Soul of Sorcery (Book 5) (25 page)

The final shaman flung another lightning blast, and Lucan deflected the lightning bolt back into the creature.

Then Lucan turned his full powers on the remaining Malrags.

The battle did not last long after that. 

“Tymaen,” said Lucan. “Are you well?”

She managed a nod, her eyes wide. She had seen battle before, Lucan knew, when the Malrags assaulted Castle Highgate. But she would never have seen Lucan unleash his full powers in battle before. 

She would get used to it in time. There would be a great deal more killing to do, before the end.

“Malaric,” said Lucan.

Malaric stepped closer, black blood dripping from his sword, his eyes fixed on the Glamdaigyr.

“Is that what I think it is?” he said. 

Lucan lifted the sword, the sigils flaring with green light. “It is. Do you still wish to run, Malaric?” 

Malaric said nothing. 

“Or do you want to fight me?” said Lucan. “And claim the sword and diadem for yourself?”

Malaric hesitated. Had he the strength, Lucan knew, Malaric would have killed him then and there and taken the Glamdaigyr and the Banurdem for himself. But he wasn’t strong enough, never would be strong enough.

Because Lucan held the Glamdaigyr and wore the Banurdem. 

“No,” said Malaric.

Lucan pointed the greatsword at him. “No, my lord.”

Malaric swallowed. “No, my lord.”

“Good. Which of your men touched Lady Tymaen?”  

Malaric shook his head. “None of them. We were distracted by the battle, obviously.”

“Obviously,” said Lucan. “Yet I still saw two men touch her. Which ones?”

“We did, my lord,” said a mercenary, stepping forward with a companion. “We were only going to take the lady to safety.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” said Lucan. He pointed the Glamdaigyr at them.

“Lucan!” said Tymaen. “Please don’t hurt them.”

“They touched you,” said Lucan, his voice calm. “They would have taken you hostage and sold you back to Lord Robert.”

“But I would have been safe.”

“You are safe with me.”

“But they thought we were going to die,” said Tymaen. “They didn’t trust in you the way I do. They would have held me for ransom, true, but even mercenaries need to eat. They would have taken me to safety.”

For a long moment Lucan held the Glamdaigyr leveled at the trembling mercenaries. They had dared to touch Tymaen, and he saw absolutely no reason not to kill them. Yet he loved Tymaen, and their deaths would cause her unnecessary distress. 

He had no wish to do that. 

“Very well,” said Lucan. He dismissed the Glamdaigyr and the Banurdem, and the sword and the diadem dissolved into green flame and vanished. “I trust we shall have no further talk of turning back?” 

“No,” said Malaric. 

“Good,” said Lucan. He gestured, and the sigils of green fire on the brows of the Malrag runedead vanished. The creatures collapsed motionless to the ground. 

He flexed his fingers, bemused. The spell to raise runedead was potent, yet it had not taxed him. The well of stolen Demonsouled power made him stronger. Just how much more powerful would the Glamdaigyr and the Banurdem make him?

And once he held the Wraithaldr, what kind of power could he wield? If the Great Rising worked, if he cleansed the world of the Demonsouled, what could he do then? Could he scour the world of every last trace of dark magic, annihilate the San-keth and the Dark Elderborn and the Malrags? Perhaps he could crush tyrannical lords and kings and build a new world, a world free of war and hunger and fear…

“Lucan,” said Tymaen. “What…what are we going to do now?” 

He took her hand. “Morvyrkrad is near. And with the things we take from there, we shall free the world of the Demonsouled forever.” 

###

The Dark Elderborn ruin held no enchanted relics, but inside Lucan found a quantity of gold and gems, the coins stamped with inscriptions and images as beautiful and disturbing as the castle’s walls. The coins improved Malaric’s mood, and certainly raised the morale of his men. 

“Well, my lord,” said Malaric, examining a ruby the size of his thumb. “Where next?”

Malaric’s free hand kept straying to the leather bag at this belt. Of course, the skull in the bag was more valuable than gold or jewels. Lucan had a good notion of what Malaric intended to do with Corvad’s skull. 

A clever idea. If it didn’t turn Malaric into a ravening monster. But that was not Lucan’s problem.

“This way,” said Lucan. 

He led the men to the far end of the cavern. The entrance to another cave yawned in the wall. But unlike the others, it was built of worked stone. Twin statues of robed men flanked the doorway, staffs of carved stone in their hands, and symbols and sigils marked the arch.

