Soul of Sorcery (Book 5) (30 page)

“Swordgrim,” said Malaric, “is far away.” He grinned. “It will cost you more.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Lucan. “But we will be there by this afternoon.”

He lifted the Wraithaldr and drew on its power.

He had known of the spell for years, ever since his duel in the spirit would with the San-keth archpriest Straganis. Using the spell, he could open pathways through the spirit world, travelling hundreds of miles in a matter of hours. But he had never possessed the strength to cast the spell, even with the well of Demonsouled power.

The Wraithaldr had power to spare.

Lucan swept the dark staff before him, a curtain of gray mist rising from the floor. The curtain rose, ten yards, twenty yards, thirty yards. Then the mist parted, showing a road winding through a dark, treeless forest. 

“Behold,” said Lucan. “The path to Swordgrim. Come along, Malaric. I want to return to the Grim Marches before sundown.”

Malaric blinked, once, and then turned and barked orders to his men.

“Why are we returning to Swordgrim?” said Tymaen. Perhaps she feared seeing Lord Robert again. No matter – if he proved troublesome, Lucan would simply kill the boorish fool. 

“Because,” said Lucan. “With the Wraithaldr, I have taken the first step toward ridding the world of the Demonsouled. The second step awaits at Swordgrim.”

Randur’s memories told him that he would need a great deal of spilled blood to cast the Great Rising.

And Lucan could find it at Swordgrim.

Chapter 28 – The Lady of the Shadows

“Well?” said Molly, arms folded across her chest. She wanted to howl with rage. Instead she forced herself to stand calmly. 

Timothy wiped sweat from his forehead. “He will live, my lady.” 

Molly managed a nod. “Good.” 

They stood in one of Castle Cravenlock’s guest rooms. Riothamus lay upon the bed, clean white bandages covering his shoulder and hip and side. A light sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead and chest. He muttered and thrashed in his sleep, his left hand rising to ward away enemies.

In his right hand he clutched Aegidia’s staff. Timothy had tried to pry it out of his hand and given up. 

“His wounds heal with remarkable speed,” said Timothy. “I suspect his magic aids his recovery. Both he and the Guardian showed the ability to cure wounds and illness with their spells. And the staff may have some healing properties as well. There is magic upon it, but a type unknown to me.” 

“Good,” said Molly, blinking. She was not going to cry in front of anyone. She was not. 

“I suspect,” said Timothy, “that he will recover in a few days. At most.” 

"Thank you," said Molly. 

Timothy nodded, and Riothamus’s eyes fluttered open.

“Molly,” he rasped.

She knelt beside the bed, grabbing his free hand. “I’m here.”

“Ragnachar,” he whispered. “It was Ragnachar. I can’t…I can’t let the Tervingi go to war over this. Not over a lie. The staff…I can’t…”

He lapsed back into unconsciousness. 

“It would be best, my lady,” said Timothy, voice gentle, “if we let him rest. He is out of danger. He needs rest now.” 

Molly nodded and got to her feet. “Has there been any word from my father?”

“None,” said Timothy. “And no riders from Swordgrim, either. But the peasants are fleeing into the walls of Cravenlock Town. All of them say that the Tervingi have gone on a rampage.”

“Damn it,” said Molly. She really should have killed Ragnachar, despite what Mazael and Riothamus had said. And with Richard Mandragon dead, Toraine was the liege lord of the Grim Marches. Toraine wanted to kill both Mazael and Molly…and Mazael was at Swordgrim. 

She crossed to the window, glaring into the courtyard. Armsmen drilled and knights practiced with the lance below. Mazael had left Sir Hagen in command of the castle, and Hagen Bridgebane was not the sort of knight to tolerate laxness among his men. 

Just as well, considering they would march to war soon enough.

“We’ve got to get word to my father,” said Molly. “Let him know that Ragnachar murdered Athanaric and Lord Richard. Hopefully he’ll stop Toraine from doing anything too idiotic.”

“Lord Toraine is…rather rash,” said Timothy.

“That’s just a polite way of saying he’s an idiot,” said Molly. 

Timothy opened his mouth to answer, and then a horn rang out. 

“Foes!” said Timothy. “The sentries on the walls have seen enemies.”

Molly cursed under her breath, snatched her sword belt, and stepped into the shadows. 

She reappeared in the courtyard. A few nearby armsmen cursed in sudden alarm, but she ignored them. She spotted Sir Hagen Bridgebane atop the barbican rampart, talking to some of the guards. 

A quick step through the shadows, and she reappeared next to him.

“What’s happening?” said Molly. 

The armsmen recoiled in fear, but Hagen remained impassive. He had seen Molly in battle enough by now.

“Raiders,” said Hagen. He pointed. “The Tervingi are attacking Cravenlock Town.”

Molly peered over the battlements. In the distance she saw a mass of Tervingi thains attacking the walls, throwing up ladders. The militia fought from the walls, sending arrows into the Tervingi, and casting down any ladders that reached the ramparts. 

