Haven Magic

by B. V. Larson

  Brand lifted Ambros high, planning to will the Jewel to flash and blind the thief. Then he would rush in and end it.

  Then the world turned green. He himself was blinded. He blinked and staggered back, wondering what trick had overcome him. He heard heavy tread before him and he struck blindly before him. He chopped into something hard. There was a grunt and a clattering sound. Then a new set of lights went off in his head.

  He crumpled into the grass and broken stone. As he lost consciousness, he willed the axe to flash. He thought it did so, but it might have just been Modi’s heavy boot, slamming into his head.

  He knew no more.

  Chapter Nine

  Story of the Jewels

  “It’s obvious,” said a heavy voice. “A stripling river-boy can’t be our champion.”

  Brand’s eyes fluttered open. Overhead, the green of the living wall filled his vision.

  “Ah, the champion awakens,” said Modi, for now Brand knew it to be his voice. Modi’s huge features came into view. He stood over him, grinning. One of his eyes was closed. He put a gloved finger to the closed one. “You only blinded one of my eyes. I was ready for the sole trick you’ve learned,” he said with a rumbling laugh.

  Brand tried to rise. He winced and grabbed his head. Lights flashed and played inside his skull.

  “Never,” said Corbin, “has there been any doubt that you are the superior warrior, Modi. That was never the question. The question has always been one of control.”

  “Ah, and I’m not worthy on that account, is it?” asked Modi. “I think I showed great restraint in not killing the fool.”

  “You goaded him!” shouted Telyn. “You lost your temper first, going after Tomkin with stones! If you’d had the axe, you’d have gone feral and tried to kill us all!”

  Brand struggled to rise again. This time, he made it to his elbow. His first thought was of the axe. He couldn’t see it or feel it. It had been taken from him. His heart despaired. He got to his feet with a groan.

  Everyone stood near, save for Tomkin, who was nowhere in sight. They all stood around him, arguing, except for Myrrdin who huddled by the fire. Brand saw his knapsack there and headed toward it.

  “When it comes time to face Herla,” said Modi behind him, “you will all wish that I were wielding the axe, feral or not.”

  Myrrdin stood and shouted at them. “Enough bickering! We need to get the arms from the south tower stored here in case the Riverton forces arrive before the charm fails us!”

  The others looked at him, and then reluctantly separated. Soon the two Battleaxe Folk headed out of the entrance, talking in their own speech. Corbin and Telyn soon followed.

  Rubbing his head, Brand sat down beside Myrrdin. His eyes were on the knapsack. He thought to see it twitch. Perhaps it could sense the nearness of its master.

  “I’m sorry, Myrrdin,” said Brand. “I lost control again.”

  “But you didn’t kill him,” said Myrrdin.

  Brand blinked. “I thought I was the lucky one.”

  Myrrdin shook his head. “You are the axe’s master. Had you truly wanted to kill Modi, things might have gone differently.”

  “Was it you who caused the green flash?”

  Myrrdin held up his staff as an answer. He had carved it down considerably, to where the green Jewel Vaul could be seen. Still half-covered in fresh wet wood, the Jewel glittered in the cool gloom of the gatehouse.

  “Does the wood always grow over it that way?” asked Brand, fascinated by its beauty.

  “Yes. I first found it in the Vale of Twrog, a troublesome giant that lives in the Deepwood. The Green Jewel stood in the heart of a stout oak tree. The leafy tops of the tree rose a hundred feet or more. Never had I seen such a tree, and in my heart I knew what had been lost lay inside.”

  “You had to cut to the heart of a great oak to find it?” asked Brand, amazed. “In comparison my efforts seem minor.”

  Myrrdin shook his head. “No less than mine. The Jewels are different, that’s all. Vaul is no less capricious in its own way. For you see, as I cut into the great trunk, I found the bones of Vaul’s former master, embedded in the living wood. I had to cut away many finger bones to pry the Jewel from its former master’s dead grip.”

  “How did you defeat the giant?” asked Brand feeling like a child listening to the wild tales of a drunk oldster by a tavern fire.