“What does it say?” said Tymaen.

“It’s the script of Old Dracaryl,” said Malaric.

“And it says,” said Lucan, “that the way to Morvyrkrad lies ahead.”

He conjured a globe of light over his palm and led the way into the darkness, Tymaen and Malaric following.

Chapter 24 – Only Blood

Molly took a deep breath.

It was time.

“There’s something,” she said, “that I have to tell you.” 

She and Riothamus lay side by side in her tent, halfway between Castle Cravenlock and Swordgrim. Her head rested against his chest, and his arm curled around her back. Through the tent’s canvas walls she heard the sounds of the camp, the rattle of armor, the whinnying of horses. Lord Richard had summoned all his vassals to Swordgrim for a great feast, and both the Lord of Castle Cravenlock and his heir would attend. 

“Of course,” said Riothamus, a lazy smile on his face. 

“This…this isn’t a good thing,” said Molly.

His smile faded. “What is it?” 

A dozen different explanations flitted through her mind. She thought about hedging the truth. How would he react? Would he push her away? 

Would he try to kill her?

“Molly?” said Riothamus. 

Best to just get it over with. He deserved to know.

“I’m Demonsouled,” she said. 

A frown spread over his face.

“The creature you call the Urdmoloch was my grandfather,” said Molly. “He took Corvad and me to the Skulls, had them turn us into weapons. He planned to turn Corvad into the Destroyer, the Demonsouled who will overthrow the kingdoms of the men. And he planned to turn me into a Malrag Queen.” 

She could speak no more, and she braced herself. She expected him to react with horror and revulsion.

Instead, Riothamus looked as if she had just given him the answer to some great riddle.

“The vision,” he murmured. “That would mean…Lord Mazael is Demonsouled?”

Molly nodded. 

“Then it makes sense,” said Riothamus. “The man in the golden armor with the sword of blue fire.”

“What are you talking about?” said Molly. “I’ve just told you I’m the granddaughter of the Old Demon, and you’re talking about a vision? I’m Demonsouled! Aren’t you going to scream, or fight, or try to kill me or…or something?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” said Riothamus.

Molly shrugged. “Mazael and Romaria are the only ones who know.” Well, Lucan Mandragon did, but Molly would kill him if she had the chance. “Anyone else would try to kill me if they knew. The Demonsouled are loathed and feared, and for good reason. We are monsters.”

“You are a hard woman,” said Riothamus, “but hardly a monster. But why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” said Molly. She swallowed. “I didn’t…I didn’t expect to fall in love with you. Or anyone. It happened so quickly, and I am…I was so happy. I should have told you before, so you could know what kind of…creature I really am.” 

“You thought it would drive me away,” said Riothamus.

“Yes,” said Molly.

They lay in silence for a moment.

“So,” said Molly, “ah…why aren’t you running? Or throwing lightning bolts at me? Or getting the Guardian to slay the Demonsouled?”

Riothamus frowned. “You’re demon-blooded. That hardly makes you a Malrag, Molly. You are still human, still a woman.” 

“This doesn’t concern you?” said Molly.

“I would be an idiot if it didn’t concern me,” said Riothamus. “But I knew you had darkness inside of you. I suppose it’s just more...literal than I expected.” He stroked her cheek. “We all have darkness inside of us. You can do more with it than the rest of us.” 

“So…you don’t mind?” said Molly.

“There have been demon-blooded, what you call Demonsouled, among the Tervingi before,” said Riothamus. “They can become great heroes or terrible villains. Like any other men. But the demon-blooded have more potential for good or for evil.” 

“Then,” said Molly. She licked her lips, swallowed, and took a deep breath. “Then you don’t want to leave?” 

His fingers brushed her cheek. “Why would I want to?”

Relief flooded through her, like cold water over a burn. She wanted to cry, to bury her face in his shoulder and weep. 

Instead, she said, “What vision?” 

"Vision?"

"The vision you were talking about," said Molly.

“You’ve told me your secret,” said Riothamus, “so I should tell you mine.”

Molly grinned. “You're Demonsouled?”

“No,” said Riothamus. “San-keth, actually.”

She stared at him, and burst out laughing. 

“I would not,” she said, “take a San-keth into my bed.”

“I should hope not,” said Riothamus. His smile faded. “The Guardian has the Sight.”

“The Sight?” said Molly.

“A form of clairvoyance,” said Riothamus. “And also precognition…it lets her see the future. Or potential futures, at least. And things far off, and in the past as well.”

