene before we managed to get that portcullis down.”

Brand nodded, thinking Corbin had perhaps been too lenient. Men would always run when facing a foe so horrific as the Dead. He hoped privately that these men would stand when the time came. Perhaps their experiences had hardened their wills.

Chapter Eighteen

The Cellar

Puck, Kaavi, Tegan and Corbin walked behind Brand. The axeman himself walked behind another: an ogre named Ivor. The beast had taken up the heavy shield and maul as if they were toys. Truly, they were not big enough for him, but these weapons would have to do. Brand had given the drooling monster a brief lesson in arms, showing him how to block with a shield and strike overhead with the maul. For groups of smaller foes, Brand suggested sweeping blows done with a side-to-side motion to strike many at once. These three moves, blocking, striking and sweeping were all he dared to teach the ogre. It had the mind of a slow child and nothing more could be expected of it.

Behind Brand and his group came Corbin’s militia. There were less than fifty of them, but many were veterans of the war with the elves and had fought on the shoulders of Snowdon. They were grim-faced, but stolid. They marched with their blue cloaks fluttering behind them. Each man carried a round shield, a spear and a short sword on his belt. They wore fine chainmail shirts from the armory beneath Castle Rabing. The moonlight played over the heads of their weapons and reflected from their chain shirts. Brand felt proud to lead them.

They soon reached the walls around the Fae gate. If they had had more time, Brand would have ordered the men to arm themselves with bows and man the walls. They could have peppered the raging Dead outside with flaming arrows and stones, thus breaking their bodies safely. But he did not have time for such niceties.

Outside the walls, the Dead sensed the growing presence of massed Life. They moved with frustrated hunger, clawing futilely at the stone bricks and searching some way past the wall. A dozen shook the portcullis, but they had no guidance and did not seek to lift it up. Brand reflected, looking upon their vast numbers, that he was fortunate they did not have a greater intellect to guide them.

He ordered six men to each side of the portcullis. They would haul upon the ropes, which had been cut free of the counterweights by panicked guards when the Dead had first attacked. The iron cage-like bars of the portcullis were very heavy, but he felt certain two squads of men could lift it.

“Now, when we raise the bars, they will rush in. I want you to count fifty of the Dead, Corbin, then have your men drop the portcullis again. We will overwhelm them and cut them all down.

Corbin nodded. “I would rather bring up oil and fire to spill over the ramparts.”

“Of course, Captain,” Brand said, “but we simply don’t have the time to drag them out here and set them up.”

“Agreed,” said Corbin. He signaled to his men, who grunted and roared as they drew back upon the ropes.

Brand lifted the axe high and caused it to ripple with light. The men around him were cheered. Ivor turned slowly to gaze into the shining Eye of Ambros the Golden. Brand watched, curious to see how he would react. The response was quick and encouraging. Ivor lit up with a child-like grin. He lifted his maul and shield, and gave a strange, croaking cry.

As soon as the portcullis was a foot from the ground the Dead got to their bellies and crawled under.

“Ivor!” Brand cried, pointing toward the scrambling Dead. “Break them!”

Ivor rushed forward excitedly and dropped his hammer and shield. He began stomping on heads. Brand cursed and stepped up behind the monster. He wanted to get his attention, but he wasn’t certain it was a wise thing to do.

“Let him go, Brand!” cried Tegan behind him.

Brand felt the urging of the axe.
The ogre has gone mad, it must be put down! Strike from behind, and quickly,
it said, speaking into his mind.

Brand struggled, but contained himself. “Corbin, lower the portcullis!”

“But we’ve scarcely let in a dozen—”

“Do as I say, man!”

The portcullis fell again, crushing several of the squirming Dead. It occurred to Brand that simply raising and lowering the portcullis upon the Dead would eventually destroy them all, but it would take all night long. He had no idea what was happening back in Riverton, and he wanted to get through these enemies quickly.

The ogre, in the meantime, got down on his hands and knees and shook the bars, eager for more Dead to come through to fight. He slavered and raged. The Dead, for their part, gnawed and tore at his thick knuckles as they clung to the bars.

