Soul of Skulls (Book 6) (23 page)

“I said,” said Mazael, “to stop talking. I will give you exactly one chance to save your life. Those peasants you robbed a few hours ago? You will return their goods, and then leave your life of banditry. Otherwise I’m going to kill you all.”

The armored bandit’s mask of jollity vanished in a moment, and Mazael heard the creak of drawn bowstrings. 

“You think you can lord over us?” snarled the bandit. “You know what I’ll do? I’ll take that fancy sword and ram it so far up your arse you’ll taste steel. And then we’ll take your daughter, right in front of you, and make you watch as we…”

Molly’s derisive laugh drowned out the bandit’s threats.

“You?” she said. “Please. Your heart would give out from exertion long before you finished.” 

Some of the waiting archers laughed.

“Kill them all!” roared the armored bandit, lifting his spiked axe.

“Riothamus!” shouted Mazael.

The archers took aim, but Riothamus was faster.

The Guardian of the Tervingi lifted his staff, the sigils flaring with golden light. A thunderclap rang out, and a gust of wind howled through the trees as the archers, over two dozen of them, released at once. 

The gale caught the arrows and scattered them.

“Wizard!” shouted the armored bandit, charging at Mazael. “Take the wizard! Take…”

Mazael drew Lion and swung, all his rage driving his blow. Lion’s blade ripped through the bandit’s neck, and the man went down in a heap, blood pouring over his rusted mail. 

###

Molly stepped into the shadows, eagerness burning through her veins.

She worked to keep her Demonsouled rage in check, to keep the power from twisting her into a monster like Corvad or Ragnachar. But the bandits had attacked them first. She felt no compunctions about fighting them.

She reappeared behind the fallen trees, the archers in front of her. Their eyes were focused on Riothamus, and then on Mazael as he beheaded their leader with a single savage blow. 

So they didn’t see her at all as she attacked.

Her sword plunged into the first man’s back, the steel sliding through leather and muscle to pierce his lungs, while her dagger plunged between a second man’s ribs. Molly ripped her weapons free and stepped back, the blades dripping blood, as the astonished bandits spun to face her. 

She killed one more man as they turned.

“Your leader has given me to you to do with as you please,” said Molly. “Who wants to go first?” 

One bandit flung himself at her with a scream, brandishing a rusty mace. Molly sidestepped, her sword and dagger moving in a blur. Her sword took the man’s hand from his wrist, and her dagger opened his throat. The bandit fell with a gurgling scream, and Molly pivoted to the side to avoid his body. 

“Well?” she said, beckoning with her dagger. “Who’s next?”

The other two bandits fled.

###

Mazael raced through the trees, Lion raised in his fist. 

The pain of the poison throbbed in his chest and legs with every step, but it no longer mattered. The Demonsouled rage howled through him, making him faster and stronger. It made him invincible and implacable. He stalked the bandits and cut them down one by one. Sometimes they managed a blow that got past both his shield and armor, but Mazael ignored them. His tainted blood would close the wounds soon enough.

“Die, you devil!” screamed a bandit, a terrified young man with a spear. He stabbed, and the head opened a gash across Mazael’s cheek and jaw. “Die, die…”

Mazael caught the next stab on his shield and shoved, knocking the bandit sprawling. Then a thrust from Lion caught the bandit beneath the ribs. 

He turned, searching for new foes as the cut in his jaw closed. He saw flickers of darkness in the branches as Molly disappeared and reappeared, hunting the bandits one by one. Another bandit sprinted past the trees, and Mazael started after him. The man whirled, terror filling his face, and raised a club in a shaking parry…

“No!” he shouted. “Whatever you are, I…”

He tried to manage a crude swing, and Mazael blocked and killed him.

He turned in a circle, his eyes sweeping for any bandits…

“My lord!”

Mazael lifted his sword as a young man with blue eyes and ragged black hair walked towards him. He wore chain mail beneath a leather jerkin, and carried a staff of bronze wood in his right hand. The sigils cut into the staff flickered and flared with golden light…

The rage drained from Mazael’s mind, leaving only the constant pain.

