Haven 5 Blood Magic BOOK (28 page)

The charge went on for what seemed like a very long time. Volley after volley was released by both sides, but the crossbow volleys came much more slowly. The Kindred line held patiently, seemingly unaffected by the elf archery. It was as if they shot their arrows into living stone.

And then, suddenly, the rolling mass of troops reached the enemy line and they were among the Kindred. Oberon’s column of lancers and croaking merlings broke over the Kindred like a wave striking a rocky shoal. The fight was vicious and short, but not short enough. They were delayed.

When finally the last of the hard-dying Kindred was pushed off the cliffs down into the rocky fells, his red cloak fluttering as he dropped, Oberon felt a flash of admiration for them. Two dozen of them lay hacked apart at his feet, along with an equal number of elf lancers and a full company of merlings. Not a single one of the enemy had wavered for a single moment. Not one trooper had begged for mercy, jumped over the side, or turned to hopelessly flee. Each of them had fought with grim tenacity, teeth bared, eyes wild. Although he was not easily capable of the emotion, he felt a touch of melancholy at the passing of such heroic fighters.

A ragged cheer went up from Oberon’s troops at this small victory, and they were ready to surge forward. He took the time, however, to stir up a monster from the remains of the fallen enemy. The bloodhound lapped at his feet, its tongue darting with impossible rapidity. Its eyes glowed with a redness that spoke of madness and death.

A new abomination arose, fully a dozen feet tall and with twice as many twitching limbs. It stood unsteadily and tottered upon the ridge before him. He launched it into a lurching charge toward the next knot of Kindred defenders. He ordered his troops to follow behind the monster, in the wake of its shambling run.

Up ahead, the next suicidal knot of Kindred waited for them stoically. He had no doubt they would delay him as had the first group. Oberon smiled grimly. His abomination might speed up the matter. At the very least, it would absorb the deadly crossbow fire. He would let the next volleys of Kindred crossbow bolts sink into his creation. The Kindred would be shooting into the very flesh of those who had once been their own comrades.

* * *

Inside the Earthlight, some sort of signal had clearly been given. Already forming into companies upon the cavern floor were thousands of kobolds, slipping out of the tunnels, each led by an elder or two that wasn’t too large to come up that way. All of the larger creatures gathered in another spot, waiting to gush forward and join the assault.

One of the five great plugs, only the very largest of them which existed near the Great Vent itself, was pounded down from within. The plug, which happened to be the most ancient of them all, older than the memory of any living Kindred, had only a single golem standing ready in defense.

Gnomes rolled out, mixed with the largest of the kobold ancients and chieftains. The golem strode forward purposefully. Even the largest of the kobolds and gnomes were given pause, for here was a monster new to them. The granite golem, built of cold living stone, was redundantly armored in thick bronze plates. In either seven-fingered fist it gripped a massive axe of the finest folded steel the Kindred could forge. Only the burning emerald eyes revealed the seething hatred for all life that filled the monster.

Outnumbered a thousand to one, the monster set about its task with unconcerned relish. Axe blades rose and fell with a machine-like rhythm. The rushing horde of gnomes and kobolds sought to bowl it over, but its weight was such that they could barely rock it. Setting its broad feet flatly, the sole of each stone foot the size of a Kindred warrior, the golem swung its axes in wide, irresistible sweeps. Dozens died.

As the fighting went on, various relationships became self-evident. Blades, pikes, darts and the like were worse than useless against the golem, be they ensorcelled or not. Heavy stone clubs and fists could chip away pits into the monster, however, and with luck dislodge an armored plate. Usually, however, the attacker was cloven in twain for his troubles. Soon, corpses mounded around the golem. Commanders ordered their troops to disengage and the order was followed without argument. They circled the monster and considered bypassing it entirely, but the thing headed for the breach, clearly planning to stand there and slaughter new companies of troops as they attempted to enter the cavern.

It was Groth himself, along with the kobold chieftain who had but one bright red eye, who came up with the solution. They distracted the monster into a charge, then ordered their troops to bring up a great length of black iron chain. The kobolds had planned to use it to link the necks of a hundred Kindred captives, who they would take down into their tunnels as slaves and sources of amusement.

