Haven 5 Blood Magic BOOK (32 page)

The Rainbow climbed the rest of the way up onto its knees atop the ridge. The cobblestoned road was nowhere near wide enough for an army to share footing with such a monster. Troops scrambled to get away, pushing one another. Only the abominations, oblivious to anything but rage and a protective instinct for their master, rushed to meet the Rainbow.

Another of the bombards boomed, blasting away a goodly portion of translucent leg. Crippled, the Rainbow thrashed upon the ridge, kicking elves and bombards in every direction. Many elves spiraled down to their deaths, bodies twirling end over end for several seconds before the sharp spikes of rock ended their hopeless cries.

The abominations grappled the Rainbow, and strove with it. A hundred hands, bolstered by the strength of berserk madness, dug their collective fingers into the yielding flesh of the Rainbow, and tore great chunks from it. Where it kicked and thrashed, lighting flashed, but it was dying now. Writhing in the final agonies, it went mad, and Tomkin, over a mile southward, went mad with it. He slid from the spire of rock he had chosen to make his stand upon and lie on his back, kicking in the muddy puddles, eyes as lost and full of spinning color as were the Rainbow’s.

The abominations finally stilled the Rainbow, but only after losing half their number. The bombards were gone, all smashed upon the cliffs of the Starbreak Fells. Hundreds of bodies lay strewn over the cobbles and the fells. And into all this chaos Brand charged at the head of his Riverton infantry.

Blue cloaks fluttered. Banners rippled in the screaming winds. A thousand throats roared until they were raw and kept roaring as they charged behind Ambros, who drove them into a killing frenzy with its flashes of golden light. The elves looked to the charging humans and knew a new fear, because there was yellow, gleaming madness in those eyes. Centuries of idle amusements were about to be avenged.

Oberon screamed for his archers to fire their bows. Some did, standing their ground and loosing a deadly stream into the maddened infantry. Many went down and were crushed beneath the churning feet of their insensate comrades. Others twirled, caught themselves and staggered forward, coughing blood, but still marching.

The column of River Folk followed Brand directly into the mass of disintegrating flesh that was the Rainbow. A thousand puddles of dripping, sticky, multi-hued liquids slicked the cobbles.

Oberon sounded the retreat. Silver horns rose and pealed. Elves ran back to their master with light fast steps. The abominations that had survived the Kindred and the Rainbow lurched forward eagerly to meet the humans.

Brand, at the front of the infantry now, threw himself from his saddle. With a broad grin and a long-forgotten song on his lips, he rushed into the bloody monsters with their flapping feet and screeching heads. He lopped off limbs and flashed his axe to blind countless eyes. All the while he sang, and men who knew nothing of battle, who had never done anything more violent than gut a fish, now slashed and thrust at his side.

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 astonishing 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