  “I didn’t. I made a bargain with Twrog. I fashioned him a club from the stoutest limb of the oak. I told him it was magic, and it would bring him luck, and it did. He helped me take the tree down, in fact.”

  “So you got a Jewel of Power and he got a big magic stick, eh?” asked Brand. “That sounds like a deal one of the Shining Folk would make.”

  Myrrdin didn’t answer that, so Brand hurried on, not wanting to offend him. The wizard was reputedly of Fae blood, after all. “Can all of the Jewels flash to blind people?” he asked.

  “Those of light and fire can, such as the Jewel of Flame,” said Myrrdin, cutting away a bit more wood with deft strokes. About half of Vaul’s green surface was revealed now. Several strips of white wood still enclosed it, however. Brand was reminded of fingerbones, clutching at something beloved. He shivered, wondering if the axe would someday have to be pried from his dead fingers.

  “Tell me of each of the Jewels,” asked Brand. “It seems that I must know what I’m dealing with. I’ve heard nothing but childhood tales.”

  “There is much in those tales,” said Myrrdin. “There are various theories as to the origin of the Jewels, but in all the legends, the Sunstone or the Sun Dragon was split into the nine known colors, which when mixed or shown apart in their pure form represent all the forms of magic. This process works in a similar fashion to the human eye. Everything that can be seen is represented to the eye as a combination of colors and light. Just so, all magic is some mixture of the various varieties of magic of which the Jewels are capable.

  “The three primary Jewels: Crimson, Blue and Amber, are often judged more powerful than the three secondary stones of Green, Lavender and Orange. The three less known, but no less important stones are called collectively the Dark Jewels. They are those of Quick-silver, White, and Black.

  “Of such great power were the Shards of the Sunstone that many duels and even battles were fought over the possession of each. In olden times Pyros the Orange – as the Jewel had been named after one of its earliest and cruelest possessors – was perhaps the most destructive and well known. Pyros was infamous for the burning of the six villages of the lake peoples many generations ago. The sorcerer and tyrant Pyros had fashioned the Jewel into the crest of his silver crown and enjoyed lancing anyone or thing who stood up to him with a fiery beam of pure heat. After a time this habit led to a bald, scarred head and a terrifying countenance and reputation, which seemed to suit the tyrant’s tastes. Eventually, he was brought down, but not soon enough to save the lake people, who afterward retreated into the cool gloom of the forests and rivers and never seemed to regain their former numbers nor their trust of Men. They are now known to you as merlings, I believe.”

  Brand looked up in surprise at this. Could merlings and their deep hatred of men have stemmed from such a time? It seemed very plausible at the moment. He gazed at the fire again. It crackled and popped as it ate the dry wood.

  “The Orange Jewel is the heart of fire,” continued Myrrdin, “Legend has it that after Pyros was killed, an ancient wurm devoured the Orange to make his fire hotter, and managed to make his fire so hot he could burn his way into solid rock. So doing, he burned himself an endless labyrinth of trackless tunnels beneath the Black Mountains. It was a labyrinth so immense that the wurm has for centuries been lost to the light of the sun. To this day, the Battleaxe Folk attribute the wurm with the creation of their home, the Earthlight, beneath Snowdon.”

  “I’ve never heard that story from Gudrin.”

  Myrrdin smiled. “Not all the Kindred agree with that version of history. They like to claim
that they created the Earthlight themselves.”

  “Pray continue. What of the other stones?” asked Brand, putting his chin in his palm.

  “In the present age of Albion, many of the Jewels are lost,” continued Myrrdin. “Others are hidden, to be used only in secret. Few even among the wisest of folk know where more than one or two of the Jewels might lay, and none know the whereabouts of them all.”

  “What of our enemy of the moment?” asked Brand.

  “Herla wields Osang, the Lavender Jewel. Osang rules magic of sight, sound and movement. His coursers can ride over water, over or even through obstacles, silently, invisibly. At times they can even fly for short distances or seem to teleport.”

  “Are we safe inside your living wall, then?”

  Myrrdin snorted. “By no means! –but, we are less vulnerable than we would be in the open.”

  “What of Vaul?”

