“I think I must take this pause in the fighting to rest,” he said. For a time, he knew no more.
* * *
Telyn sought Tomkin in the ruined castle. Moving about in the fortress was difficult. The stone was old and had been weakened in unknown battles centuries earlier. A granite bridge between battlements might be as solid as bedrock or as treacherous as a muddy cliff in a storm. Often, as she climbed between broken towers and crumbling parapets, she was forced to take leaps to cross yawning expanses and thus avoid a fall. All the while the slow, steady bombardment continued. Stone balls, the heads of slain River Folk and occasional clumps of burning pitch flew and crashed all around.
She found Tomkin at last in a dark chamber in the back of the castle. It was a protected area at least, and the bombarding stones had not yet managed to penetrate the old walls this deeply. Tomkin was alone in the chamber and stood at the rearmost window, gazing out toward the Black Mountains.
Sensing something odd about his manner, and the manner of those who stood guard outside, Telyn approached him quietly. Her padding feet made little sound on the rough flagstone floor. Each flagstone, mortared together in a perfect mosaic a thousand years earlier, was emblazoned with a painted symbol. Glancing down at the faded paint she thought she recognized the symbol. The writing was ancient in style, and the script was hard to read, but it had to be the cursive form of the letter “R”.
“Yes,” Tomkin said. “They painted each stone the same. Clan Rabing always was a prideful bunch.”
Telyn’s eyes flicked up toward Tomkin, but he still stood gazing out the window. How had he seen what she saw?
She knew the answer the moment he turned to face her. He was wearing the Blue Jewel. Lavatis glimmered on his chest, hung there by a light chain of silver. The Jewel brightened as she gazed at it, almost as if it greeted her. Could it be winking in acknowledgement of her gaze? How strange was the Blue! She knew only a little of its history. Long in the possession of the Faerie, tales of the Blue were wild and fanciful.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
Tomkin stared at her. His odd, black-glass eyes reflected the light of the Jewel on his breast. When he drew breath, she saw now, the Jewel brightened, ever so slightly, as if it drew breath with him.
“Indeed it ‘tis, girl. Its beauty corrupts my mind. I can feel it.”
Telyn stared at the Jewel. “It’s different than Ambros,” she said. “I know a little of the Jewel’s history. It is a long story of bizarre behavior—and frequent death. It is known to some as the Jewel of Madness. Only Oberon has been able to hold it at bay for long.”
Tomkin’s nose lifted. He stood proudly on the window sill. “Much of that history was due to the odd habits of those who possessed it, not due to the nature of the Jewel itself!”
Telyn nodded in understanding. “You love it dearly now, don’t you? You can’t bear to hear even a bad word spoken of the Blue.”
Tomkin nodded, and his prideful gaze dimmed somewhat. “There is a grain of truth in thy words.”
“Are you going to wield it, Tomkin?”
“I have donned it, and I have attuned myself to it. The Blue stands ready should the need come.”
Telyn licked her lips. She moved to stand next to him in the arched window. There was no glass there, if there ever had been. Winds puffed in through the window into her face, lifting her hair up so it flew about her in a wild pattern. “I fear for thee, Wee One, should you need to wield this glowing thing on your breast. Some say you will fail.”
“Who speaks so?” Tomkin growled. His teeth bared themselves, and if anything, she thought they were a shade brighter than before.
Telyn slowly turned her head, eyes wide, to gaze down at Tomkin. There was an odd look on his face. “Piskin showed great concern,” she said, “he told me—”
“That vicious little fop!” Tomkin shouted with sudden feeling. Then he laughed wildly. His head opened wide so his teeth, gums, flaring lips and flapping tongue were all revealed at once. “He plays every game at once, and invents two more besides!”
She knew a sudden rush of fear as she gazed into his face. She saw a fresh, frightening madness there. Was it the Jewel’s influence, or was it Tomkin’s natural personality coming to the fore? She could not be sure. Brand changed when he took hold of the axe. She had expected some variety of change in Tomkin, but she had not expected this. She did not see bloodlust in the manling’s eyes, but rather a new light that did not come from a sane, healthy mind. She was not sure which was worse. She thought about her task as Brand’s Second. Could she perform such a service for Tomkin? She doubted it. Things could not be the same, as Tomkin had no love for her, and she would not even be able to catch him, should he spring out this window and race away.