Taking up either end of the rattling chain, they ran with it and caught the golem’s legs. The monster teetered, then went down with a resounding crash. A choking cloud of ash plumed up and the rock shuddered at the impact. They wrapped up the thrashing feet in the chain. Two kobolds were slashed down by the axes the thing still held onto when they got too close. Taking up either end of the dangling black chain, a company of straining gnomes and kobolds dragged the thrashing golem to the nearest river of lava and cast it in.

As they watched, the thing still struggled in the orange magma, not yet finished, but unable to escape.

The army of the Everdark, led by Groth himself, turned then to advance upon the central citadel of the Kindred. Even the coldest heart among them was concerned, however, and none could help but wonder what other grim surprises the Kindred had in store for them this day.

They advanced slowly and cautiously over the ash heaps. Finding the bridges had all been withdrawn by the Kindred mechnicians, their advance was slowed to a crawl.

* * *

Brand’s army marched all day from dawn to dusk. Night had long since fallen when Brand’s tired militia came out of the trees to the edge of Gronig.

The town, once proud and industrious, lay in ruin. A dozen fires were lit, and twice as many more spots smoldered and trailed black smoke into the starry heavens. Brand heaved a breath, and ordered Corbin and his cavalry to follow him. He rode his roan onto the shepherd’s fields and trampled the furrows of the Kindred. Dead were everywhere. The stink of far worse things clung to the night breezes, telling in advance of the slaughter ahead.

Tomkin, unasked, accompanied Brand and Corbin and their thundering horsemen. The manling’s Blue Jewel lay openly on his chest now. He did not hide it, and clearly planned to use it at the first opportunity.

Eyes wide with fear and shock, the River Folk farm kids that rode behind him now doubted their wisdom in joining the militia, he felt sure. Here they were, outside the Haven for the first time in their short lives, only to find themselves in a field of slaughter with unknown deadly threats lurking somewhere ahead in the dark landscape.

The night was moonless, but the few fallen elves they passed over still glimmered with the faintest pale radiance. It was impossible not to look upon those beatific faces, both ancient and young, both dead and yet still full of ageless vigor, and not feel sadness in one’s heart.

It was when they reached the town proper that they ran into the first of the abominations Oberon had seen fit to leave behind to greet them. It came out of a stone-walled barn, the roof of which had been burned away. Inside it had feasted upon the carcasses of slaughtered livestock. Upon sensing the approach of fresh meat, it came out into the scorched yard. As it shambled toward them, a dozen Kindred heads lolled atop the monster, their mouths grunting with collective effort as an unknown number of lungs within the rotund body sucked in air.

The cavalry troops paused, uncertain what they faced. Their horses however, were much less hesitant. They backed and reared, eyes rolling in terror. They threatened to bolt while the riders fought the reins.

“Blood magic,” said Brand aloud. He had never seen Piskin produce anything like this, but he was sure he recognized this flavor of enchantment. Brand felt that his expertise would be needed. He approached the monster, trotting his roan closer. At the smell of blood and rotting meat, however, even his veteran horse began to sidestep and grew skittish. Brand had Ambros in his hand now, and hardly cared about his mount. If the roan was too frightened to face this fiend, he would have to do it on foot. He launched himself from his saddle, unslung his shield and marched forward. In his hand, he held Ambros upraised. The Amber Jewel pulsed like an eye, filling the yard with throbbing light.

Brand’s men dismounted and followed him, despite their every instinct to flee this nightmare that lurched toward them. Worse than a dead thing filled with unnatural vigor, this monster was built of living flesh that had once died. It was the
reanimated
and reconstituted mass of living tissue. Lungs flapped with a horrible, audible gasping. Knees creaked with the impossible weight of it. Each hand carried some form of weapon. Swords, elven lances with shimmering tips, Kindred battleaxes and even farm implements such as iron hooks or dangling lengths of chain. More than a dozen rolling eyes sought victims to target. What central brain ran the mass of it? Was there a single mind, or a communion of many? One could only conjecture.