  “Ah! My favorite! Glad I am that I was fortunate enough to become its master. The Vaul, the Green Jewel, is the most creative of the bunch. It gives me power over earth, plants and growth…or rot, poison and spoilage. Its wielder is a shaper of nature, for good or for ill.”

  “And Lavatis?”

  “As you know, it has the power to summon the Rainbow. It rules the rain, wind and is powerful upon the sea. Lightning can strike those near it when it is wielded.”

  “What of the other colors?”

  “Sange, the Red Jewel, wields blood magic. It possesses power over flesh and blood, allowing the wielder to heal wounds…or do other, terrible things. It was lost in the same great war that brought down these walls. Ambros, as you’ve already learned, is the Jewel of combat, bloodlust. It’s able to drive men wild in battle. It can put fear into the hearts of enemies as well. It’s perhaps the most emotional of the Jewels…. The one who wields it can inflame the hearts of an army.”

  Brand was silent for a moment, mulling over this. He wondered if he would ever lead an army into battle. Somehow, the berry patches of Rabing Isle seemed more distant than ever.

  “Those are the six colors of the rainbow,” said Brand. “What of the others?”

  Myrrdin glanced at him, then continued. “The Dark Jewels are less known, and were lost in the distant past. If they exist today, we have only legends that hint about their nature. The White Shard was the creator, the basis of all the others that split apart and is now gone from the Earth. The Quicksilver was the molten reflective lump left behind by the White after all the color had been drain of it. It is the Jewel of null-magic. It removes color and life and magic from the world, rather than adding it. The Onyx is the Black Jewel of death and decay. Darkness, vile evil and unspeakable spawnlings come from it. All true evil powers seek Necron, the Onyx Jewel.”

  Brand fell silent for a minute or two, contemplating all the Jewels. He held up his hand then, although he would have loved to hear more of Myrrdin’s tale. “What’s that? I hear something.”

  Myrrdin halted his tale and blinked. “Drums,” he said after a moment. “Wardrums, I should say.”

  There was a creaking, scraping sound as someone struggled with the grille at the entrance. Both of them stood and Brand shouldered his knapsack. The axe inside quivered excitedly.

  Telyn’s face came into view. She struggled with a load of full quivers. “Rhinogs!” she cried. “I see a band of them, they must be scouts. They’re coming down from the northwest!”

  Chapter Ten

  Battle

  Everyone ran to the walls and looked out to see the rhinogs, but none had eyes as keen as Telyn. After a while, they thought they saw a few black-furred backs moving over the downs a mile or more off.

  “I see many men on rafts as well!” cried Telyn excitedly, pointing in the opposite direction.

  “Can you see whose side they’re on?” shouted Brand.

  Telyn leaned out farther, poking her head through the opening Myrrdin had made in the living wall with a single wave of Vaul. As the lightest and most agile, she had been elected to climb the thorny mass to the top of the dome overhead. “Ouch! Damn these thorns. Yes, I see the blue and white livery of the Riverton Constabulary. They must be ours!”

  “Will they reach us before the rhinogs?” asked Corbin.

  “They come by water while the rhinogs march through mud. They should be faster,” said Modi.

  “There are others with the men,” called down Telyn. “Wee Folk bound ahead of them on the shores and I think some of the Battleaxe Folk are weighing down the rafts as well.”

  “Huh,” grunted Modi. “It would be good to have some true warriors at my side.”

  Brand ignored the jibe and went back to work, storing arms the others had carried up from the redcap’s armory inside the dome. “We must work fast. We can’t be sure that the charm will hold Herla until help arrives. Already, his coursers test the boundaries.”

  “Already the place abounds with Wee Folk spies,” complained Modi, moving an armload of crossbows to the walls where loopholes had been set up.

  Tomkin put in an appearance then, using the front entrance this time. He watched Modi warily as he entered, but the big warrior just ignored him. He approached Brand with a toothy grin.

  “It appears that help is on the way,” he said.

  “I doubt your word no longer,” said Brand, grunting as he helped Corbin roll a fallen stone back into place on the wall.

