Haven Magic (43 page)

Brand’s mind was brought hard around to thoughts of Gudrin’s stories. The hound that Herla carried and forever waited to alight would drink only fresh human blood. Murdering cannibals they had all become, deepening their damnation. The thought of them running free in the Haven, hunting men and women like stags, filled him with revulsion and anger.

“Then we have nothing to discuss!” he shouted. “I would sooner slay the lot of you than let one hoof of your accursed horses stand free in the Haven!” Upon his back, the axe squirmed like a thing alive. But he didn’t reach for it, not yet.

Brand stood facing Voynod. The dark bard paused now too, and stood motionless on the shoreline. Brand noted that no steaming white puffs of breath came from the horse, nor the rider. It dawned on him that neither of them were breathing at all.

The silence lasted for only a few seconds, but it seemed an eternity. Brand felt waves of hatred and evil strength, willing him to stand aside, to cower, to yield the axe, but he stood firm. The growing anger in him was becoming a rage. He bared his teeth with an animal desire to battle the bard.

“So be it,” said Voynod.

The horse reared, then came down and set off in a gallop. The huntsman charged. Hooves thundered, kicking up great clots of rotting earth. The mists swirled and churned around the horse and rider, and something flashed silver as Voynod drew his sword. An unearthly cry erupted from his hidden mouth.

Brand backed two paces, to the far side of the wall. He knew nothing of how to face a horseman on foot. The only logical thing seemed to be to jump aside at the last moment and swing the axe as the rider passed. Surely, the horse would have to slow as it got to the top of the mound where stone blocks jutted up like broken teeth from and old man’s gums. But even of this, he could not be sure. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the Huntsman had taken off into the air and flown, still galloping.

Brand saw the tiny, bounding form of Tomkin, disappearing into the mists. He could hardly blame the creature for taking flight, but still, it was disheartening to be so wantonly abandoned. Brand looked to Telyn, never having felt greater fear than this moment. The Faerie and the merlings, they had been almost wholesome when compared to this cursed, animated corpse. Their eyes met, and he saw his fears mirrored in her eyes. She struggled with her bow. She tried to ready it, but her injured wrist was making it difficult. It seemed inevitable that he would be forced to wield the axe again this day. He hoped that they all survived it.

Brand reached up for the axe, but hesitated. He could feel the haft straining to meet his gloved hand. Voynod was almost upon him, charging up the slope to the fallen walls. Making the decision that he would have to wield the weapon, come what may, Brand reached for it.

But the rider was slowing. Unexpectedly, a blue twist of glowing light ran across the horse’s chest and flashed up into Voynod’s face. The horse and rider together made unnatural, undulating sounds. More bolts of magical light leapt up from the very ground the horse tread upon and chased one another about the bard’s body. The horse was slowed to a straining walk. Brand realized that the castle walls must have some protective spell upon them that the bard had awakened.

“Slay him!” urged a voice at Brand’s feet. “Slay the bard
now
, whilst he is preoccupied!”

Brand glanced down at Tomkin, then at the huntsman. He realized that the manling was right, there would likely be no better opportunity, but somehow the fact that the huntsman was no longer a deadly threat stayed his hand. Besides, there was Telyn, who was also urgently speaking to him.

“— don’t, Brand! I don’t trust this little blighter,” she said, indicating Tomkin with the toe of her boot. “All he seems to want is for you to wield that axe. Perhaps that is Voynod’s purpose as well.”

Brand nodded, and let his hand drop a fraction. Voynod, by this time, had given up trying to overcome whatever charmed barrier the old walls held against his passing. Hissing his displeasure, he and his unbreathing horse withdrew down the slope to the shoreline again.

“Clever, river-boy,” he said, “no doubt well-planned. It is to your credit that I had forgotten of Castle Rabing’s ward. But my master has tricks of his own to overcome such ancient charms. They will not stop his powers. You can’t hide forever in the fortresses of your dead ancestors.”

With that, he galloped off into the mists, heading upriver. Soon, the sounds of the horse’s hooves faded into the chatter of the river.

