Dream Magic (36 page)

“Myrrdin? Are you in here, man? I’ve come to parlay with you.”

There was no answer but for the whistle of powerful winds outside. In addition to this, the tree groaned as it lurched from side to side. Brand had been on many boats, but this was worse. He was thrown one way, then the other and the Great Tree lifted its roots and set each of them down again with a fresh, shuddering thud.

“Brand? Is that you?”

Brand peered into the green gloomy interior. “Trev?”

“Yes, i
t’s Trev. Come help me.”

Brand and the
dragon moved forward cautiously. Brand’s fingers ached to draw the Axe, for he did not know what was amiss. He did not know if he should be ready to fight or flee.

“What’s happening, boy?” he hissed out. “Where’s Myrrdin?”

“He’s here. But he’s not right—he’s sleeping or unconscious. I’m not sure which.”

Brand found them at last. In a central bole of sappy wood, they could be seen in the gloom when his eyes adjusted. Myrrdin was half-buried in the wood of the tree, and Trev knelt beside him.

“What’s wrong?” Brand asked.

“He’s out. He healed me—brought me back with Vine Magic. But after I broke away all the sticks and leaves that had sprouted from my body, he began to mumble and passed out.”

“Sticks and leaves?”

“Yes. They itched abominably. The nodules where the twigs came out of me are still brown and sore.”

Brand crept closer and examined Myrrdin.

“I’m no doctor,” he said, “but he seems to have a fever. Maybe he’s been driving the tree for too long. Like a horse running itself until its heart explodes.”

“Yes, maybe that’s it,” said Trev. “We had to run from the elves. A large hunting party of them chased us out of the Great Erm. Circling the mound was almost impossible. The tree is so big, you see.”

“Of course,” Brand said, pulling a flagon of wine from around his back. He upended it and squirted it into the old wizard’s face.

“That’s rude,” Trev complained.

The
dragon laughed.

“I’ve got no choice. The tree will slam into my walls soon if we can’t get him to stop.”

“What if we can’t wake him?”

“Then we’ll have to figure out some other way to stop his mind from driving this monstrous tree.”

The dragon laughed again. Trev frowned at her.

Brand fired a fresh squirt into Myrrdin’s face. The purple liquid made his lips and eyelids flutter.

“That won’t be necessary,” he wheezed. Then he awakened, coughing and sputtering.

“Myrrdin,” Brand said urgently. “Stop marching.”

“I must reach Castle Rabing.”

Brand reached down and grabbed his arms, but the flesh felt so odd—so lumpy and cool to the touch, that he released him after only the briefest of shakings. He wiped his hands on his coat afterward, feeling his lip curl up to expose his teeth in disgust. The man was foul.

At last, Myrrdin’s eyes fluttered open.

“Are we in the Haven?”

“Yes! Stop the tree!”

The
dragon had crawled away to the entrance again and gazed outside. “We’ve less than mile to go. I wonder if the tree will smash through, or simply topple over. Either way, the event will be spectacular.”

“You seem cold-blooded about your own demise
, Fafna!” Brand shouted angrily. “Why don’t you help remedy the situation?”

“
Good idea, Axeman.”

With that, the
dragon crawled out of the tree’s interior and launched into flight, flapping away.

Brand turned back to Myrrdin and shook him again, despite the man’s loathsome texture.

Finally, Myrrdin’s eyes fluttered open again. “The wine stings my eyes.”

“I’ll take your head from your shoulders if you don’t stop this shambling tree!”

Myrrdin stared at him in confusion. Brand wondered how he could get through to him. Then he had it.

“No, not your head. I’ll take your Jewel. Myrrdin, I’m going to take Vaul away from you if you don’t stop this infernal tree!”

That did it. Myrrdin’s brow grew stormy. He drew on whatever internal strength his body had left and struggled to straighten his spine.

“Get o
ff me!”

“Stop the tree!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Stop walking, Uncle,” Trev said urgently. “We’re there. You must stop moving your many, many legs.”

Myrrdin looked at his nephew and recognition flickered in his eyes. “Yes. I must rest now. I’m tired.”

At last, the tree stopped lurching from side to side. There was a sinking feeling, and they felt themselves shift as the roots far below were lowered down
to lie flat upon the ground.

Myrrdin slumped back as the tree stopped and fell back into a deep, exhausted sleep.

* * *

Brand went in search of Slet when he managed to get the dragon to fly him back to his castle, leaving the Great Tree standing like a lonely tower near the walls.

Of all his allies, Brand’s troops were least pleased with the necromancer. They liked the Dead even less than they liked ogres and dragons. The men grumbled and muttered they’d rather slay the wielder of the Black than march with his abominations.

