Soul of Sorcery (Book 5) (14 page)

Why not do it? With that stolen strength, he could destroy every creature of dark magic in the world. 

No. Too much of a risk. He was not invincible, and that sort of rampage might make Mazael turn his attention from the barbarians. 

Besides, once he had the Wraithaldr and the Great Rising, he would have the tools he needed to free the world of the Demonsouled forever. 

Lucan closed his eyes and whispered a spell. The Glamdaigyr and the Banurdem dissolved into green flames and vanished, shunted into the spirit world. Yet he still felt their presence, felt their power pouring into him. He could recall both relics to his hand with an act of will. The spell would keep the Glamdaigyr and the Banurdem concealed until he needed them.

Which was useful, considering that Malaric might try to kill Lucan and claim the artifacts for himself. 

Lucan left the vault, closed the steel door behind him, and walked to the courtyard.

The armsman on the gate hailed him. “No barbarian wizards, my lord?”

Lucan smiled. “No. None at all. Castle Cravenlock is secure.”

###

Malaric and his men waited north of Castle Cravenlock. 

Lucan reined up the horse he had taken from the castle’s stables. 

“You’re early, my lord,” said Malaric. He sat atop a fine horse, his cloak thrown back to reveal gleaming chain mail and leather armor. 

“My business went well,” said Lucan. 

Malaric tilted his head to the side. “You look…different.”

“Different?” Lucan frowned. “How so?”

“Stronger,” said Malaric. The gloved fingers of his right hand fluttered, and Lucan felt the faint touch of a spell. “And your aura is…different. As if you were more powerful.”

“You shouldn’t assume too much about me, captain,” said Lucan.

The flicker of unease that passed over Malaric’s face was gratifying. 

“So,” said Malaric, “if I might inquire. Where is our little expedition going?”

“A place called the Red Valley, in the Great Mountains,” said Lucan. “But first, we’re going to make a brief stop at Castle Highgate.”

Malaric yelled a command, and his mercenaries rolled into motion, turning to face the northeast. 

“Why Castle Highgate?” said Malaric.

“There’s something there that belongs to me,” said Lucan. “And it is past time I claimed it.”

He had seen Tymaen, standing in the nobles’ box at the tournament, and could not remember why he had let her go, why he had not challenged Lord Robert for her hand. Something had stopped him. But what? 

No matter. 

It was well past time he rectified that mistake.

The mercenaries marched to the northeast, Lucan and Malaric riding at their head. 

Chapter 14 – Conquerors

“No,” said Aegidia.

The thains standing before the Guardian frowned, and Riothamus tightened his fingers around the shaft of his spear.

They stood on the outskirts of a ruined village. It had been ruined when they found it, no doubt a victim of the Malrags. Stone walls stood roofless along the streets, wind whistling through the empty doors. A massive round tower rose from the center of the village, standing nearly sixty feet tall. The tower’s roof and interior had burned away, but the stone walls still stood strong. Perhaps someday some future Tervingi hrould would rebuild the tower, and claim it as his hold.

Assuming the Tervingi held these lands. 

“But, Guardian,” rumbled a tall swordthain with a bushy red beard. “The lands I have claimed are broad and fertile, suitable for both wheat and grazing. If my bondsmen plant now, we may yet claim two harvests before…”

“No,” said Aegidia. 

“But I have won the land!” growled the swordthain.

“You have not,” said Aegidia. “The skythains report a great host of our enemies have massed in the west and march to find us. What do you think will happen if the knights defeat us, Marothic?”

Marothic shook his head. “The lands are…”

“If the lords of the knights defeat us here,” said Aegidia, “do you think we shall keep any land? Do you think you will keep yours, Marothic?”

Marothic scowled, but said nothing else.

“You see wisdom,” said Aegidia. “We must defeat our enemies. And to do that, you and your men must stay here, to lend your strength to Athanaric.”