She saw the dark cloaks of orcragars among the Tervingi. 

Ragnachar’s men. 

“The town is holding,” said Molly.

Hagen gave a grim shake of his head. “Not for long. When those three mammoths reach the walls, it’s over.”

Molly followed his gaze, and spotted the three mammoths at the rear of the Tervingi formation. The mammoths wore massive, dangling coats of mail, plate armor bound to their heads with leather straps. Archers waited on platforms atop the beasts’ back, some of them holding coiled rope ladders. When the mammoths reached the town’s wall, the archers would throw down the ladders, the Tervingi thains would scramble up, and Cravenlock Town would fall. 

“We have to stop them,” said Molly. 

“We can’t,” said Hagen. “The town is on its own.”

Molly looked at him. “Surely you don’t mean to sit here and watch the town fall?”

“The Tervingi have twice as many men as we do,” said Hagen. “Maybe three times as many. If we ride out and are defeated, we shall lose both town and castle. And even if we had more men, we have no way of dealing with those mammoths.” 

“I will deal with the mammoths,” said Molly. 

“Even if you defeat the mammoths, they still have too many men,” said Hagen. 

“All your men are mounted,” said Molly. “You could ride right through them.”

“But if the Tervingi withstand the charge, we will be surrounded,” said Hagen. “We must stay behind the walls, prepare for a siege, and wait for Lord Mazael to return.” 

“And then we shall lose the town,” said Molly.

“Better the town than both the town and the castle,” retorted Hagen. 

Molly cursed. Staying here would be a disaster. Mazael needed every man to throw back Ragnachar’s attack. If the lords scattered to their castles, Ragnachar could pick them off one by one. Better to face Ragnachar with their full strength.

She had to make Hagen see that. But how?

“I could command you to march out,” said Molly.

Hagen snorted. “No, my lady, you can’t. My oath is to Lord Mazael, not to his daughter. Someday when Lord Mazael is dead and you are the Lady of Castle Cravenlock, then you can command me. Not before.” 

Well, it had been worth a try. 

For a moment her Demonsouled blood raged against him, but she forced it to silence. She would not kill one of her father’s sworn men.

“What about this?” said Molly, deciding to change tactics. “Would you rather follow the will of Lord Toraine and kill all the Tervingi, or do as Lord Mazael wishes and try to live in peace with them?”

“I shall follow Lord Mazael’s will, of course,” said Hagen. “Though the Tervingi do not wish to live in peace with us.”

“I think most of them do,” said Molly. “They’re only attacking because they think Lord Richard murdered Athanaric. If we can convince them otherwise, if we can prove that Ragnachar murdered Athanaric, they’ll turn against him and join us.”

Hagen frowned. “That wounded Tervingi wizard you found, the one that says he saw Ragnachar kill Athanaric?”

“Aye,” said Molly.

Timothy jogged onto the ramparts, breathing hard.

“From what I understand,” said Hagen, “the Tervingi hold wizards in little regard. Why will they listen to him?”

“Because, sir knight,” said Molly, “he’s not just a wizard. He’s the apprentice of their Guardian. I suppose he is the Guardian now, since Ragnachar murdered Aegidia with Athanaric. The Tervingi fear wizards, but respect the Guardian. Even Ragnachar would not cross her openly.”

“Until he killed her,” snorted Hagen. 

“Lady Molly is correct, Sir Hagen,” said Timothy. “The Tervingi will listen to Riothamus.” 

“Perhaps,” said Hagen, “but it is too late for words. Far too late. Blood has been spilled, and the Tervingi will not heed words now.”

“Unless we defeat them,” said Molly. “I think Ragnachar’s men are commanding that war party, but if we defeat them, the rest of the thains will listen. We just have to bloody their noses a bit.”

Hagen stared at her for a long moment.

“Damn me for a fool,” he said with a sigh. “You might be right, my lady, or you might get us all killed. Well, no one lives forever. Men!” His voice rose to a roar. “Form up! We ride to war!”

The clatter of activity from the courtyard redoubled. 

“Timothy,” said Molly. “Keep an eye on Riothamus. We will need him soon.”

Timothy hesitated. “It would be best if he continued to rest.”

Something inside Molly flinched at those words. For a moment she wanted to force Sir Hagen to call off the attack. Then she could stay with Riothamus behind Castle Cravenlock’s walls. 

She pushed aside the notion with disgust. 

“Those are his people I’m about to kill,” said Molly. “Get him up as soon as you can manage it.”

Timothy nodded and hurried back to the keep. Molly ran to the stables, and the pages hurried forward with a horse. She swung up into the saddle and rode to the barbican, where Sir Hagen sat atop his horse before three hundred knights and armsmen. 

“This is madness, Hagen!” said one of the knights. “The Tervingi have twice our numbers, along with those damnable beasts! If we ride against them we will be slaughtered!” 

