Haven 3 Shadow Magic (Haven Series 3)

by Larson, B. V.

  Brand stared northward.

  Corbin followed his gaze, and then looked at him. “What is it?”

  Brand just stared. He reached back and pulled the axe from his pack. “I’m only glad it was not I who had to decide how things would go this day,” he said.

  “What are you talking about, Brand?” asked Corbin, sounding alarmed.

  Brand stood up. He planted his feet and set his spiked helm upon his head. To Corbin he said: “Follow me, my cousin, or follow me not, as you will.”

  With that, he paid no more heed to those around him. A feral grin split his features as he felt the joy of wielding the axe once more. With three deft strokes he cut a path through the thick blackened vines. Sap ran and bubbled like blood from the damaged growths. They parted and fell away from the incredible sharpness of the axe, vines that had withstood fire, knives, axes and arrows.

  Brand kicked out the vines that choked the opening and tensed himself to jump through. He felt hands upon him, and had he not known them to be Corbin’s, he might have severed them at the wrists. Instead, he used the strength of arm that the axe lent him to throw his cousin to the ground. Gathering himself, he crashed through the living barrier, which already crackled as it sought to knit itself back together.

  He hit the ground hard and grunted heavily. He climbed quickly to his feet and set off at a trot toward the main keep. He never looked back to see if Corbin followed, nor did he watch for rhinogs or the Wild Hunt. His eyes stayed upon his destination, only glancing now and then to the north and the growing storm that brewed there.

  The rain began to spatter down and the sky darkened rapidly. The morning sun had long since vanished. Clouds of steam rose up from the smoldering encampment and the burning keep ahead. The thunderclaps to the north became more regular and louder.

  Brand heard another, running beside him. He knew without turning that it was Corbin.

  “The thunderclaps,” gasped Corbin. “They’re footfalls, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “It must be Tomkin, then! He’s summoned the Rainbow, even as Dando did before!”

  Brand didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Even as Corbin shouted the words in the growing wind and lashing rain, the shimmer of the Rainbow was clear in the north.

  They topped a low rise and looked down into a gully. The gully was filled by a dozen or so huddling rhinogs. A single goblin walked among them, administering salves to the wounded among his brood and lashes to those that irked him. Brand hesitated only a moment. With a wild howl of ferocity, he jumped down amongst them. Ambros winked of its own accord, bringing shrieks of terror from the huddled enemy. Corbin plunged down the slope after Brand.

  The rhinogs scattered in all directions as would rabbits discovered at midnight in a farmer’s garden. Even the goblin scrambled to get away, perhaps believing that these two armored soldiers were but the point men of a company of attackers. Brand strode after this last and ended its long life with a single stroke. The head he grabbed up and hurled after the fleeing backs of its offspring.

  “That one will never spawn another monster!” he roared. He grinned at Corbin, who panted and stared at him as if he stared at a stranger. “Thanks for following me, my cousin! Are there any others behind us?”

  Corbin shook his head. He was gasping for air, beyond speech. He leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. His sides heaved.

  “So be it,” said Brand. “We shall win through alone. These foes have no stomach for a fight unless they have carefully planned every detail. We will baffle them by assaulting them single-handedly!”

  As he climbed the far side of the gully, Brand heard Corbin mutter after him, “the River save us if they lose their bafflement.”

  When they gained the far side of the gully and set off for the keep, they were buffeted by powerful winds. The shimmering colored lights of the Rainbow grew in the north. The huge feet and legs were almost visible in the pouring rain. With each fantastic footfall, a deafening clap of thunder rang out over the landscape.

  “Fool Tomkin! You are the greatest of fools!” screamed Brand. The storm tore the words from his mouth. Blood, sweat and rainwater trickled down his cheek into his beard and his mouth. He tasted the salty mixture and it was sweet to his tongue.