Brand sighed. “This isn’t going to work. Ivor loses his training the moment he faces an enemy. I can’t risk your son if he won’t even hold up a shield. It would not be right, Tegan.”

“Let me speak to him,” Tegan said quietly.

Brand stood aside while the tiny elf female walked past. He could not believe in his heart that she had given birth to such a thing. But she soon had Ivor soothed and listening to whispered words. She pointed to the dropped maul and shield, and appeared to be scolding her son lightly.

Shame-faced, the ogre took up his tools of war again. Tegan retreated. Brand, with a shrug, signaled Corbin to raise the portcullis again.

This time, the ogre roared at his enemies, but when they came to meet him, he struck each skull, popping it with the maul.

“There, he’s got it now!” shouted Puck proudly.

Brand glanced at the elf, and saw the beaming look on his face. What must it be like to know you are the uncle of a monster? It did not seem to disturb Puck in the slightest. Brand turned back to the battle and waved to Corbin.

“Raise it all the way and keep counting!”

More Dead rushed in, eagerly reaching with their grasping bones. They fell as fast as they came.

“Sweep Ivor, back and forth, like I showed you!” Brand shouted.

Ivor did as he was asked. The effects were impressive. Instead of breaking the bodies of a single enemy with each blow, he took down three, sometimes four of them. He advanced toward the portcullis.

“Fifty!” shouted Corbin. “Let it down, boys!”

The straining men gratefully shuffled forward, letting the portcullis down.

Ivor, however, had not had enough destruction yet. To the surprise of everyone, he dropped his shield then reached out and shoved the portcullis upward, holding it high. The twelve men lifting it stumbled. Some fell to their knees.

Ivor roared again and stepped through the opening, sweeping his maul and shattering the dozens of hands that reached for him.

Brand stared at Ivor for a moment. He turned to glance over his shoulder toward the broken keep of Castle Rabing. He could not march out of his own gates properly. He wondered if he was watching his dreams of rebuilding the place die before him. Had it all been a fantastic waste?

“Don’t let my boy die out there alone, Lord Rabing!” Tegan screeched. She began to cry.

Brand shook himself. “All right, full attack! Keep that gate open. I’m going through.”

Puck and others appeared at his side. They gave him room to swing his axe, but stayed as close as they dared. Brand charged through into the clutching, boiling Dead. He commanded the axe to flash, burning them as they came for him. He hacked and he chopped.

Behind him, his troops propped up the portcullis and marched through.

* * *

Trev and Mari had spent many long hours huddled in the root cellar with three Haven children. Everyone was dirty and hungry. They tried to dig out and wriggle out, but could not find a hole large enough. They tried to break the lock on the door, but none were strong enough and there were no tools in the cellar. Mari whispered they might be able to burn their way out with the stinking liquid in the jars, but none had matches and they were afraid they would simply be left to burn to death in any case.

When dawn pinked the cracks between the loose-fitting floorboards over their heads, they didn’t know if they should be joyous or fearful. They listened closely, hoping the Dead would lie down or begin to smolder in the unfamiliar light of the sun. None of these things happened, however. They could still hear the scraping of earth and the shuffling of footsteps. Calling out to the things that walked about did no good at all.

Finally, all at once, the shuffling and the digging stopped. Trev and the others held their breath.

“He’ll come now,” Yana Thunderfoot whispered. “The big Dead man will come, and he’ll open the door to let one of us out.”

“Why would he do that?” Mari asked.

“I don’t know. Whoever they take out runs screaming. I don’t know what happens to them. Maybe they let them go.”

“Or maybe they eat them,” Trev said.

Mari shushed them both. Within a minute, however, just as little Yana had predicted, heavy footsteps thumped above. The lock rattled. Yana screamed, and Mari grabbed her mouth.

Trev climbed up the dirt steps on his hands and knees toward the doorway. His mother’s hand lashed out like a claw, hooked him by the back of his trousers and pulled him back down.