“Slet,” he said, finding the other where he knew he would: in a quiet, forgotten courtyard. It was the same place where Brand had once begun an ill-fated expedition into the underworld.

“Lord Rabing,” Slet answered with a nod.

Brand noticed that Puck moved forward a step, automatically placing himself between Brand and the necromancer. Even in death, the elf was canny.

“I’ve come to show you this very place, but I’m not surprised to find you’re already here.”

Slet looked around.

The courtyard was a dim-lit sunken area of worn stone, twisting vines and dead leaves. It had the look of late autumn, despite the fact it was summer everywhere else in the Haven.

“What is this place?” Slet asked. “I feel at peace here.”

“And well you should. This is the entrance to the catacombs.”

“Where you keep your Dead?”

“No, not exactly. It is the place where the previous occupants kept
their
Dead. Over nine centuries ago.”

“Odd,” Slet said, walking slowly around the place. He reached a set of iron gates and touched the bars. Behind them was a dark, sloping stairway that went down into
a black pit.

Brand noted that the necromancer had the Scepter in his hand. Just seeing it held so casually gave him a chill.
The Black seemed to change Slet’s behavior slightly when he grasped it. He did not become feral, but rather more philosophical and contemplative.

“I feel something here,” Slet said, gazing down into the impenetrable gloom. “There’s a faint breeze coming up from the depths. It probably looks uninviting to you, but to me it’s like a warm cabin with a cheery fire dancing on the hearth.”

Again, Brand suppressed a shudder. He wondered why he’d ever agreed to take up arms with Slet. Fear of Morgana had caused his judgment to lapse.

He cleared his throat. “I can open those gates. There are things down there that could use your attention.”

Slet turned and looked at him. Brand was startled to see that the necromancer’s eyes had changed. They now had no white, no colored iris and no pupil. Instead they were a uniform black. Wet-looking and shiny, they were like twin pearls of jet. 

After a moment’s pause, Brand began speaking again: “Beneath this castle is a labyrinth of twisting passages which hold gallery after gallery of ancient Dead. If you were to go down there, you might be able to master them.”

Slet reached out and ran his fingers over the bars again. “This iron is fresh. You built this gate.”

“The old one had rusted away.”

Slet nodded, and kept fingering the bars. “You want an army, don’t you? An army of the Dead?”

“I would rather my walls be manned by the Living, but I fear that Morgana will be too strong.”

“Open the gates then,” said Slet.

Brand noticed that the other’s voice had changed. It had becom
e somewhat lower, and preoccupied. He almost shuddered as he produced the keys, shoved them into the thick Kindred-built locks, and allowed Slet and his cold companion to disappear down the echoing steps.

He waited there at the entrance, lingering. When he could no longer hear the two moving about, he quietly closed the gates and locked them again.

Brand felt a pang as he did this. It was treachery of a sort—but he could not bear the thought of Slet emerging from this place with an army of ancient Dead-things at his back. They might man the walls thickly, but they would in turn dampen the courage of his own living garrison.

Walking away, he shoved the clanking keys into his pocket.

Chapter Sixteen

The Last Battle

Four days later Brand met with his living comrades, such as they were. Brand with his Axe, his wife Telyn, Myrrdin with Vaul cut into the shape of a greenwood staff, and Trev, who Brand had learned, was himself the Quicksilver met in council.

Slet
was missing, of course, still being locked in the catacombs. Brand told the others Slet was busy with his preparations, and no one seemed upset about the Necromancer’s absence.

“We don’t have a lot of troops,” Brand said, “but we wield power.”

“The Great Tree is worth an army by itself,” said Myrrdin proudly. He coughed when he finished speaking and spat wetly.

Brand looked on in concern. Ever since the wizard had run for hundreds of leagues to escape the elves, he’d been in poor health. Reviving Trev and causing the tree to move prematurely had drained him terribly. He hoped
they all would be given time to recover before the great battle began.

“We’re holding this council of war to decide how best to defend ourselves and Castle Rabing.”

“Hold on,” Trev said, raising a hand. “Are you sure that war can’t be avoided? I’m not aware of any attempts to parlay with them.”

“That’s because if we send anyone to talk to them, they’d be charmed and turned into a dupe.”

“Not so,” Trev said. “I’ve met with her, she tried to bend me to her will, and failed.”

Brand tried not to get angry. It had been a long time since anyone had sat at his oak table in his own castle and told him he was wrong. He managed to control himself and continued in an even tone of voice.

“Look, we can’t hold out any hope of peace. Morgana has dominated most of the others and her goals are clear. She wants nothing less than to own the minds of all the Jewel wielders—or to slay us outright.”

“I have to agree with the Axeman,” Myrrdin wheezed.