“Riothamus,” said Mazael, lowering Lion, blood sliding from the blade.

“It’s over,” said Riothamus. “Between you and Molly, you’ve killed most of the bandits. The rest are fleeing.”

The rage simmering in Mazael’s mind demanded that he chase them down, kill every last one of them, laugh as they screamed before him…

But Romaria needed him, and he had delayed too long here already.

“Let them go,” said Mazael. He tore a cloak from a dead bandit and wiped down Lion. “They’ll think twice before robbing any other travelers.” 

Riothamus nodded, watching him. 

"I know," said Mazael, "what you are thinking. You're watching me to make sure I don't go mad and kill everyone in my path. You think the pain from the venom has worn me down, that the Demonsouled blood is going to drive me mad."

"I am that transparent?" said Riothamus.

"No," said Mazael, "you're merely correct. You are right to watch me." He sighed and looked over the corpses scattered about the wood. "I was justified to kill those bandits."

"I would have preferred," said Riothamus, "that you had forced them to surrender."

"I know," said Mazael. "But Ryker and those peasants weren't the only ones this lot robbed, I'll warrant. They'll have done it before, and if I spared them, they would have done it again. And I'm sure they forced the women in Ryker's group." 

Riothamus shrugged. "A lord has the right of high justice, does he not? And a Tervingi hrould would have hanged them all. But I am the Guardian, and I am sworn not to take life with magic. Besides, I am weary of death." 

"Part of me is also weary of it," said Mazael. "But the other part revels in it, yearns to kill and slay. And I am so tired of holding myself in check. These bandits...they gave me an excuse not to hold myself." He rubbed his forehead. Gods, but his head hurt. "And so you are right to watch me." 

They stood in silence for a moment.

"There have been Demonsouled among the Tervingi before," said Riothamus.

"Oh?"

"Some tried to conquer the Tervingi and the surrounding nations, to make themselves kings, into the Destroyer of prophecy, much like Ragnachar," said Riothamus. Mazael wondered how many Tervingi Demonsouled had gone into the pillar of fire at Cythraul Urdvul's heart. "But some controlled their power, and defended the Tervingi from foes of terrible strength. I think you will be one of them, my lord." 

"I hope," said Mazael, "that you are right." He pushed aside the dark thoughts. "Let's go find Molly."

###

A short search located both Molly and the bandits' store of stolen food and goods. 

An hour later a dumbfounded Ryker stood with them, eyes wide.

"It should be all here," said Mazael, pointing at the row of wagons in the clearing. "Take everything you want."

"Oh, sir knight," said Ryker, tears of relief streaming down his face. "You will take none of the spoils for yourself? You won a great victory..."

"I have no need of it," said Mazael. "The road is clear to the east of us. Make for Cravenlock Town, in the south of the Grim Marches, and ask for Sir Hagen Bridgebane. He will find you a place to settle."

"Thank you, sir knight," said Ryker. "May the gods repay you a thousand times over for your generosity." He hesitated, and Mazael saw the wheels spinning in the man's mind. "But who are you, sir knight? Are you..."

"I am," said Mazael, "someone you should forget you ever met."

Ryker hesitated, then bowed from the waist.

"It shall be as you say, sir," said Ryker.

Mazael, Riothamus, and Molly rode to the west, following the compass's glowing, golden needle.

Chapter 22 - Make The World Clean

Lord Malden Roland sat in a chair in his darkened bedchamber, shivering, the black dagger wet with blood in his hand. 

He stared at the corpse on the floor. 

The man’s name had been Thomas, and he had been in Malden’s service his entire life. He had married one of the castle’s cooks and raised a family. Three of his sons served as armsmen in Roland colors. Malden had seen Thomas’s children and grandchildren playing in Knightcastle’s courtyards, had watched as the man spent his life in quiet, dutiful service.

And now he was dead at Malden’s hand.

His shivering grew worse, the green sigil upon the black dagger flickering. 