  As they ran, they saw the Rainbow reach the three catapults that sat at the edge of the dank swampland. Great shimmering hands descended from the skies and picked up one of the war engines as a child might pick up a toy. The catapult was raised up, up, out of sight, then came crashing down upon the second engine. Both smashed apart and burst into flames as their loads of hot oil and pitch ignited. The third catapult crew, under the harsh lashes of their masters, bravely worked to turn and aim at the monster. Even as the Rainbow took a step forward, the catapult snapped one final time and sent its fiery load into the shimmering mass of the Rainbow’s shoulder. A wad of gauzy, insubstantial flesh was ripped loose from the creature. It loosed a deep otherworldly cry of pain that caused agony in the ears of all that heard it. The catapult crew cheered and the Rainbow staggered, but didn’t fall. Moments later the last catapult was crushed beneath the heavy tread of glimmering feet.

  Most on the battlefield had their heads turned to watch this struggle of titans. Brand and Corbin used the valuable time to run up undetected behind another band of rhinogs. Brand saw they were archers, and he felt a hot hatred for their black-fletched bolts. Ambros cut down several in a flurry and then they were through the enemy lines and running toward the keep. They ran right past a knot of struggling men and rhinogs.

  “We should help!” cried Corbin.

  Brand shook his head. “Can’t. If the Rainbow reaches the keep, Herla could at last gain Lavatis. We must be there.”

  “Brand, look!” cried Corbin, pointing to the east.

  Brand turned and saw the Wild Hunt. Following their bounding vanguard of Wee Folk were the Huntsmen, the unmistakable stag head of Herla among them. They were hellbent for the keep as well, and were moving much more rapidly than Brand and Corbin could on foot. Brand watched as Osang was raised to the stag head’s mouth and a long, low, mournful note was winded that rolled over the land.

  “The charm has failed!” shouted Corbin in despair. “We can never beat them! Perhaps not even the Rainbow can reach Tomkin first!”

  Brand cursed and wished for a horse, although he was no master rider. He was a man at home riding the ripples of the Berrywine, not the undulating back of a warhorse.

  As it was, both the Rainbow and Wild Hunt beat him to the keep. A terrific struggle ensued: men, rhinogs, coursers and the great feet of the Rainbow all met and slew one another. The first gate they met as they panted up to the top of the rise was only a ruin of stone and twisted metal. Brand cursed as he saw the tunnel behind it had fallen.

  “Must we climb the walls themselves?” he demanded aloud.

  “Here!” cried Corbin. “The side door! It has been smashed in! Perhaps we can get into the tower!”

  Brand followed him at a dead run and soon passed his exhausted cousin. He shouldered aside the last remnants of a once stout door whose ancient timbers crumbled to the touch. Into unexpected blackness they stumbled, groping their way over bodies and fallen bricks to a spiral staircase of cut stone. They quickly wound their way up the steps, ducking their heads and scrambling over yet more bodies.

  “There are many more rhinog dead than human,” said Brand. “But we can ill afford the losses anyway.”

  “I can’t but think of how many firesides will go without family members after this business is finished,” said Corbin. “I believe I just climbed over the fat body of Osho, the grocer from Riverton. Remember him, Brand? He used to give us barrel-apples for free when we were kids.”

  “I can’t but think that there will be no firesides for any of us to go back to, should we lose this day,” replied Brand grimly. He continued to climb over the warm, sticky bodies to the top, ignoring the smells and the textures. Behind him, Corbin followed, m
aking gagging sounds. Brand wondered that he had anything left in his stomach to sick up. For once he was glad for the axe and the callous courage it seemed to give him.

  Up ahead the din of battle and the pink light of dawn filtered down. They tumbled out onto the crumbling battlements of the keep and almost immediately were spotted by a bounding figure. It gave a strange, warbling cry and pointed at them as if accusing them of a most heinous crime. Brand stepped forward, snarling at the Wee One.

  “It’s one of Herla’s foul little jackrabbits!” he roared as he swung.

  Bursting out with laughter, the Wee One launched into the air, doing a flip before it came back down in the same spot. It waited for Brand’s next move, its legs tense. Brand grinned grimly and took a half-step forward. The Wee One crouched, watching closely, clearly confident and enjoying the sport. Behind them, Corbin averted his eyes as he knew what would come next.

  Ambros flashed then, even as Brand stepped up to swing again. Startled, the Wee One’s desperate leap took it right over the side of the battlements. Brand laughed as it blindly tumbled down to smash upon the rocks far below. Corbin shook his head and wondered if even one of the Wee Folk could survive such a fall.

