Haven 5 Blood Magic BOOK (26 page)

Oberon gestured impatiently for his bloodhound. The creature’s head swiveled slowly, to look at him. It could smell the blood in the air and its tongue lolled. It watched its master, its ruby eyes knowing.

Oberon nodded to the little monster. “Yes. You will drink well this day.”

He had hoped to hold back his little secret. He had hoped that the enemy would know nothing of his command of the Red, and that he could use it at a surprising moment to gain advantage. But it was not to be. He needed the power of the hound now. He needed its thirst, if only to keep disaster from overtaking them.

He sprinted for the nearest flattened house. Gallons of blood soaked the cobbles of the street and the formed mud with the dusty yard. He summoned up a great rotating sphere of blackened blood over his head. Using the power of the licking hound, he caused a score of limbs to come together, to
grow
together. A thing formed under his direction. He sculpted it with his waving hands and his mind. With caressing motions, his arms slick to the shoulder with gore, he pushed a dozen legs downward and two score arms upward. Nine heads with gaping mouths sat atop the abomination, the eyes popping open with sucking sounds.

Knowing he had not much time, he ran toward the nearest concentration of Kindred. They had holed up in Gronig’s finest inn, the
Shepherd’s Rest
. Behind him, the abomination ambled after, tottering and lurching on pumping feet, each angled in a random direction.

To the Kindred defenders, it seemed as if a living giant with countless limbs came at them. Some of the limbs bore axes, splinters of stone and shafts of broken pipe. Merling heads, scarred in a dozen spots, croaked with mad glee. Kindred heads, mouths sagging open, gargled and howled incoherently from the fleshy mass.

The abomination tore the double doors off the front of the inn and strode into the common room. Some of the heads were slammed into the stone roof ten feet above.

Screaming in fear and horror, the troopers and patrons slashed at the thing, but it felt no pain. It knew no mercy, nor fear. It shambled amongst them, reaching for them, beating them with three arms while holding them with two more. Some of the Kindred were thrown down and flattened by the churning feet. Others were chopped to bits by thrashing weapons. A few unfortunates were sucked into the mass and consumed, becoming part of the fleshy mass and adding their own limbs to the monster.

Oberon crouched outside the doorway, stroking his hound, which licked desperately at the blood that flowed out of the doorway as if from a sluice.

The second volley came down then, and smashed more stone buildings, elves, Kindred and merlings. One of the burning strikes was very near. The damnable Kindred would destroy their own town and his army with it, he realized. Gudrin was annihilating her own folk to destroy his army.

With a hiss of fury, he jumped up after the second volley had fallen. He would not wait for a third. He had to get his army out of this trap.

He summoned his heralds, and silver horns were raised to thin lips. The horns pealed, sounding the withdrawal. They would head up the Black Mountains. They would destroy the bombards and leave what was left of Gronig behind.

Oberon looked back into the common room, where the abomination he had summoned now tore open one room of the inn at a time, consuming the screaming occupants. He shrugged, and left the monster to its work. It had already swollen so large with consumed flesh that it could not exit even the double-wide doors of the
Shepherd’s Rest
. He smiled to think that Brand would meet it soon. Perhaps the experience would expand the boy’s mind and outlook. He liked the concept so much, that he ran from house to house, finding those that had been flattened and were thus filled with fresh gore. He raised up a pack of smaller abominations, and set them loose upon the remaining inhabitants of Gronig. Leaving the tottering monsters to their grim work, he ran with his army toward the looming peaks of the Black Mountains.

As he ran, Oberon summoned up a great ball of blood. He passed among his troops, who recoiled in horror from the floating cloud of dark, sticky liquid. Everywhere he ran however, cuts closed, eyes were drawn back into sockets from where they hung out in the dry air, teeth regrew in mouths and bones
unbroke
themselves. Soon, horrified or not, his army followed close behind. The wounded in particular hobbled as fast as they could to hug up to the swirling funnel of blood mist that trailed behind their lord and his trotting hound.