He shouldn’t have killed Thomas. Nor should he have killed the other servants who had enraged him. But they had said something or done something to infuriate him, and he had killed them.

He had murdered men and women under his protection.

Malden’s eyes shifted to the dagger.

Perhaps it would be better if he killed himself. 

But he didn’t want to kill himself.

He felt wonderful. 

He rose from his chair. It was so easy to stand up now. He crossed to the mirror and examined himself. He looked strong and fit– younger than Gerald, even. And when he killed with Ataranur’s black dagger, it felt glorious, better than lying with a woman, better than a fine meal. 

He never wanted it to end.

A dark shadow in the mirror caught his eye.

He saw Ataranur standing near the entrance to the Trysting Ways, motionless in his steel mask and black cloak.

“Shall I dispose of the corpse, my lord?” said Ataranur. “There would be inconvenient questions if it were found.”

“What have you done to me?” said Malden. 

Ataranur took a step closer. “Nothing ill. You are stronger and healthier than you ever have been.” 

“I can’t stop killing,” said Malden. “Every time I kill with that dagger, I get younger and stronger. When I killed that changeling…I thought nothing of it. The damned thing was a spy for the San-keth. But now I am killing my own servants!”

“That is by design,” said Ataranur.

“You’ve turned me into a monster!” said Malden.

“No,” said Ataranur. “I have made you better. Knightreach needs you, my lord. The world needs you. It faces trials unlike any since the days when the High Elderborn struggled against the Old Demon.” 

The wizard had a point. Caraster had conquered all of Mastaria, and would take Knightcastle itself if he were not stopped. And once Knightreach fell, what then? Thanks to the runedead, the neighboring lands were in chaos. The Stormvales had collapsed into anarchy, the heirs of the Prince of Travia warred against each other, barbarians had attacked the Grim Marches, and rumors spoke of Aegonar raids in Greycoast. 

The world was burning…and only Malden could put out the fire.

“Do you know why,” said Ataranur, “the Great Rising happened?”

Malden shrugged. “No one knows. Some say the Dragon’s Shadow wrought it, and perished when his own sorcery devoured him. Others say the lords of Old Dracaryl rose from the grave to rebuild their empire. Caldarus claims it is the gods’ chastisement for our sins.” 

“The Grand Master,” said Ataranur, “is only half-wrong.”

“What do you mean?” said Malden.

“The gods had nothing to do with the runedead,” said Ataranur, “but our sins did. The world has grown too wicked…and the runedead have risen in response to the evil of the world. Caraster claims the runedead will allow him to purge the world of evil. He is merely a rank opportunist…but he is not entirely wrong. The runedead rose in response to the sins of mortal men. That is why I have awakened. Not just to defend Knightcastle from the runedead, but to cleanse the world. For the runedead are merely a symptom, not the disease itself.”

Malden frowned. “How can we rid the world of evil?”

Ataranur beckoned with a gloved hand into to the Trysting Ways.

Grand Master Caldarus of the Justiciar Order stepped through the secret door, resplendent in his fine armor and blue surcoat. 

Malden lifted his black dagger, alarmed. He and Caldarus had always been uneasy allies at best. His sons and vassals had never approved, but Malden knew he could use the Justiciars as weapons against his foes. Yet had Ataranur sided with Caldarus against Malden? Were the Justiciars planning to seize control of Knightreach for themselves? 

A peculiar detail penetrated his alarm.

Caldarus looked younger.

And a black dagger rested at his belt.

“Lord Malden,” said Caldarus. His hair was gray now instead of white, but his eyes remained cold as ever. “You’re looking well.”

“Indeed,” said Malden. “You seem a bit…healthier than I recall.”

Caldarus glanced at Thomas’s body. “As you do.”

“What happened?” said Malden.

“Caraster’s spies infiltrated the Justiciar preceptory in Castle Town,” said Ataranur. “They poisoned the Justiciar officers, and I was able to heal them, if barely.” He gestured at the dagger in Malden’s hand. “In much the same way you have been able to recover your strength and vitality, my lord.”