“So be it,” said Marothic. “But once we prevail, I shall expect my fair share of lands!”

“And you shall have them,” said Aegidia. She didn’t lean upon the staff in her right hand, but Riothamus recognized the weariness in her voice. “Go quickly. The enemy approaches, and Athanaric shall need every man.”

Marothic bowed and departed. 

Aegidia let out a long sigh, her thin shoulders slumping with exhaustion beneath her cloak of black feathers.

“Come into the shade,” said Riothamus. “We’ve been in the sun too long.”

Aegidia snorted. “I spent all day in the sun decades before you were born, boy.”

But she let Riothamus lead her to the shade of a stone wall. 

“The Tervingi,” she said, taking a drink from a waterskin Riothamus handed her, “will stand in a burning house and argue what to do even as the roof crashes down upon them.” 

“Will Athanaric call for another moot?” said Riothamus.

“No,” said Aegidia. “The skythains say an army of twenty thousand men is coming to defeat us. There is no time for a moot, and even if there were, we can make only one decision. The Tervingi must fight or die. We have nowhere else to go.” 

“Athanaric thinks we can negotiate with the lord of the knights,” said Riothamus. “That our victories have given us a position of strength, and we can negotiate a truce.”

“I hope he is right,” said Aegidia. “But I fear he is not. Storms fill my sight, boy. I see the dead rising with words of fire upon their brow to slay the living. I see a man walking into darkness, a sword of poison in his hands, to claim a staff of frozen shadows. And I see a black dragon rising to strangle the Tervingi in its coils. And I do not know which of these futures will come to pass.”

The crunch of boot on stone caught Riothamus’s attention. 

Arnulf strode into sight, his necklace of Malrag claws clicking against his mail. He looked around with his customary sour grimace, his yellow beard stirring in the wind. Not even this strange new land had managed to ruffle him. 

“Arnulf,” said Riothamus.

Arnulf grunted. “Witcher. There you are.”

“Swordthain,” said Aegidia. “What do you make of our new home?”

Arnulf shrugged. “Too flat for my taste, but I grew up in the hills. If we live through the next few days, I think I’ll settle near the mountains, have my bondsmen dig iron out of the foothills.” He coughed, shook his head. “Guardian. Athanaric, Ragnachar, and their headmen are meeting at the foot of the stone tower.”

“They wish the Guardian to mediate?” said Riothamus.

Arnulf snorted. “The Guardian needs to keep Athanaric’s lads and Ragnachar’s lads from going at each other. Otherwise we’ll cut each other to pieces before the knights and their damned horses arrive.” 

Aegidia drew herself up. “Take me to them.”

Arnulf led them to the base of the stone tower. A large square lay before the tower, and thousands of swordthains and spearthains packed the space. Athanaric’s men occupied one side of the square, and Ragnachar’s the other, both groups of men glaring at each other. 

Athanaric and Ragnachar stood on the steps to the tower. Athanaric was agitated, almost angry, while Ragnachar retained his usual cold calm. 

“This is madness,” said Athanaric. “To face horsemen an open field is to invite defeat.”

“Our mammoths can counter their horses,” said Ragnachar. “Their scent will throw the horses into a frenzy, and we can sweep away their footmen.”

“Or they will use a cunning stratagem to make the mammoths panic, as they did before,” said Athanaric, “and we shall lose everything.”

Ragnachar shrugged. “War is risk.”

“And your folly will lead the Tervingi to destruction!” said Athanaric. 

Ragnachar had the right to challenge Athanaric to single combat over an insult like that. And if Ragnachar slew Athanaric, or Athanaric slew Ragnachar, the Tervingi would split apart into civil war, and the knights would smash them utterly…

Aegidia rapped the butt of her staff against the ground, and Riothamus felt the surge of magic power.

“Peace!” she said, her magic turning her voice to thunder. 