“Castle Rabing?” asked Brand, aghast.

Telyn spread her hands and shook her head. Both of them looked to Tomkin, who perched nearby in a stunted tree upon a twisted black branch.

“So quickly does thy breed forget thy own roots!” he cackled.

“So you knew what this place was?” demanded Brand. “Again, you have withheld valuable information.”

Tomkin cocked his head and gazed at him unconcernedly. He seemed curious as to what Brand was going to do about it.

“And no, I’m not going to take up the axe and cut you in two for this, either. Although I’d rather enjoy it,” said Brand.

“Castle Rabing,” said Telyn, as if tasting the words. “Brand! Here, you are a lord!”

Brand looked about the place. The sun was a glowing disk in the sky now, trying to burn through the heavy layers of mist. It was having a tough time of it. He wondered if it was true, that his ancestors had owned and ruled this place. He had thought it had been only the influence of the axe that had led him to like it before, but now he wondered.

Chapter Nineteen

The March of the Rainbow

Soon after facing Voynod they reached the final tower along the riverfront. Ahead stretched an endless expanse of mist-shrouded swamp. The stench of rot was worse now than before. The trees were fewer and all looked like twisted black skeletons. Their imploring branches reached to the gray skies but found no relief there.

“This truly must be the Dead Kingdoms,” said Brand, gazing down into the dismal scene.

“Indeed,” said Tomkin. “‘Tis not a lovely place.”

“How can anything live here?” demanded Telyn of Tomkin. “Where is this merling king? Where are you leading us, trickster?”

“Tomkin is leading the way to the merling town!” said Tomkin indignantly. “Never are the Wee Folk believed! Ever is our word questioned!”

“Okay, which way is it, then?” asked Brand, leaning on the walls of the last fallen tower.

“Upriver! ‘Tis almost to the headwaters we go!”

“But how can anything live?” demanded Telyn.

“The river still runs sweet and pure at its source,” said the manling, his voice almost a growl. “There, the merlings can live and there they are safe from attack as no sane being would cross this swamp to pester them.”

The humans had to concede the logic of this argument, and so with heavy hearts they agreed to follow Tomkin back down into the swamp once again. Before they had gone a hundred paces, Brand was already casting wistful glances back at Castle Rabing, which seemed an oasis by comparison. The redcap seemed less terrible with each step he took.

They marched much of the day through the endless swamp. After a time, subtle undulations began to appear in the land. Soon after they came upon low green hills cut with gullies filled with inky scum-coated water. Their spirits rose as it seemed they might escape the accursed swamp.

As they topped a ridge, there were signs that a storm brewed ahead of them. A cold, wet wind blew in their faces and the clouds overhead moved in an unusual circular pattern. Tomkin seemed concerned over these developments. He mumbled to himself and spoke no more to them. He took to trotting over the dryer land, bounding like a hare from stone to stone. Brand and Telyn were hard put to keep up with the tireless manling. They called to him, but their words were sucked up and devoured by the growing winds. Finally, the storm clouds let go their bounty and lashed them with rain. Lightning flashed and boomed.

“Where is he going?” shouted Telyn.

“I don’t know, but we can’t lose him now!” Brand shouted back into the storm. “Finding the merling stronghold is one thing, we can do that without him, but getting our fellows back is quite another!”

“Look!” cried Telyn pointing to the east. A great flashing grew in the east and loomed closer each moment. It was as if lightning there had somehow been gathered up and held in a fist. As it moved closer, the lightning lashed out, twisted and rumbled, as if trying to free itself.

Brand and Telyn climbed to the top of a rise upon which Tomkin had halted. From this vantage point, the stronghold of the merlings was finally revealed. To all sides lay higher and higher hills, where the headwaters of the river that fed the marshes began. Lying surrounded by these hills was a great wetland filled with the low mounds of the merlings. Brand was surprised by the number of them. There were perhaps as many mounds as there were homes in Riverton. Encircling the wetland was an earthen wall, ranging from ten to perhaps twenty feet in height. The top of the wall bristled with spear-like shafts to discourage anyone trying to scale them. The only break in the walls was the great gate of woven reeds that spanned the river. Brand supposed that for the aquatic creatures, the river was the only road in or out that mattered.