Tomkin stopped laughing, and Telyn realized it was raining outside now. A gentle sprinkle at first, which quickened into a steady tapping.
Telyn stared outside, not daring to look at the madness in Tomkin’s face. “Tomkin,” she said in a whisper, “did you call this rain?”
“It will come from there, when it is born upon this land,” said Tomkin, as if he had not heard her. He pointed out the window into the hazy distance past the limits of the silvery rain drops.
“What will come, Tomkin?” she asked in a whisper. “Do you call the Rainbow?”
Tomkin did not answer. It was as if he dreamed, or hallucinated with a fever. She was sure he was seeing and hearing things her mind had no hint of. The rains paused outside, but these skies did not clear. Clouds shifted and roiled up there, hanging over the castle walls.
“Will thy hand reach to mine, should I fall?” asked Tomkin suddenly.
Telyn looked at him in surprise. There was a new expression there upon his waxy skin, one she had never seen before upon the face of a Wee One. It took her a moment to recognize it as a look of fear.
“Yes,” she told him gently. It seemed to her as if her voice came down from miles above them both. She almost could not credit herself with saying the words. “I will stand with you—whatever comes to greet us.”
The two gazed out the window together, side by side, tiny manling and human maiden. Neither knew what was coming, but both understood they would at least not face it alone.
Chapter Fifteen
Brand’s Gamble
Brand awakened in confusion. He had just put the axe down, hadn’t he? Wielding the weapon was exhausting. Had he truly slept long? He checked the sun in the sky, noting it had moved further to the west, but he could not have slept for more than an hour. His mind dulled again and his chin sagged down again to touch his breastplate. He forced his eyes to open fully and snapped his head back up. He blinked at Corbin in confusion. “I must have nodded off for a moment.”
“Indeed you did,” said Corbin.
“You should not have let me sleep.”
“You needed it.”
“I must admit I’m unsure what to do,” said Brand, climbing wearily to his feet. “If we hold, can we truly kill all the rhinogs ever spawned that are sent against us? And then the Wild Hunt after that?”
“I can’t answer such a question, I’m sorry, cousin,” said Corbin.
Brand looked at the men around him. They seemed a frightened lot of farmers, which was exactly what they were. They were tired and scared and dirty and cold. Soot-streaks, burns and bandaged limbs were everywhere. He felt all the worse for having abandoned them, but at least he had stopped Myrrdin from reforging a Pact that would put them under the yoke again for another century. He wondered how the day would end.
Inside, he knew what he must do. He needed the axe to uplift him, and he called upon it to do so.
“Take heart, River Folk!” he shouted and grinned at them, and let the axe surge heat down his arm and into his body. He held it aloft and the Golden Eye winked brightly, blinding everyone present. “The Axeman is among you! The rhinogs are cunning and vicious, but they are cowardly by nature. They are no more than merlings bearing fur an
d you all saw how the merlings fared against the axe! The rhinogs will do no better!”
The men cheered and wiped at their tearing, dazzled eyes. Their cheers turned to cries of fear as a fireball whooshed down and landed upon the dome. A smattering of liquid flame dripped down into the enclosure, but somehow it held up. Brand could see now that many burnt spots decorated the once leafy dome. It was still solid however, and nowhere had it been burnt completely through.
There came a keening sound from outside, and a dozen low horns blared at once. The men inside the dome scrambled back to their positions without having to be told. The attack was on.
Brand and Corbin rushed after Modi to the entrance where they looked out into the dimly lit landscape. Dark figures ran forward in crouched positions, hurrying from one scrap of cover to the next. Suddenly, a great flight of black-fletched arrows and bolts clattered against the walls. One bowman of the Haven fell back, clutching at his chest. They returned fire and Brand saw several rhinogs fall.