“Sounds useful,” said Molly.

“Not as much as you might think,” said Riothamus. “It usually manifests in symbolic visions that are hard to interpret. But years ago, before she even saved my life, Aegidia had a vision about the fate of the Tervingi, of the entire world. Because of that vision, she asked the same question of anyone she met. It was the first question she ever asked me.”

“What is it?” said Molly. “What question?” 

“Have you seen a man in golden armor,” said Riothamus, “who fights with a sword of blue flame?”

Despite lying in Riothamus’s arms, despite his bare skin against hers, she felt a chill.

“A man in golden armor with a sword of blue fire?” she said. “That’s Mazael.”

Riothamus nodded. “Aegidia thinks so.”

“But that’s impossible,” said Molly. “She must have had that vision twenty years ago. Mazael was just a landless knight then, and he didn't have Lion or the dragon armor. So how could she know about him?”

“The Sight,” said Riothamus. 

“Her visions,” said Molly. “So…what did her visions say that Mazael will do?”

“That, for good or ill, he held the fate of the Tervingi in his hands,” said Riothamus. “And that one day he would face the Urdmoloch.”

Molly’s chill got worse. “The Urdmoloch. The Old Demon. My grandfather.”

“Yes,” said Riothamus.

“Did the vision say if he wins?” said Molly.

“No,” said Riothamus. “Only that the fate of the Tervingi lies his hands, and that he would face the Urdmoloch. Not what that fate would be, or the outcome of that confrontation.”  

“Father spoke of facing the Old Demon,” said Molly. “Of finding him and fighting him. But…gods, Riothamus, I know my grandfather. He’s a monster. He’s centuries old, and he’s survived all his enemies, over and over again. He plays with kingdoms and empires like they’re pieces on a chessboard. I knew what he was, and he still almost fooled and destroyed me. How can we hope to fight a creature like him?”

“As we would fight any other enemy,” said Riothamus. “All men die, Molly. We can only hope to die well.”

“Hardly optimistic,” said Molly. 

“No,” said Riothamus, “but true nonetheless. But whatever comes, we shall face it together.”

“You mean it?” said Molly. “You aren’t going to leave?” 

“Never,” said Riothamus.

She let out a long breath, and kissed him.

###

The nobles and knights of the Grim Marches and the thains and headmen of the Tervingi nation filled Swordgrim's hall and feasted. Jongleurs wandered up and down the long tables, singing of the mighty knights of old, while Tervingi loresingers sang of their great heroes. Mazael looked over the assembly and grinned. A few months ago these men had been trying to kill each other. Now they sat and ate and drank together.

It was a good sign.

However much it disappointed his Demonsouled blood.

“You look pleased,” said Romaria. 

“And why should I not?” said Mazael, taking another drink of ale. He and Romaria sat at the high table on the dais with the other principal lords of the Grim Marches. Lord Richard and Athanaric sat at the head of the table, speaking in low voices. “It’s working. The Tervingi and our people are at peace. In a few years, the fighting will be only a memory." 

“If Toraine and Ragnachar don’t have their way,” said Romaria.

“They won’t,” said Mazael. “Look over there. Some of Ragnachar’s thains. They didn’t come to the melee, but they’re here. Ragnachar himself might not ever come, but without the support of the Tervingi, he can’t cause any trouble.” 

His hands closed into fists under the table. No more visions of the Old Demon troubled his sleep, but the dreams of blood and death had come again, worse than before. But that was a small price to pay for the Grim Marches to at last have peace. 

“Now if only I could find Lucan,” said Mazael. 

There had been no trace of Lucan since his disappearance from Castle Highgate. Mercenaries had gone into the mountains, intent on collecting the bounty for his head and Tymaen’s safe return. Most had come back empty-handed. Some had not come back at all. Perhaps they had perished upon Malrag blades, or burned in a dragon’s fire.

Or perhaps Lucan had killed them all. It would take more than common mercenaries to stop Lucan Mandragon, especially now that he carried the Glamdaigyr. 

“Perhaps in another year,” said Romaria, “when things have settled down, we can go in pursuit of Lucan.”

Mazael blinked in surprise. “You’re serious?”

“I am,” said Romaria. “Gods only know what Lucan will do with that sword. But right now, leaving the Grim Marches would be more dangerous. But if the Tervingi will truly not start another war…perhaps we should go after him.” Her smile was a touch wistful. “And I would enjoy a journey. This is the longest I’ve stayed in one place since I was a child. I’ve been from the Old Kingdoms to the middle lands and back again. I’d like to see some of those places again.”