Tomkin ignored the town. He faced the east, where the fistful of lightning approached. He threw up his tiny hands to the skies, as if beseeching the heavens. Wind-driven rain lashed him but he stood firm, crying out words that Telyn and Brand didn’t understand. “Dando! Dando!” he cried over and over again, mixed with a torrent of what sounded like curses and lamentations.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” shouted Telyn, kneeling beside the creature in concern. He ignored her and continued to cry aloud in distress.

It was then that Brand saw the leading elements of the Wild Hunt. Just as Riverton children imitated each spring festival, the Hunt was led by a host of the Wee Folk, runners like hounds that bounded about with reckless speed before the hunters.

The first of the shadowy hunters followed, then a burst of coursers came up the very rise that they stood upon. Brand grabbed Telyn and toed Tomkin with his boot. He pointed toward the approaching host and Tomkin seemed to come back to himself. He gave a look of surprise to Brand, clearly not having expected the warning. He led the way to the far side of the rise where a tumble of rocks, trees and thick brush served to cover them. They took cover and watched as the Wild Hunt flowed by on all sides of them toward the merling town.

The Wild Huntsmen came silently. They wore skins that flapped and fluttered about them. Some wore helms, but most had wide, low-brimmed hats that hid their faces. They carried boarspears and swords of gleaming metal. With reckless speed, the Wild Hunt swept up to them. Brand could hear nothing of them until they were engulfed by them. It was not until the coursers were but ten paces away that their sounds crashed over them like an ocean wave. There was nothing but deafening sound, the roar of what seemed a thousand hooves thundered and shook the ground so that speech was impossible. Frozen with fear, the three of them huddled in their shelter, praying that they would live through it.

One courser paused near them on the top of the rise. Brand eyed him in wonder. Black cloaks fluttered over him and his horse. Atop his shoulders rode the head of a great stag, its antlers boasting a score of points. All his face was hidden but for the eyes, which shown a ghostly shade of lavender. There was a second, smaller, dimmer set of crimson eyes of another creature that crouched upon the back of the horse. They turned of their own accord and those evil eyes met Brand’s.

Then the courser put an odd, curved horn to his lips. Tatters of flesh from whatever great beast’s skull the horn had been torn from still clung to it. The courser winded the horn. A long, clear note rang across the merling town, cutting through the rumble of hooves and the drumming of the rain. Then the figure was gone, rejoining the charge down to the walls of the merling town.

Brand knew he had laid eyes upon Herla, and that the bloodhound that had shared his horse with him for nine hundred years had laid eyes upon him. He was speechless with terror. Never had he felt such malevolence emanating from a creature.

When they could hear one another speak again, Telyn and Brand plied Tomkin with questions. “What’s happening?” demanded Brand. He reached out to grab and shake the manling, but paused at the savage glower he received.

Tomkin bared his teeth at him, and then spoke. “The Wild Hunt comes, is it not clear?”

“What about the storm? Is Dando wielding Lavatis?” asked Telyn.

Tomkin grabbed up his hair in both hands and tugged wildly. “The fool!” he cried. “He has not the craft! He’ll go feral and all will be lost!”

Down below, they watched as the coursers passed over the walls. They didn’t even pause at the fortifications, but simply leapt into the air and sailed over the walls. In a steady flow, the coursers swept over the walls as if jumping a fallen log.

“How can they do that?” cried Brand. “Why couldn’t we hear them until they were upon us? What magic do they possess?”

“Herla wields Osang, fool!” Tomkin snarled at him. “Embedded in the Dragon’s Horn! Osang is the Lavender Jewel, the Shadow Jewel, which rules sight, sound and movement! Hast thou been taught nothing of the world?”

A crash nearby brought their attention back to the bundle of lightning, which marched down now toward the merling town. Brand gazed into the heart of the lightning, and after a moment he knew what he was seeing.