“There!” he told Modi. “Tell them to concentrate their fire to the west. That brush is hiding a dense pack of the enemy, massing up for a charge. I think the goblins themselves may be in there.”
Modi gave him a quizzical look, but relayed his orders to the crossbowmen, who fired with good results. A number of rhinogs and several goblins fled the thicket. Those that ran in the wrong direction were shot down as they came out into the open.
In the meantime, a large number of enemy had reached the walls. Even as the Haven archers trained their weapons down upon them, several new companies of enemy bowmen appeared as if melting into being from the landscape itself and pelted the Haven troops with arrows to keep them ducking. Thusly covered by their archers, the assaulting rhinogs threw up grapples and clambered up the crumbling walls. Wielding a knife in each hand, they fought viciously with the men on the walls. But the thorn-laden vines and the longer weapons of the River Folk tore them apart. Brand and Corbin moved from spot to spot and hacked down any of the enemy that managed to wriggle their way into the gatehouse before they could stab men in the back.
Suddenly, the rhinogs fell back and retreated. The River Folk cheered and drilled arrows into the humping furred backs. The assault only lasted minutes, but they all felt exhausted. A few rhinog injured still wriggled amongst the vines, skewered by thorns and arrows.
“We showed them something of the Haven!” shouted Brand, elated to see their enemy fleeing.
“Your cheek is torn,” said Corbin.
“It’s nothing. I would love to pursue them and cut them down, but even the axe couldn’t protect me from so many arrows,” said Brand. “Here, man! What are you doing?”
“I’m bandaging your cheek. It’s bleeding.”
“Nonsense! It’s nothing but a scratch! Leave it, man!”
Corbin gave up, throwing his hands up. “Okay. You’re the Axeman. I’m sure you can’t be bled to death.”
Brand sighed and closed his eyes to think. “Yes, all right cousin. Fix my wound.”
Even as Corbin finished his work, not ten minutes later, the goblins managed to whip their offspring enough to launch another assault. This time, they focused on the entrance, sending dozens of fresh troops against the makeshift barrier that the old, twisted portcullis provided. Again, the enemy archers pelted the walls heavily with black-fletched bolts. Modi, Brand and Corbin ran to the entrance. A desperate struggle commenced. The sheer force of their stinking, struggling bodies forced open the portcullis. Modi threw his weight and strength against it, along with the two strong river-boys. For a moment, they held. Grunting and sweating, the struggling knot of soldiers on both sides filled the air with foul stenches. Finally, their sheer numbers overwhelmed the defenders and the rhinogs forced their way inside.
“Brand! Behind you!” cried Corbin as he battled a furiously screeching rhinog that thrust and slashed like an ape with arms made of leather ropes. Brand whirled and split the skull of rhinog that sought to ram a long knife into his back. He turned back to the flood of rhinogs that were pouring into the breach and raised aloft the axe.
“Ambros!” he cried aloud.
It flashed with the brilliance of a lightning stroke. Those rhinogs that were immediately before him fell back, screeching. Smoke rose from their fur and their eyes had been turned to steaming, boiled eggs in their sockets. Brand realized with a mild shock that they had been struck blind. He strode forward into the reeling mass of them, laying about with the axe. Each stroke stilled another wriggling form.
Two goblins, brave enough to follow at the rear of their broods, met him at the fallen gate. They hissed at him in hatred. Their whips lashed the air like leather snakes. He caught and severed one lash with Ambros, but the other slipped into the protective shell of his helmet and laid open his cheek where Corbin had just closed it. That goblin he cut down, while the other made good his escape. The dozen or so surviving rhinogs chased after their fleeing sire. Another assault had been broken.
“Oh, by the River,” said Corbin in a weak voice.
Brand turned to him, suddenly concerned. His own eyes were streaming tears of pain. “What is it, cousin? Are you injured?”
Corbin made no reply. He laid about him with his sword, butchering the blind and injured rhinogs. Their quivering, stinking mass of bodies choked the entrance. Corbin hewed twice more, then fell to his knees and vomited.