“I spent ten years wandering from one end of the realm to another,” said Mazael. He imagined traveling with Romaria, wandering as the mood took them. That sounded like a fine life.

The booming slam of the hall’s doors broke his reverie.

Mazael looked up, saw men in dark armor stalking into the hall. His first thought was that Toraine had decided to overthrow his father, and his hand flew to Lion’s hilt. But the men in black armor and ragged black cloaks were orcragars.

Ragnachar himself walked at their head. 

He wore his black armor of Old Dracaryl. His snarling dragon helm rested under one arm, and the hilt of his greatsword rose over his shoulder. His gray beard and lined face made him look like a living statue, though his gray eyes burned with hatred.

He stopped before the high table and made a shallow bow.

“Lord Richard,” said Ragnachar.

Lord Richard rose. “Lord Ragnachar. Have you come to join the feast?”

“No,” said Ragnachar. “I have not. I fear I have already eaten.”

Richard raised an eyebrow. “Then, pray, why have you come to my hall, surrounded by armed retainers?”

“Yes, Ragnachar,” said Athanaric, standing beside Richard. “Have you come to draw steel against our liege lord? I would have expected such a dishonorable act from you.”

Ragnachar lifted a black-armored hand. “I have not come to feast, nor to start a war.” 

“Have you, Ragnachar?” Mazael saw Aegidia step out from beneath the balcony, leaning upon her staff. Riothamus trailed behind her, Molly at his side. For some reason she had been spending more and more time with the Guardian's apprentice. Perhaps she was teaching him to use a sword. 

Ragnachar glared at her, and the Guardian fell silent and looked away.

“I have only come,” said Ragnachar, “to marvel. To see how low the Tervingi have fallen. Once other nations feared our wrath. And now look at us! We are dogs, cringing in our master’s hall and licking his fingers for scraps.”

Silence answered his threats. 

“Do you insult our liege lord?” said a young knight in Lord Richard’s colors. “Do you dare to call Lord Richard the Dragonslayer a dog?”

“Pay attention, boy,” said Ragnachar. “It is the Tervingi who have become dogs, who now whine and beg for whatever crumbs their master is willing to permit them.” 

“Do you wish to renounce your oath of allegiance to me?” said Richard, calm as ever. “Though if you do, Lord Ragnachar, I remind you that you will no longer be my guest and can no longer claim that protection of my roof.” 

A dozen lords and knights stood, hands on their sword hilts. 

“Is this what the Tervingi have come to?” said Ragnachar, his eyes flashing. “Cowering behind their master’s hounds for protection?”

Suddenly Mazael understood. Ragnachar was hoping to shame the Tervingi into fighting, into siding with him.

He stood. “Ragnachar!”

Ragnachar glared up at him. “Lord Mazael.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Mazael, descending from the dais to stand a dozen paces from the Tervingi hrould. “Perhaps the Tervingi are cowards.”

An uneasy rumble went through the hall.

“Or perhaps,” said Mazael, “you’re simply an idiot.” 

Ragnachar’s eyes narrowed. “You insult me?”

“Is it an insult to speak the truth?” said Mazael. “But let us put it to the test! I notice that you have entered your liege lord’s hall with only your orcragars at your back.”

“What of it?” said Ragnachar. 

“I wonder,” said Mazael, “if they are the only supporters you have left. Would no other man follow you? Not even any of your loyal thains? Let us find out! Warriors of the Tervingi!” His voice rang over the hall. “The hour has come to choose peace or war! Those of you who support Ragnachar, Lord of Gray Pillar, stand and go to his side! Now!”

No one stood.

The silence stretched on and on. 

Ragnachar’s face remained calm, but Mazael saw the fury in his eyes.

“Warriors of the Tervingi!” said Mazael. “If you support Lord Richard, stand!”

The benches groaned and armor clattered as every man in the hall, Tervingi or not, stood. 

“You insult me,” growled Ragnachar, “with this mockery.”

“If I have insulted you,” said Mazael, “then challenge me to a duel. We will settle this in the courtyard right now.”

Mazael's blood burned within him. Yes, he would do it. He would face Ragnachar in a duel, and then cut him down. No one could blame him for that. And then the Grim Marches would have peace...

Ragnachar glared at him, and then stalked away without another word.