* * *

Brand’s first day in the Deepwood was an uneasy one. No one liked the place, with the possible exception of the Wee Folk, who were not bothered by leaning trees or unnaturally clinging thickets. Brand, for his part, was more concerned with the length of his column. The road was very narrow and the forest very dense. This forced his troops to stretch into a narrow line that could march no more than four abreast. A long narrow column was vulnerable to attack from the flanks, and even he with his limited knowledge of tactics he could see the danger clearly.

He ordered the grumbling contingent of Wee Folk out into the forest on either side of the column. While the militia army marched westward toward the Black Mountains that rose up on the far side of the Deepwood, the manlings worked as reluctant scouts. They hopped and scrambled through the trees and thickets a hundred paces to the north and south of the column, with orders to sound the alarm if anything important was contacted. This caused serious delays at first, when various Wee Ones came shrilling and hooting to the line of stern-faced men. When the alarms had turned out to be things such as the sighting of a stag or the cry of a six-clawed raven, Brand had insisted upon a firm discussion with Tomkin. His scouts had to behave sensibly, or they were worse than useless to this army.

Tomkin was rankled, naturally. “Easy enough for a lout like you to say,” he complained. “You march sedately along in your festival best like a king on parade, while we hop about the forest like lost hares!”

Brand took a deep breath. It had already been a difficult journey. He’d never had to organize and march an army into a forest before. To allow Ambros its head in battle, to go mad with fury and slay the enemy, this was something he had become accustomed to. But cajoling allies into a cooperative mood was not his strong point. The presence of the axe, always strongest in his mind when adventure was near, made it hard to be diplomatic. He tried to keep his words civil, which he managed with difficulty.

He paused, closing his eyes to think clearly. The manling tapped his foot impatiently, but Brand ignored him. After a moment’s reflection, he felt he had an answer. “Very well, Tomkin, here is the new order of the day. I want all of your scouts to report directly to
you
when they spot something. You can decide if the news is worthy of relaying to me and the army in general.”

Tomkin blinked at him. “You trust my judgment over that of these others?”

“Absolutely. You are a most sensible member of your folk. Tomkin is no one’s fool! You know the difference between an attack and a flight of owls.”

Tomkin nodded sharply in agreement. It seemed to Brand that his nose rode somewhat higher in the air than it had previously. “Just so. Naturally, I accept your arrangement.”

Afterward, the scouting went on as before, with an excited manling running in from the forest every hour or so, as if the Wild Hunt had somehow resurrected itself and come after him. On each occasion, Tomkin listened to the scout’s frantic news of feral badgers and rutting warthogs, then cuffed the messenger and sent him back, bitterly cursing, into the dank forests.

By nightfall Brand felt sure they had made it over a third of the way through the forest. In fact, they had to be near the spot where he had once built a cairn of gnome heads for a certain lost boy. He felt a pang, thinking about that day, but he could not bring himself to regret it. The slaughter had been one barbaric act in response to another, certainly. But a thousand such ignominies had been heaped upon his people for a thousand years.

He called a halt for the night an hour before dusk. He had his troops use the dying daylight to hack reaching tendrils of the forest from the road. They used the area thus cleared for a camp. There wasn’t time to put up proper defenses, but he mounted a heavy all-night guard in shifts and let his men rest and eat well. They would meet battle within two days, possibly less. They had to be in the best shape they could be.

In his tent, he took council with Corbin and Tomkin. A few of his captains weighed in. He had placed Corbin in charge of the cavalry, and his cousin seemed anxious to deploy them.

“The battle ahead can’t be going well,” said Corbin. For once in his life he seemed eager to get to the fight. Brand wondered if all his stories of adventure as the axeman had rubbed off on his cousin. “The cavalry could ride ahead and strike a day earlier.”