Trev lowered his eyes. He seemed troubled. Brand frowned as he thought about this. Trev had actually met the witch, perhaps he was still slightly under her spell. Not totally enslaved, but partly smitten with her. It was a worrisome thought.

“All right,” Brand said, “I see it this way
: Myrrdin will mount his tree and patrol the walls. There isn’t a gate nearly large enough to allow it to enter the castle. I will stand with the castle garrison. They know me and they trust me.”

“And what of me?” Trev asked.

Brand smiled grimly. “You have the most important job of all. When she reveals herself, you must find her and execute her. Only that way will all the rest become free of mind again.”

Trev looked troubled, but didn’t object. He frowned at his dagger instead. It was pitted and worn with use by now. Brand thought to offer him a new one, but he knew that a man foug
ht better with a weapon he knew well, rather than a new one with no spirit.

At last,
Trev gave him a flickering smile and a nod. Brand felt badly for the youth. He’d had to do a lot of growing up in a very short time. People were telling him to slay the only woman he’d ever laid with. That was a task that would not come easily to any man.

“Think about your mother,”
Telyn said, speaking up for the first time. “She’s back in the Haven, helpless. If we all fall to this witch, there will be no mercy for her or a thousand others like her.”

Trev nodded and his jaw tightened. “
When the time comes, I won’t lose my nerve.”

Myrrdin stood first. This gave him a coughing fit. He swayed on his feet, but batted away the hands that came to support him. “I will see to the health of my steed. The Great Tree will be useless if I’m not there to direct her.”

“Her?” Telyn asked.

“Yes,
her
,” Myrrdin said. “Trees have genders, just as the rest of us do. My steed is no different.”

Telyn
shrugged and they watched him leave. The moment he was out of earshot, she leaned over the table to Brand, whispering urgently.

“We must take the Jewel from him and give it to another!”
she said.

“There’
s no time, and I have no right to do that.”

“But he’s at the edge of keeling over!”

“That’s as may be, but even if we did manage to wrest it from the old buzzard, who could wield it in his stead? Who could quickly learn how to drive the tree and get it to follow their will?”

“Someone!
Anyone.
We must try.”

“Attuning
oneself to a Jewel isn’t easy,” Brand said. “I once managed it in a burst of frenzied need, as did Slet. But I wouldn’t want to repeat the process. I can’t even contemplate what it would be like to have two of the Jewels warring over my single mind again.”

Telyn
heaved a sigh, sat back in her chair, and shook her head in defeat. “I didn’t mean
you
, husband. I know I could do it myself if I had the time. But I suppose I don’t.”

Brand looked at his wife in surprise. He hadn’t
considered the possibility of her taking up the Green. It gave him a shock of worry just to contemplate the idea. The Jewels were so dangerous, so malevolent in their own individual ways. He didn’t want to inflict such a fate upon his beloved.

At the same time, he knew that Telyn had always felt an urge toward magic. She’d dabbled with it long before he had in their youth.

He wondered at her motivations: was she truly worried about Myrrdin’s health, or did she harbor desires for the Green? He didn’t like the idea of his wife manipulating the situation for her personal gain.

But he
also didn’t blame her—not directly. Just being around the Jewels for a long time made greed blossom in the hearts of normal folk. It would only be natural, after watching her husband wield the Axe for long years, that Telyn would want power of her own. The Jewels were like sirens, singing their songs in the minds of anyone who ventured close enough to hear them.

The meeting broke up and they separated to their quarters. Telyn
followed Brand to their chambers. They discussed the plans further, and she seemed most concerned about Trev’s part.

“His mother would be horrified
to know you’re seeking to use him this way.”

“He’s not a child any longer, Telyn.”

“I’d wager you won’t say the same when it’s time to send our own children into harm’s way. Mari has suffered so much. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to have her Dead husband return and sit on the rocker.”

Brand felt sympathy with everyone’s plight, but he could not afford to dwell on any personal problems. He had to operate as if each day
was their last.

* * *

When morning came and Brand awakened, it seemed to be early. He looked out toward the east and there were only tinges of pink to be seen there.

He sat up suddenly as he realized what had awakened him. A horn was trumpeting distantly. Telyn was up a moment later.

“It’s just before daybreak,” she said, “the hour of the elves.”

Brand nodded dazedly. The Faerie
were most alert and energetic at sunset and dawn. They were most torpid at midday, when they could rarely be found.

Together, they dressed and prepared for battle. Telyn threw the curtains wide and the gleaming line of light outside grew slowly into a rising sun.

Wearily, hearts and boots thumping in rhythm, the garrison awakened and manned the walls. Brand had already fielded a dozen reports. The enemy had been sighted to the east. They were coming from the swamps with the sun at their backs.