“I assume,” said Caldarus, “that Ataranur has explained to you what is happening? The reason for the plague of runedead?” Malden nodded. “Then, my old friend, our course is clear, is it not?”

“Yes,” said Malden. “It is.” 

“We must go through every village and every town in the realm, in the entire world,” said Caldarus, his fingers coiling around his black dagger’s hilt. “And we must hunt down the wicked. The users of magic. The worshipers of the San-keth. The followers of the Elderborn gods. The San-keth themselves, and perhaps even the remaining Elderborn tribes. All must be cleansed, and only then will we make the world clean.”

Malden nodded, his heart racing. So many to be killed…how would it feel to kill every last San-keth proselyte with his dagger? Every last wizard?

Some small part of his mind screamed that something was wrong, horribly wrong. But then he thought of the ecstasy of killing with the black dagger, and his doubts vanished.

“Come,” said Malden. “We have plans to make.”

###

Lucan stood silent as Lord Malden and the Grand Master laid their plans. 

Between the two of them, they would harvest the life energy he needed to open the Door of Souls.

“Ataranur,” said Malden. “We wish to equip more of the Justiciar officers with those black daggers, and many of my household knights. How many more can you create?”

“Why,” said Lucan, “how many more would you like?”

###

Gerald’s squires helped him don his armor and surcoat. 

He was not going into battle, only to Lord Malden’s court in the Hall of Triumph.

Yet he still felt as if he was going into battle, and he wanted to look the part. 

A page handed him his sword belt, and Gerald buckled it into place, checking his sword and dagger to make sure they were ready. Both weapons gleamed with razor sharpness, oiled and ready.

“You are dismissed,” said Gerald, and he walked to Rachel’s sitting room.

She waited for him by the balcony door, wearing a rich green gown that matched her eyes. Jewels glittered in her ears and hair, and hints of makeup accented her eyes and lips. She looked lovely, and Gerald wanted to take her in his arms. More than anything, he wanted to leave with his wife and children, to take them someplace free from war and dark magic and rampaging undead.

But there was no such place. If Knightcastle was to be safe, Gerald would have to make it safe. 

She looked just as anxious as he was. He saw the tension in her eyes, her fingers.

“Husband,” said Rachel. 

He kissed her, and for a moment his fears and worries subsided.

“Come,” he said, taking her arm. “My father has called all his vassals to the Hall of Triumph, to announce the attack against Caraster.” 

“With the Justiciars?” said Rachel.

Gerald nodded. “Their entire strength, or as much of the Order as could be gathered.”

They walked in silence through the corridors, passing the occasional servant or maid. They bowed as he passed, but Gerald saw the fear in their eyes. Servants had been disappearing in Knightcastle of late, and no man felt himself safe. 

“Gerald,” said Rachel, “we…we must do something about Ataranur.”

“I know,” said Gerald.

“It’s like at Castle Cravenlock, when Skhath came,” said Rachel, her voice quiet with remembered pain. “Everyone was so afraid of him. Those who knew the truth but didn’t convert lived in terror. Even those who didn’t know about the San-keth could see something was wrong.”

“My father will do whatever Ataranur tells him,” said Gerald. “Caldarus and the Justiciars, too. The wizard has twisted them to his will. They should know better. I thought my father knew better. But…”

“You need to denounce him,” said Rachel. “Stand up before the vassals and the Justiciars and demand that he remove his mask and reveal himself for who he truly is. Most of the knights and vassals are just as afraid of him as we are. If we can denounce him, if we can expose him before the court, then…”

Gerald shook his head. “Not yet.”

“But he is killing Knightcastle,” said Rachel. 

“I know,” said Gerald. “But if I defy my father and the Justiciars before the assembled vassals…it might come to war. And Caraster is still coming. We bloodied his nose at Tumblestone, but a madman like him will not relent. Ataranur is a slow poison killing Knightcastle…but Caraster is a sword thrust at our hearts. Once Caraster is defeated, then we shall deal with Ataranur. If I split the court now, it will come to war, and Caraster will devour us while we fight.” 

Rachel nodded. “I hope you are right.”