  He looked down at the armor he had gotten from the red cap’s horde. Most of it he had not bothered to put on yet. The breastplate and greaves lay in a heap, but he wore a chain shirt over his homespun tunic. The rings jingled and clinked against the stone as he heaved stones with Corbin. He wasn’t sure if all their efforts would help in the coming fight, but it was easier on the mind than just sitting around waiting.

  “Thou art clad in armor,” said the manling, watching him. He looked Brand up and down with a discerning eye. “Add the breastplate and some leggings…a full-fledged Rabing knight you would be! To the untrained eye, that is.”

  Brand tried to think of something useful that the manling could do, but he was so small that nothing came immediately to mind. “What tidings do you bring?” he asked.

  Tomkin grinned. “Popular, we are. Three armies march to meet us. And a likely Fourth might appear.”

  “Three? Four?” demanded Brand, almost letting go of his end of the block.

  “Watch what you’re doing, Brand!” cried Corbin. They both had to shuffle under the block’s weight to prevent smashed fingers and toes. Grunting and heaving, they worked the block into its place, and slumped against it, panting.

  “What are you talking about, manling?” demanded Brand. He was wishing he had removed his chain shirt now, as Corbin had. The extra weight was tiring. But he couldn’t help thinking that a pile of armor lying on the ground would do him little good if the enemy were to suddenly appear.

  “Army one, the rhinogs who follow their goblin sires, who in turn follow their sire Old Hob,” began Tomkin, ticking them off on his thin fingers. “Two, the merlings that churn the river to boiling mud as they come down from their village bent on vengeance, no doubt. Third is the possible—and quite likely—appearance of Oberon with a host of his kind.”

  “You said four armies. Was that just big talk?”

  “Four would be the River Folk coming to help. But, as you suggest, they hardly count as an army.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant, you—” snarled Brand.

  “What of the Wild Hunt?” interrupted Corbin.

  Tomkin shrugged. “Good point, but I account them as one with the rhinogs.”

  “Merlings and Oberon,” muttered Brand. “Who will they side with?”

  “Themselves, of course,” said Tomkin.

  “I think Tomkin’s right,” said Corbin. “We ourselves aren’t the reason they come, it’s the concentration of power that we represent. They aren’t interested in us, just the three Jewels that we bear.”

  Tomkin nodded. “The Wild Hunt has treed us, but h
as taken too long to finish the prey. Now others have taken an interest.”

  “Hmm,” said Corbin, rubbing his chin. He walked over to his own chain shirt and began to struggle it down over his form. It clinked and rasped as he fought with it. A shirt of chain is much harder to put on than a normal shirt of wool or leather. Metal links do not give and stretch like cloth.

  “What is it?” asked Brand, looking around the green dome. Everything seemed deceptively calm and normal.

  “It occurs to me,” said Corbin through the clinking links, “that the merlings aren’t likely to be stopped by the charm. I doubt the rhinogs are ghostly enough to be halted, either. Could you give me a hand, here?”

  Brand helped him tugging the chain shirt down over his barrel-chested form. He then eyed his own pile of armor. “I think you’re right. The time is past for shoring up our walls. We must prepare ourselves for battle.”

  Tomkin hopped after him as he began to don his armor. The metal pieces had been well cared for. Wearing his regular clothing for padding, Brand pulled on a chain shirt and worked to buckle on a breastplate. Corbin helped him don the unfamiliar armor. Modi had suggested that they only wear a few key pieces as they were unaccustomed to it and that full armor would be as likely to kill them as save them in battle. As he buckled on the breastplate Brand realized with a shiver that the leather straps should have long ago fallen to dust. They felt supple and fresh, however.

  He looked up to see that Corbin was looking at him in concern. As had so often happened in their youth, they were thinking along the same lines.

  “How is it that these straps and buckles are so fresh and new?” asked Brand, his lips curled.

  “I think we both know,” said Corbin, eyeing the straps in his hands as if he held a fistful of worms.

  “The redcap?”

  Corbin nodded.

  “But what kind of leather, then…?” asked Brand. He dropped the breastplate and wiped sweat from his brow. “It’s human, isn’t it? What else would the redcap use for leather?”