His men made ready
and worked hard to prepare for the worst. None knew what kind of forces the enemy might have. They squinted into the bright red rays of sunshine as the mists burned off the waters and revealed the enemy on the march.

Brand was immediately disheartened. From the walls of his central keep, he could see the farthest. At his side was Telyn. She gasped when she recognized the forms that crawled toward them.

“Those are war machines!” she cried. “Gudrin truly is among them!”

Brand nodded glumly. The Kindred had come to their queen’s call. They were a loyal fol
k, and not ones to disregard an order even if it seemed mad. Fortunately, there did not seem to be too many war machines. A dozen crawlers, no more. They blatted smoke and steam and came forward with ticking, hissing bodies of metal. Behind each of them marched a full company of the Kindred. Already, with just these, there were more troops in the enemy army than he had manning his walls.

“Where’s Slet?”
Telyn asked.

“He
lingers at the entrance to the catacombs under the castle.”

“Still? Shouldn’t we call him to the walls?”

Brand chewed his bearded lower lip, thinking for a moment.

“Not yet,” he said at last. “He’ll be needed, I think, but I want my men to start this fight with nothing but righteous light in their eyes. Let them feel good when they die—and let’s hope few of them have to die twice today.”

At these grim words, Telyn looked at him in shock. But he did not meet her gaze. He kept watching the approaching army.

“There’s no sign of Hob and his goblins, is there?”
Brand asked.

“None.”

“That big green bastard,” Brand muttered. “He’d sell his own mother for firewood on any night he felt an uncomfortable chill.”

Trev joined Telyn and Brand on th
e wall top a few minutes later. He stared out into the lands beyond the walls of the castle. He seemed saddened.

“She just won’t stop, will she?”
he asked.

“
You mean Morgana? No. Not until she’s one of Slet’s Dead things. Maybe not even then.”

“I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” the boy said.

Brand glanced at him. He saw in Trev a shadow of himself. He thumped the youth on the shoulder and smiled.

“Don’t worry, boy. We’ll win this
fight. Just look behind us, to the west.”

They did
as he suggested together, and they saw the Great Tree towering there. It was motionless now, but it dwarfed every other aspect of the landscape. It resembled a mountain spire or a massive tower of stone.

“Wait until the Kindred
see that tree pick up and march itself toward them,” Brand said. “They’ll find fear in their hearts for the first time in a handful of centuries.”

Trev formed a line with his lips and nodded. He didn’t seem heartened by the thought. Brand turned away, scowling. He wondered if it was time yet to draw the Axe. The
enemy was so near! He was slightly afraid, when he thought about it, that he would be too late somehow to join in the fun. What if the Great Tree smashed their ranks and drove them all squalling back into the swamp? That would be a fine waste.

It’d been so long since he’d been in a true, pitched battle. The screams of the dying, the smell of blood and smoke mixing in one’s nostrils. It was intoxicating.

“Brand?”

Brand frowned. He found he was marching down the steps of the keep. Someone or something was pestering him. He lashed out with a gauntlet, aiming to smash the underling down and away. People had to learn a proper respect for their rightful lord.

His target ducked deftly, switched to his opposite side and plucked at his sleeve.

“You’ve got the Axe out, Brand. You’re marching outside, aren’t you? Control yourself, my husband.”

Brand stopped and blinked at Telyn stupidly. He then slowly turned his head to see the Axe
was
in his hand. It had gotten there mysteriously. He had no memory of grabbing it from his pack and pulling it forth.

With a great effort of will, he lifted it up, and up, and placed it back in his pack. Even then he had to force his fingers to untwine themselves individually from the haft. When he was done, he loosed a great sigh and nodded to his wife.

“I didn’t hit you, did I?”

“No, missed by a mile.”

He nodded again. “You know, I don’t seem to be as good at controlling it as I used to be. I’m not sure if that’s due to being out of practice, or my age.”

“You’re young yet.”

“Old enough to be a grandfather.”

She smiled at him and patted his sleeve. He embraced her, and the Axe squirmed on his back in frustration.

* * *

The enemy army halted just out of range of the siege engines and stood their ground. They were quiet and resolute. Brand eyed them with concern. They were almost silent, unmoving. It was not natural.

His own men were shouting taunts and curses from the walls. They beat upon their shields and hurled insults and laughter. It was normal enough for men to behave that way when facing a foe on the battlefield. They sought to build their courage by belittling their opponents.

But there was no sign of such bravado on the opposing side. They just stood there, silent, staring… Brand knew it had to be an effect of the witch, Morgana. Could she truly be affecting the minds of so many? If so, it seemed to him that the White was the most powerful Jewel of all.