“What are you doing?” she hissed in a panic.

“If they take me, they can’t hurt me. King Arawn promised. Besides, I’m the fastest runner here.”

Mari’s eyes were wide. Her breath came in gasps. She shook her head. “I won’t let you go! I’ll go with you!”

“I can’t protect you, mother. You’re too slow. You must stay and care for Yana and the others. I’ll try to get help.”

Mari closed her eyes and nodded. Tears ran down her cheeks. Trev felt a surge of protectiveness. He moved up the steps and when the door opened, he dashed by the big man, who let him pass then closed the door behind him. He hugged a far wall of the shack until the thumping monster opened the outer door and stood aside.

Trev looked at him closely. It was indeed the same big man he’d seen before, down at the lamppost. The one who had killed the watchman, and probably the caretaker too.

“I’ll destroy you, Morcant!” he said to the dead-thing.

Morcant only watched him and waited. Trev finally bolted outside and looked around. The skies were pink with the coming dawn. There were dead-things everywhere, hundreds of them. When they sensed him, they all froze with the attitude of foxes listening to mice that scurry beneath the ground.

Trev had to wonder, looking at them, if they would know he was not to be harmed. Did his bargain with King Arawn extend to these creatures? Suddenly, he realized there was no reason it should. If the King was there perhaps, herding them about, he would call them off like guard dogs. But he wasn’t in sight, and these things didn’t seem to have the intelligence to figure out who he was on their own.

A crooked hand reached for him. It snagged his shirt and pulled. Trev was almost lifted from his feet. Toothless jaws bent close. The thing smelt horribly. It had no eyes, but still seemed to know where he was.

Trev wriggled out of his shirt and ran. Then they all surged toward him. It was as if they had been waiting for this moment—the moment when he bolted like a terrified rabbit from hounds. All of them came on at once, with a horrible excitement in their gait. They ran into one another, jostling and pushing each other aside. They heedlessly tread upon those that fell, the cracking the old, dry ribs of their fellows to get at him.

Trev ran as fast as he could. He ran toward the nearest opening in their closing ring of dead flesh. The dead-things moved to intercept him, and more he hadn’t noticed before appeared under the trees. They all shambled closer. He dodged and ran downhill.

He headed straight for Riverton. Behind him, he could hear the excited mass of them, tripping and bumping into one another as they rushed after him.

Finally, at long last, Trev began to scream. Soon, his throat was raw from his terrified cries.

* * *

Brand had taken hours to march to Riverton and by the time they reached the outskirts it was nearly dawn. Almost all of his men had made it through with him, thanks to the axe and his new ogre friend. Ivor still hadn’t mastered the concept of his shield, he grew too excited in combat and tended to drop it, but he had become very effective with the maul Brand had given him.

Brand had to wonder vaguely if arming the half-breed and teaching him to fight was the smartest decision in the long run. Only time would tell. This monster, he knew, would be a formidable opponent even for the axeman when he reached adulthood. Although not as large as a giant, Ivor was much faster and nearly as strong. For the time being, Brand decided he would not worry about it. Tomorrow could take care of itself, as the elves were fond of saying.

When they arrived at Riverton proper, they were challenged by a sentinel who stood behind an overturned horse cart. Brand introduced himself, but still the man trembled and aimed his crossbow toward the ogre, who snarled as the men shouted words back and forth. Brand worried that Ivor would charge the roadblock and possibly kill the militia guards. He sent Corbin forward to talk to them and got Tegan to calm her feral son.

Once inside the town, they marched to the High Street and walked uphill toward Drake Manor. Brand knew the Militia would use the Manor as their headquarters for any defensive effort. He wanted to talk to Thilfox and learn the way of things here.

Brand was glad as he walked to see the town still stood, and the majority of its residents, although frightened, still drew breath. When his company reached the gates of the Manor, Puck cried out. Brand whirled and reached for his axe, expecting an avalanche of enemies. What he saw instead was one small, silver-haired boy.