Brand walked back to him, his footing made uncertain by the shifting soft backs of the dead. “Are you injured?” he repeated.
Corbin looked up at him gasping. He shook his head. “No, I’m just sickened by the slaughter. Aren’t you?”
Brand blinked at him, and realized with a shock that he wasn’t. The coppery smell of blood and the roasted-meat smell of burnt flesh did nothing to turn his stomach. Vaguely, he wondered at what he had become. After a time, Corbin regained his feet and went to rest by the fountain. Someone had removed the body of the lookout that had died the day before at this very spot, but his blood still stained the bowl of the fountain.
“Am I unnatural, Corbin?” asked Brand.
Corbin looked up at him and shook his head. “No more so than Modi. Look at him. He is a veteran of many wars, I suppose. He is no more concerned by the dead than we would be for a pile of fresh-picked broadleaf melons that leaked their sap upon our cart.”
After they had cleared the dead from the entrance and replaced the gate, no more attacks came. Dawn finally arrived, and the cold light of early morning lit up the awful scene of carnage. Brand thought that it had been better left hidden by darkness. They watched the battle that progressed some distance away at the main keep. At first, Tylag and his men had surprised some of the rhinogs, having dug into hiding places amongst the brush surrounding the crumbling keep. Soon, however, the enemy had encircled them and hemmed them in. The catapults had been concentrated there as well.
As they watched the battle rage, they ate salted beef and swallowed their rations of water. Corbin worked at not sicking up all that he ate. Brand ate steadily, without sickness or gusto.
“Somewhere, in the middle of all that, is Telyn,” said Brand in a distant voice.
“Tylag, too,” echoed Corbin.
“Had I known she’d left, I wouldn’t have come here first.”
“Then all might have been lost for these men,” Corbin sighed. “Besides, we had no way of knowing.”
“We should go to their aid.”
“How can we? If we leave here alone, entire companies of rhinogs will fall upon us.”
“We need not go alone. We can lead the men on a charge. They won’t suspect such a thing.”
“Of course they don’t expect that! It would be suicide! Even your axe can’t stop a storm of arrows, Brand. Our armor might see the two of us through, but we would be killing our fellows, as surely as if we had swung the blades ourselves.”
“We shall go alone, then,” said Brand.
“You shall do no such thing,” said a bass voice.
Bran
d turned from eyeing the keep to see Modi looming over them. He turned back to the keep. Another fireball arced high and belched more smoke and flame from the crumbling battlements. Distant screams could be heard.
“I shall do as I will, warrior,” said Brand.
“Then you are a fool.”
“Have a care.”
“You are the one without a care. Haven’t you noticed the conspicuous absence of Herla? Do you not wonder why he lets the children of goblins do all his work and waits to launch his huntsmen?”
“He’s right, Brand,” said Corbin, “he’s right. Herla is only interested in the Jewels, naught else. Rhinogs will die and more will be spawned, the same can be said of River Folk. True power lies in the Jewels. In a way, this battle is just a distraction for us.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Brand.
“Don’t you see?” responded Corbin. “Herla’s just waiting for a chance to come out of hiding and sweep down on you. He wants nothing but the axe. We can’t just give it to him.”
Even as Corbin spoke, thunder rumbled in the North. Brand followed the sound and turned toward the Faerie mound.
“What I want to know is what happened to Myrrdin,” said Corbin. “Perhaps we were wrong to stop him from arranging a renewal of the Pact with Oberon. Right now he could be bringing his archers to our aid. Surely, that would rout the enemy.”
Brand turned on him. “We weren’t wrong. Is that all we of the Haven have died for here today? To return to serving tribute to the Faerie? Perhaps you would have us wash their feet for them as well.”
Corbin made no answer. The thunder in the North rumbled again, and the sky seemed to darken a bit as clouds rolled in from that direction.
“Another storm?” asked Modi with a grunt. Brand could see that his military mind was factoring that into the situation. “We could use the water. I’ll have the men set up buckets to catch the run-off,” he said, stumping off to shout orders to the weary troops. Many of them slept now, slumped over their weapons and using cold stone blocks for pillows.
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