  They heard a sound behind them then, the sound a gusting wind whipped around great exposed stones might make. They turned back to see a courser land beside them upon the battlements. Another arrived a moment later, landing its horse as a man would taking a great leap over a fallen tree. Brand hadn’t until this moment really seen them fly, but now he had no further doubts.

  “Retreat down the stairs, Corbin!” shouted Brand. “They can’t get off their horses, they won’t be able to follow.”

  Corbin dove for the steps, even as the coursers began their approach. They ignored him and were intent solely on Brand.

  “Come with me!” demanded Corbin.

  “No!” shouted Brand. “Telyn and Tomkin are somewhere in this keep. I’ll not be driven from it.”

  “Then I will stand with you,” said Corbin, coming up behind him.

  Brand frowned, but felt a twinge of gratitude. He hadn’t relished facing two specters alone. The coursers came at them, and Ambros flashed, but seemingly without effect upon the enemy. Perhaps their eyes were too old, too fleshless, to be pained by light, no matter how bright.

  “Look, Brand!” shouted Corbin. “The Rainbow!”

  All of them looked, even the coursers. An astounding figure of beauty rose up and rounded the towers of the keep to stand beside them. Up close, Brand saw the pure colors that striped its body, each hue more brilliant than the last. Its head was on a level with them, and Brand looked into its dancing eyes made of blue flames. The otherworldly eyes regarded him and the others, each in turn. Even the coursers seemed at a loss in the face of such fantastic beauty.

  A great hand rose up. With a deliberate, swift motion, the Rainbow swept the coursers from the battlement. They fell away into the wind without a cry. Brand saw one horseman’s claw-like hand of white bone clutch at the edge, and then it was gone. Brand and Corbin raced for the nearest doorway that led into the keep, lest the Rainbow change its mind about whom it favored.

  “Well,” said Corbin as they huffed down another hall of fallen walls and bodies. “At least we know that Tomkin is still in command of his creature.”

  “But for how long?” asked Brand aloud.

  They continued through the keep in silence. Ever it seemed that the battle had escaped them. In the distance they heard the shouts and screams of dying men and rhinogs, but around them was only the aftermath of battle, never the event.

  After mounting another set of steps, however, they came upon a knot of soldiers in the ragged, stained, blue livery of Riverton. As one, they raised their weapons at the sight of Brand and Corbin, and then lowered them in relief and recognition. They set up a ragged cheer as Brand lofted Ambros and commanded it to wink at them.

  “Brand! Corbin, my son!” shouted Tylag, coming forward with his arms spread. “How glad I am to see your young faces!”

  “How goes the battle, father?” asked Corbin anxiously.

  Tylag’s face faltered. “Not well,” he said, his voice hushed. “We are reduced to small pockets like this.” He indicated the score of men who stood with him in the shadowy halls. “Our forces are scattered about the keep. I’ve dispatched messengers to try to gather them together, but as yet, none have returned.”

  “What of Telyn and Tomkin?” asked Brand.

  “They are both here,” said Tylag, nodding toward another chamber.

  Brand noticed that Tylag and the other men of the Haven shunned that chamber. All of them stood far from the entrance. But his heart leapt at the news that Telyn still lived. Without waiting to hear more he strode into the chamber and found her crouched over the tiny figure of Tomkin. Tomkin lay beneath a pile of what looked like sackcloth. She looked up and briefly smiled.

  “I’m glad that you live, Brand,” she said.

  “I too, am uplifted,” he said. They came together and quickly embraced. Brand smelled her hair, and his chest seemed to expand with well-being.

  “How is Tomkin?” asked Brand in a whisper. “Has he gone feral yet?”

  “No, but I fear that is not far off. He has been calling for you.”

  “How soon thy Folk forget the quality of good hearing,” chuckled a voice from beneath the sackcloth. There was a sudden flurry of movement under the material, and it was thrown back. “Ah! There, I can breathe! I’m not a sick child, woman!” shouted Tomkin irritably.