Athanaric and Ragnachar stopped bickering, and every eye in the square fell upon Aegidia. She strode towards the tower, her staff clicking against the flagstones, her posture betraying not a hint of the weariness Riothamus knew she felt. 

“Guardian,” said Ragnachar.

“Honorable hroulds,” said Aegidia, “have we so few foes that we must bicker amongst ourselves?” 

“Hardly,” said Athanaric. “The skythains have returned with their reports. A great host of the enemy is marching on us. At least fifteen thousand strong, probably more, with five thousand of those damned horsemen.”

“We have the numbers to match theirs,” said Ragnachar.

“In footmen, aye, but not in horsemen!” said Athanaric. “The knights will gallop right through our lines.”

“Our mammoths can counter the horsemen,” said Ragnachar, “and will trample through their footmen.”

“Are you blind as a stone?” said Athanaric. “They will make the mammoths panic! If they do, our swordthains and spearthains will be vulnerable to a cavalry charge, and we shall lose everything! We must…”

For the first time, a hint of anger entered Ragnachar’s icy voice. “You repeat the same tired arguments. Have the years unmanned you, Athanaric? Perhaps you should wrap yourself in a blanket and sit by the fire, and wait for your bondsmen to bring you some warm gruel.”

Athanaric’s eyes blazed, his hand flying to his sword hilt.

Thousands of thains followed suit. 

“Hold!” said Aegidia, her voice thundering over the square. “I said hold! If you or your men come to blows, I shall show you why I am the Guardian of the Tervingi.”

Athanaric eased his hand away from his sword, while Ragnachar stared at the old woman, his face unreadable behind the iron-gray beard.

“So, Ragnachar,” said Aegidia. “How do you propose we deal with our foes?”

“We destroy them,” said Ragnachar. “We gather the host of the Tervingi and march to face them. Our mammoths will overwhelm their horsemen, and our swordthains and spearthains shall stand fast against their footmen. The victory shall be ours.”

“Simplistic folly,” said Athanaric.

“And you, hrould?” said Aegidia. “What do you propose?”

“If we face the host of the knights in open battle, we very well could lose,” said Athanaric. “Only a fool faces horsemen on an open plain. If we march out, the knights will destroy our thains while their archers deal with the mammoths one by one.”

“And what is your plan instead?” said Ragnachar. “To flee?”

“Of course not!” said Athanaric.

“Or to crawl on your belly to the knights and beg them for mercy?” said Ragnachar. 

“Think, you damned fool!” said Athanaric. “You’ve seen the eastern Grim Marches. The Malrags wiped out most of the villages. There are empty lands waiting to be claimed.”

Ragnachar barked a harsh laugh. “And you think the knights will let us claim them?”

“They will,” said Athanaric, “if they can be made to see wisdom.” 

“You speak of capitulation,” said Ragnachar.

“I speak of reason,” said Athanaric, turning from Ragnachar to address the assembled thains. “Hear me! I propose we send an embassy to the overlords of the knights. They, too, have suffered grievously from the Malrags. You have seen the ruined villages near the mountains! I propose a treaty between the Tervingi nation and the knights. If they will allow us to settle in peace in the empty lands, we will offer them peace in return.”

“Capitulation,” repeated Ragnachar.

“It is not!” said Athanaric. “We will negotiate from a position of strength. The knights have called out their full might to face us in battle. They know that we are a danger. Would it not be preferable to gain everything we seek without a battle?” He spread his hands. “Every man here has seen a son, or a brother, or a father fall in battle against the Malrags. Have we not had our fill of war? Would it not be better to sow our fields and tend our crops in peace, to have our children grow free of terror in this new land?”

A murmur went through the thains, and Riothamus saw that Athanaric’s words had struck home.

“I would speak,” said Ragnachar. “It is my right as hrould.” 

Aegidia’s lips tightened, but she gave a short, sharp nod. 