Brand engaged the monster warily. It was not fast on its many feet, but was essentially unstoppable. He dared not allow it to corner him, he must be able to retreat. He traded blows with the nearest weapon-bearing arms, but soon found that to be dangerous indeed. The arms up high on the mass of it carried implements of longer reach. He danced in close, slashing away an arm, only to find his shield grasped by a fist and a chain wrapped around his midsection. Only a frenzy of inhuman strength, donated by the axe, saved him and allowed him to withdraw.

He tried burning the creature next. Ambros winked with golden light. Mouths hissed and stinking flesh bubbled. Blackened blisters arose everywhere he had burnt it, but he had in no sense slowed it. Backing away, he found his men were poking lances at the far side, but it had fixated upon him. Many men stood back and peppered the monster with arrows and bolts, but with little obvious effect.

He backed into a stone wall then, and it almost had him. Only by rushing in low and slashing at the pumping jumble of legs did he escape. If it had simply sunk down and sat on him, he might have been crushed, but fortunately, it did not. Perhaps, he thought, it could not have arisen again if it lowered itself, so it did not dare to do so.

Free of the grasping hands, panting and bleeding, he ran to his line of lancers, who watched the thing shamble forward. They were at a loss.

“Let’s douse it with lantern oil and set it alight,” said Jak grimly.

Brand nodded to his brother, who he only then noted had joined the fight. He had to contain the fury of the axe, which still wanted to slash every limb from it, and after a brief struggle he managed it. He gave the order.

Even after they had emptied a dozen bladders of oil upon it and lit it, the thing shambled about, smelling of burning meat. Blinded and fully mad now, it tore up the barn from whence it had come, limbs churning with frantic strength. Kindred fingers worked alongside merling flippers to clutch and rip at bare stone, even as the flames had their way with the massive blob of flesh. When it toppled over and thrashed upon the ground, they left it to die eventually.

The rest of their visit to Gronig was equally unpleasant. They slew several more horrors, losing a screaming trooper now and then. They found groups of huddling Kindred here and there, and urged them back toward the edge of the Deepwood where they set up camps for refugees and the wounded. Food, water and medicine were distributed, and Brand thanked the River that they had had the foresight to bring plenty of each.

Up upon the ridgeway that led to the Great Gates of Snowdon, a series of flashes lit up the clouds. Brand, and a thousand others, gazed that way. Booms followed the flashing, and he had to wonder what transpired up there, upon that lonely strip of cobbled stone.

He felt sure that it was nothing pleasant.

Chapter Twenty

The Great Gates

Deep in the darkest hours of night, a pitched battle raged on the shoulders of Snowdon. Oberon had managed to catch up to the bombards before they could reach safety, and Gudrin had not sent out a task force to rescue them.

Oberon smiled, knowing what had distracted her. The gnomes and the kobolds must be within their cavern now, causing great destruction, and more importantly,
distraction
. Gudrin was weak in few ways, but he felt sure she would not allow wild looting, slaughter and rapine inside her own mountain kingdom. She may throw an outlying town to the wolves, but not her own stronghold, not the majority of her citizens. She must have turned her forces inward and left Thorkil’s troublesome little army to fend for itself on the ridges and fells.

Still brimming with these happy thoughts, he followed his latest abomination as it teetered over a rise and lurched down into a sunken part of the cobbled roadway. It was there that the first bombard spoke.

They had caught up with them, and their evilly effective commander had ordered the bombards turned when they were low, and the elves must come over a rise to see them. As soon as the shambling mass of flesh Oberon had crafted came tottering over the rise, a single shot boomed with a deafening noise and a terrific flash. The shot struck high, but fully half the horror’s mass was blasted away. A gout of gore splashed a hundred paces behind it, showering troops and Oberon himself with dripping bits of flesh. The legs buckled and the thing sagged down on the left side, while the right side struggled to straighten a collection of bent knees. Hands from a knot of arms reached out, dropping weapons, grasping boulders for support. Leg bones could be heard snapping as the monster struggled to rise, despite what had to be a mortal wound.