A short time later they came to the Hall of Triumphs. 

The knights and vassals of Lord Malden Roland packed the hall, alongside hundreds of Justiciar knights in their gleaming mail and blue surcoats. Gerald walked through a sea of armor, exchanging nods with the men, until he came to the dais. His brother Tobias waited there, clad in his armor, a deep scowl on his face.

“Brother,” murmured Gerald as he took his place alongside Tobias. 

Tobias gave a sharp nod. 

“What is it?” said Gerald.

“I spoke with Mother,” said Tobias. “She said Father struck her and threatened to kill her.”

“What?” said Gerald, shocked. Lord Malden and Lady Rhea had not been faithful to each other for years, but they certainly did not hate each other. And Lord Malden had always made a great show of his chivalry, even with his numerous mistresses. Gerald did not think his father capable of striking any woman, let alone his wife.

But he remembered his father’s outburst with the maid after Ataranur had cured him. 

“Why?” said Rachel, her face pale. 

“She questioned his alliance with the Justiciars,” said Tobias. “She told him both Caldarus and Ataranur were vultures hoping to carve off pieces of Knightreach for themselves. He listened calmly enough…and then he went berserk. He broke her nose and loosened her teeth. She says he might have killed her, if one of the maids hadn’t seen them.”

“Has he gone mad?” said Gerald. “Do…”

The heralds blew their trumpets, the doors to the Hall boomed open, and Malden and Caldarus entered. Malden wore armor of the finest craftsmanship, a sky-blue cloak with the Roland greathelm sigil trailing from his shoulders. He looked…young. Young and strong, like a new-made knight marching to his first tournament. Caldarus himself looked like a man in his middle thirties, his black hair marred by only a few streaks of gray. 

Both men carried those black daggers at their belt.

What had Ataranur done to them?

The masked wizard followed the lord and the Grand Master, moving with an eerie silence in his hooded cloak. 

Malden took his seat on the dais, and Ataranur and Caldarus arranged themselves at his left and right hands. Gerald looked at his father, and was surprised how cold and hard his blue eyes had become. 

“My lords and knights!” said Malden, his voice ringing over the hall. “I bear ill tidings. We have received word from Lord Agravain’s castellan at Tumblestone. Caraster has left Mastaria, crossed the River Abelinus, and ignored Tumblestone. My lords and knights, Caraster is coming for Knightcastle itself.”

A low murmur filled the hall.

“How many runedead does he bring?” said Lord Nicholas Randerly, his youthful face strained. 

“A great host,” said Malden. “At least one hundred and fifty thousand. Perhaps more. There were too many for Lord Agravain’s men too count.” 

Gerald felt Rachel’s arm tense against his. The combined strength of Knightreach and the Justiciar Order could muster perhaps thirty thousand men, maybe thirty-five thousand. In an open battle, Caraster would crush them.

He looked at Ataranur’s motionless form. Could even Ataranur prevail against that many runedead?

“Then our course is clear,” said old Lord Agravain. Unlike Caldarus and Malden, he had not grown any younger. “We must prepare for a siege. To face the runedead in the open field is folly.”

“No,” said Malden, leaning back in his chair. “We have spent too long on the defensive. It is time to take the battle to Caraster, to crush him like the insect that he is, and to cleanse the world of evil.”

Tobias snorted. “To cleanse the world of evil? That would be a fine trick, Father, since evil rests in the heart of every man. Shall you kill them all?”

Malden’s cold blue eyes turned to his eldest son, and for an awful moment Gerald wondered if his father planned to do just that. 

“You, Tobias,” said Malden at last, “along with your brother, shall take command of the host of Knightreach, and await Caraster’s horde at the fords of the Riversteel, a few miles south of Castle Town.”

“That is only twenty thousand men,” said Gerald. “Not enough to prevail against Caraster.” 

“Fear not, sir knight,” said Ataranur. “I know now the secret of the Demonsouled Caraster’s power. I know how to undo it. Victory shall be yours, for the cause of the just is ours.”

He sounded a little like Caraster himself.