  Brand’s mouth hung open to see him. The whole of the dark chamber throbbed with the light from Lavatis, which hung as an impossibly huge weight around his tiny neck. After a moment, Brand recognized the pulse of the light. It matched the beating of the Wee One’s heart. His face was pale, drawn and sickly-looking in the blue light. He struggled up to a sitting position, but then sagged back down with a sigh and closed his eyes.

  “Another gang of rhinogs!” he screeched. “The coursers cut at me!”

  Brand and Telyn knelt beside the dying manling.

  “He’s torn between two worlds,” said Telyn.

  “He’s strong, but it’s only a matter of time until he becomes one with the Rainbow and goes feral,” said Brand.

  “Do not talk as if Tomkin were already dead!” shouted Tomkin, his eyes fluttering open. His great mouth split wide in a familiar grin. “Saved thy arse, I did, river-boy!”

  “Indeed, Tomkin. You did that,” said Brand.

  Shouts erupted from the larger chamber outside. Brand jumped up, expecting a flood of rhinogs and coursers. Perhaps Herla himself was making his final move to claim a second and third Jewel.

  Instead, a bounding figure came into the room and pounced upon the prone form of Tomkin. Brand lifted the axe, suspecting it was another of Herla’s turncoat runners. But after a moment, he recognized the intruder. It was Piskin, the one who had made deals with him on the part of the Wee Folk just a few nights ago.

  “Fool!” screamed Piskin, shaking Tomkin’s fallen body. “You’ve ruined the chance of a millennium! Never shall our people again be so close to grasping true power!”

  “Have a care, changeling,” said Tomkin’s weak, but dangerous voice.

  Brand and Telyn looked at one another. Brand realized then where he had heard Piskin’s voice before. It was that of the false infant they had chased from Lanet Drake’s apartments. He took a breath and took a single step toward the two Wee Folk.

  Telyn laid a hand upon him. “Perhaps we shouldn’t interfere. This is their business.”

  “I’ll have the Jewel instead!” shouted Piskin, “Dando was in my debt, he did me a great harm, and I’ll take the Jewel as my repayment.”

  Brand thought to see him lay hands upon Lavatis. Tiny hands grappled and teeth flashed white. Brand was reminded of two tomcats as a flurry of a struggle ensued, the action too fast to follow. Before Brand could reach out to restrain Piskin, the manling leapt up and ran away, shrieking.
His eyes bulged, his face was white. He held his right arm curled against his chest. Dark blood stained his fine waistcoat. Brand saw that his hand had been bitten off, leaving only a stump at the wrist.

  Brand knelt again beside Tomkin, and the dying manling flashed him a smile full of blood-circled teeth.

  “Told him I would have his foul hand!” chuckled Tomkin. He made no move to spit out the severed hand. Brand reflected that the Wee Folk were a strange lot.

  The pulsing Jewel on the manling’s chest beat faster now, and it seemed less regular.

  “Should we take the Jewel from him?” asked Telyn in alarm.

  “Try it!” said Tomkin. “My hunger has yet to be sated!”

  “Would it kill him to remove it? What would the Rainbow do?” asked Telyn. Even as she spoke, Brand knelt beside the manling. He reached out his hand tentatively, wondering if he would fare better than had Piskin, should he try to snatch it.

  Tomkin made a choking cry. “The ants cut at me!” he cried. Brand’s eyes widened as he watched rips appear on the thin flesh of the manling’s shins and ankles. Blood welled up from the cuts. Tomkin writhed in agony. The blue pulses filled the chamber with rapid, flashing light.

  “Brand! The monster is coming!” cried Tylag from the hall. Even as he spoke, Brand felt the stone beneath his knees shiver. The ancient timbers creaked and groaned. A great crash sounded out in the main chamber and men screamed. Daylight and clouds of choking dust flooded into the room.

  “We must get out, Brand!” cried Telyn, tugging at him.

  “Tomkin!” shouted Brand, and for a second the manling’s eyes fluttered open. “You have earned my friendship. Have I earned yours?”

  Tomkin’s grin resembled a snarl. He nodded weakly.

  “Then Tomkin, allow me to take the Jewel from you. Let me take up this burden, that you might live to see another day.”