They all looked expectantly at Brand. The Riverton Council had seen fit to send him out as the sole commander this time. Tylag and Thilfox had stayed behind to build up defenses and recruit and train more militia. Brand was, after all, the Champion of the Haven and the only Lord amongst living humanity. He had led them to victory before, and without his wielding of Ambros, they had no army to speak of that could stand against the other races. Making him the commander, but with the advice of militia captains to lean upon, was the best arrangement they could come up with. Everyone knew that once battle came upon them, it was Brand who would lead the charge and he was the only one the troops would follow. The influence of Ambros, with its flashing amber light, would goad every man of them to charge after Brand in any case, orders or no. It was an important part of the Amber Jewel’s power.

Brand took a deep breath. He eyed Corbin. “I would dearly love to arrive sooner to help the Kindred,” he said.

“Then give the order!” Corbin urged.

Brand shook his head. “I would do it, but we simply don’t have enough horsemen. If you are ambushed by the enemy before you get out of this accursed forest, they will cut you down. A light cavalry force is useless in a thicket.”

“Then perhaps you should lead the cavalry, Champion,” said another captain.

Corbin looked at this man with some degree of annoyance. But he considered for a moment, and warmed to the idea. “That would change things. You and I could lead an advance force. The infantry could come up behind a day later. If we run into serious resistance, all we have to do is wait for reinforcements.”

Brand considered the idea. It had merit. For all they knew, a small force now would do great good on the field of battle, and delaying could be disastrous for the Kindred. On the other hand, splitting their forces might result in disaster for the Haven.

The axe, for its part, liked Corbin’s proposal. Anything that made battle come faster, or better yet provided greater intensity, had its blessing. The thing shifted on his back, the handle sliding from the right side of his head to the left. Several of the assembled captains eyed the thing, trying not to stare. Brand knew it made them all nervous and yet provided them with comfort at the same time. They were like men who followed a frightening giant into battle, gleeful that they were not the ones to face the wrath of the monster, but wary all the same.

Brand thought for a moment, while others voiced their opinions. Finally, he spoke and everyone fell silent, even Tomkin, who wanted to know if his scouts were going ahead or staying with the column to protect its flanks. “This is a good debate. Both plans have merit. But I’m going to put my faith in Gudrin. She knows how long it will take the forces of the Haven to reach Gronig. She and the Kindred are no weaklings. They, with their fine fortress, might hold off the elves and their allies for months.”

“Well said,” agreed Tomkin, who was in no real hurry to honor his commitment to aid the Kindred.

“Gronig will fall,” said Corbin.

“Maybe,” said Brand. “But I’ve seen the town and I’ve seen the Earthlight. Their defenses make Riverton and Hamlet look weak in comparison. The Kindred are stronger than the River Folk,” he said.

Not liking the taste of his words, many there began to argue. No officer liked to hear any mention of weakness.

“No, no, let the truth be spoken,” said Brand, holding his hands up for quiet. “We’ve added new recruits, but the Kindred have always had double or triple our numbers. We will come to their aid as promised, but I’ll not dash my forces into some trap to speed up our arrival by a single day. Just as I won’t force-march through the Deepwood all tonight, I’ll keep my army in a single piece. The Kindred will have to see to their own defense for another day.”

Brand stood up suddenly. He left the tent, and everyone else soon figured out the meeting had been adjourned. Corbin followed him.

“It’s not like you, cousin,” said Corbin when the others were out of earshot. “What happened to the battle-lusting killer I witnessed at the merling village?”

“Fortunately,” said Brand, “I’ve got my wits about me right now. Listen, Corbin.”

The two men stopped and they leaned closer, not wanting the troops around them to pass on their every word.

Corbin put up his hand in a warding off gesture. “I’m sorry if I annoyed you by arguing. I suppose I should have asked you in private about my plans.”

Brand shook his head. “I don’t care about that. I don’t mind if you argue with me in a command meeting, as long as you support my final decision. What I want you to think about is the importance of this army to the Haven. We can’t lose this force. The troops you see here represent most of what stands between all our folk and a dozen enemies.”