“The honorable Athanaric,” said Ragnachar, his voice ringing over the square, “speaks of many fine things. Of rich crops. Of vast herds. Of strong sons. Of peace!”

“He told me he doesn’t believe in peace,” said Riothamus, voice low. “That life is an eternal battle, that the strong enslave the weak as they please.” 

“Of course he believes that,” said Aegidia, “but do you think he will speak of it bluntly to anyone but his orcragars?” 

“We can have peace,” said Ragnachar. “But do you think the knights will give it to you for asking? We have invaded their lands! We have fought their warriors! We have slain their people! Why would they share anything with us? Why not kill us all and take everything for themselves? The knights of the Grim Marches shall ever be our enemies! If they let us live, it will only be as slaves.”

“They are as weary of war as we are!” said Athanaric.

Ragnachar ignored the interruption. “We can have peace, sons of Tervingar. But only by becoming the strongest. By claiming this land with our blood, now and forever. By crushing anyone who would deny our right to it.” He drew his greatsword and swung it over the crowds. “We are warriors! Have we not eluded the Malrags? Have we not crossed countless miles and faced unending trials? A new homeland lies within our grasp! We need only to reach out and take it! And the Athanaric would have us step back and ask meekly ask for what us ours by right?”

“No!” roared most of the thains in answer. 

Aegidia’s smile was hard. “It seems he has sold them on the idea nonetheless.”

“Let us prove that we are the stronger!” said Ragnachar. “Our valiant thains shall smash their footmen. Our mammoths shall trample their knights. We shall claim their lands, their houses, and their castles for ourselves! And once we have broken their host, once we have defeated them, the Grim Marches shall belong to us forever!”

A cheer went up from the thains. Athanaric closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“If this is the will of the warriors of the Tervingi nation,” he said, “then I shall lend it my support. Though I think it will bring disaster upon us.” 

“Assemble outside the village!” said Ragnachar. “The enemy comes to us! We shall meet them here, on favorable ground.”

The thains marched out of the village. Aegidia made her way to the base of the tower, Riothamus and Arnulf trailing after. 

“So,” said Aegidia as she approached, “I see you are set upon this folly of yours.”

Ragnachar’s gray eyes fell upon her, and Riothamus saw the faint flinch that went through her. Gods, why was she so afraid of him? He worshipped the Urdmoloch, true, and he might even be of the Urdmoloch’s blood. But she was still the Guardian of the Tervingi nation. 

What hold did he have over her?

“In war,” said Ragnachar. “All plans seem folly. Until they become victories.” He slid his greatsword back into its scabbard. “Save your hectoring for later, Guardian. Until then, we have a battle to win.”

“I assume you have a plan?” said Athanaric. Arnulf took his place at his hrould’s side, gazing at Ragnachar with flat eyes. “Or shall we simply sing battle hymns and run as fast as we can at the enemy?”

“I have a plan,” said Ragnachar. If took offense at Athanaric’s mockery, he gave no sign. Most likely he didn’t care. “We shall array the bulk of our forces before the village, facing the enemy. Spearthains in front, archers behind. Before them we shall dig trenches to slow the charge of the enemy’s horsemen.”

“What is to keep the horsemen from flanking us?” said Riothamus.

Ragnachar’s eyes flicked to him, cold as frozen steel, and Riothamus remembered the feel of the hrould’s fist around his throat. “Nothing. Which is the point. Some swordthains will stand on either wing of the spearthains, unprotected by ditches. The enemy horsemen will see this and charge, while their footmen make their way over the ditches. The swordthains will withdraw, luring the knights around the village…”

The realization struck Riothamus. “Where you will have the mammoths waiting.”

Ragnachar’s eyes glinted. “Perhaps you have a modicum of wit after all, witcher. Guardian. You listen to the complaints of the bondsmen. How many mammoths remain fit for war?”

“Perhaps a hundred and twenty five,” said Aegidia. “Crossing the mountains was hard on them.”