Hagen opened his mouth to answer, and Molly seized her chance.

“You will not lose,” she shouted, “because I will fight for you!”

Silence answered her.

“You, little girl?” said one armsman at last, a gaunt man with a trimmed beard. “What can you do against the barbarians?”

Molly grinned.

She jumped from her horse and fell into the shadows, drawing her sword and dagger. She reappeared next to the bearded armsman, and her sword flashed up, resting at his throat. The armsman reared back in alarm, his horse stamping, but Molly hooked one boot into his stirrup and hauled herself up, keeping her sword at his throat. Alarm flashed over the armsman’s face, and the surrounding men reached for their weapons.

Molly whirled back into the shadows and reappeared before her horse.

“What can I do against the barbarians?” Molly said. “You have heard the whispers about me! The rumors say that I am a foul sorceress, a mistress of dark magic. That I was an assassin of the Skulls, and wielded poisoned blades form the shadows. That I lured my victims to my bed, and sucked away their lives with a kiss. That I have faced Malrags and serpent priests in battle, and slew them all!”

The men stared at her. Hagen gazed at her with a mixture of fascination and horror. 

“It’s all true,” said Molly, waving her sword at the men. “Every last word of it, every story about me. It’s all true.”

She grinned at them. 

“And if you follow a monster like me into battle,” said Molly, “think what I will do to the enemy!”

No one cheered. But no one ran away, either. 

Molly jumped back into the saddle, sword in one hand, reins in the other. 

“Your family, my lady,” said Hagen, “has a penchant for dramatics.”

Molly snorted. “I didn’t get it from my mother.”

The portcullis rattled open, and the men galloped out, Molly and Sir Hagen at their head.

###

Battle raged before the walls of Cravenlock Town. 

Over eight hundred Tervingi thains assailed the walls, but Molly kept her face calm. Mazael had said that a lord never showed fear or doubt before his men, and Molly saw the wisdom in that. 

Especially now.

“I hope,” muttered Hagen, “that you know what you’re doing.”

“So do I,” said Molly.

The horsemen reined up a third of a mile from the town, and the Tervingi whirled to face them, shields raised to fend off the constant rain of arrows and bolts from the town’s walls. In a matter of moments, they would charge the horsemen.

Assuming any of the horsemen survived the three mammoths. 

The great beasts lumbered towards the horsemen, bellowing as the archers drew their bows.

“I hope your tricks still work on mammoths,” said Hagen.

“So do I,” said Molly, and kicked her horse to a run. 

She galloped toward the mammoths. Molly saw the archers turn towards her, saw them lift their bows. 

She stood up in her stirrups, drew her sword and dagger, and jumped into the shadows.

Molly reappeared on the platform atop the nearest mammoth, the rough planks trembling beneath her boots. The archers whirled to face her, while some of the men yanked their swords free.

“It is her!” shouted one of the thains. “The lady of the shadows! Kill her!”

Molly jumped and landed on the mammoth’s neck, arrows hissing past her. The driver groped for his weapon, but Molly was faster. A quick slash from her sword, and the driver fell limp from his leather saddle. She darted forward, seized the reins, and jumped off the mammoth’s neck. The beast roared in pain as Molly jerked against the end of the reins, her boots dangling a dozen feet off the ground. Yet the beast followed the direction of the reins and turned in a sharp circle, moving away from the waiting horsemen.

And right into the mass of Tervingi thains.

Screams rose up from the Tervingi as the mammoth trampled its way through them. An arrow slammed into Molly’s left thigh, and another into her hip. She snarled in pain, but gripped the reins. Her Demonsouled blood would heal the wounds soon enough. 

The mammoth trampled through the Tervingi, and Molly released the reins and fell into the shadows.

She reappeared atop the second mammoth’s neck, ignoring the pain in her leg, and killed the driver. Then onto the third mammoth, and after she slew its driver, she jumped through the shadows and appeared on the town’s ramparts, much to the surprise of the surrounding militiamen. She yanked the arrows from her leg, gritting her teeth at the pain. 

“Lady Molly,” said a nearby militiaman, “I…”

“Shut up and shoot,” said Molly.

The man obliged.

A horn blast rang out, and Sir Hagen’s armsmen and knights surged forward with a roar, charging the disorganized mass of the Tervingi. 

The battle did not last very long after that.

###

“An easy victory,” said Sir Hagen.

Molly snorted. “You call that easy?”

“I do,” said Hagen. “Luck favored us. It might not when we face Ragnachar.”

He had a point. 

A hundred Tervingi had been slain and another hundred wounded before the rest surrendered and threw down their arms. Now Hagen’s men stood guard over the prisoners outside the town’s walls, keeping a watchful eye over them. Tension hung thick in the air. The armsmen expected the Tervingi to go wild at any moment, and the Tervingi expected the armsmen to slaughter them all. No doubt Ragnachar had told them so.