Soul of Sorcery (Book 5) (38 page)

Lucan felt a massive pulse of power from the blue fire, felt it wash over him and the Wraithaldr.

Leaving it untouched. 

He looked at Tymaen, but she only huddled in her cloak, weeping as she watched the fighting below. He regretted that the sight distressed her, but it was for the greater good. Still, the strange spell hadn’t affected her, or the Wraithaldr.

Or anything at all, for that matter. 

Yet it seemed there was another wizard of power nearby, and such a wizard could interfere with the Great Rising. Best to crush the threat before it manifested. Lucan began a spell, drawing on his well of stolen Demonsouled power, intending to unleash a blast of destructive force.

The pillar of blue fire faded, and it its place Lucan still saw a faint point of azure flame.

Mazael Cravenlock.

He pointed, ready to unleash the spell.

And then thousands of points of azure fire erupted on the battlefield.

###

Mazael stared in amazement. 

Every sword, every spear, every axe, and every bow in the hands of a living man burst into blue fire as far as the eye could see. A mighty cheer went up from the battling men. Everywhere Mazael saw the knights and thains going on the attack, cutting down the runedead with weapons that now had the power to harm the undead flesh. 

“Gods,” said Mazael, the last of the pain fading from his limbs. “What did you do?”

“A spell of the High Elderborn,” said Riothamus. “The High Elderborn who remained true, who did not worship the demon god, fought armies of undead. Both the staff and the sword were created to fight such threats.” He grinned. “And with the power in your blood as catalyst, I was able to spread the fire of your sword to every weapon in the world.”

Molly seized Riothamus’s head and kissed him. “That’s brilliant!”

“Then we have a chance,” said Mazael. “We’ll gather men and storm Swordgrim, put a stop to this before Lucan can do anything worse.” He lifted Lion, its fire blazing brighter than any other upon the field. “Follow me!”

He charged at the runedead, Romaria, Molly, and Riothamus trailing after him. 

###

“Mazael Cravenlock,” said Lucan. 

He watched the blue points of light struggle against the green. Through the power of the Banurdem, he felt runedead after runedead fall, ripped apart by the blue flame on the weapons of the living men. Somehow, Mazael had spread Lion’s fire to the weapons of every man on the battlefield. 

To the weapons of every man in the world, if Lucan was judging the sensations coming through the Banurdem correctly. 

His lips pressed into a hard line. 

The men below were winning. Step by step, they were pushing the runedead back. Lucan’s undead had driven Toraine's men from the castle, but the survivors from the battle were forming into an army. Unless he acted, they would storm the castle.

They would try to stop him.

Idly Lucan wondered if Toraine had fallen in the fighting, if his brother’s corpse now marched to war with a rune of green fire upon his brow.

No matter. Lucan would kill them all, and raise their bodies as runedead to hunt down every last Demonsouled. 

“They’re fighting back,” whispered Tymaen. “They’re going to fight you.”

“Yes,” agreed Lucan. “They will try.” 

And they would fail. He could not access the Wraithaldr’s power, not while it powered the Great Rising. But he still had the Glamdaigyr, and the Banurdem, and the stolen Demonsouled power. And he had the knowledge and memories of Randur Maendrag, one of the mightiest high lords of Old Dracaryl. 

Even Mazael Cravenlock could not stop him.

Lucan raised the Glamdaigyr and poured his will into the Banurdem, sending commands to the runedead. 

###

“Sir Aulus!” said Mazael.

Sir Aulus and a yellow-bearded swordthain named Arnulf had taken command of a mixed group of armsmen and Tervingi thains. Even as Mazael drew near, the men dueled with a runedead mammoth, the undead hulk stomping and lashing out with its tusks. A dozen men perished beneath its stamping feet, but a pair of knights scaled its back and hacked its massive head from its thick shoulders. 

The giant sigil of green fire vanished from the mammoth’s head, and the great body slumped to the grasses. 

“My lord!” said Aulus, hurrying over with Arnulf.

“Guardian,” said Arnulf.

“It’s good you’re alive, my lord,” said Aulus. “Gods, but I wish I had stayed home with my wife.” 

“Sound the assembly,” said Mazael. “You too, Arnulf. We need to take Swordgrim by storm. Lucan Mandragon’s up there, and he’s going to keep summoning runedead until we stop him.”

Guilt and rage lashed at him. He had been a fool to trust Lucan, yet Lucan had been his friend. What madness had driven Lucan to take such destructive actions? 

Whatever the cause, Mazael would stop him.

“Of course, my lord,” said Aulus. “I…”

“The runedead are moving,” said Riothamus. 

Mazael saw the runedead retreating towards the castle, forming ranks before its gates. More runedead rose from the churning waters of the lake, marching to join the undead host gathering below Swordgrim’s walls. 

“Lucan,” said Mazael. “He knows we’re planning to attack. Aulus. The assembly!”

Aulus nodded, lifted his battered war horn, and blew out the call for assembly, over and over again, while Arnulf did the same on his own horn. Soon the call rose from other war horns scattered across the plain, and bands of men hastened toward Mazael, while more runedead streamed towards Swordgrim.

So it was to be a battle, with the living struggling against the dead. 

“Lord Mazael!” Lord Robert ran toward him, red-faced and sweating. With him came Lord Astor and Lord Jonaril, both wounded and bleeding, and Sir Tanam with his raiders. “What the devil is happening?”

“Lucan Mandragon has returned,” said Mazael. “He’s raising the undead with relics from Old Dracaryl. Why, I don’t know yet. But we are going to defeat his army of walking corpses, retake Swordgrim, and stop him.”

Perhaps Lucan could yet see reason. Perhaps it wouldn’t be necessary to kill him. 

“And just how are we to do that?” said Lord Robert. “Swordgrim is impregnable. I don’t know how you got that magic fire onto our swords, but even with it, the runedead are fierce foes. How…”

Lord Astor straightened, his lean features contorted with fury. “Him! There is the traitor!” 

Toraine Mandragon walked towards them, blue fire crackling around his curved sword, trailed by his household knights. 

Or what was left of them. 

If Lucan’s magic had indeed raised runedead from the ancient crypts below Swordgrim, then the inhabitants of the castle had been caught off guard and slaughtered.

Only to rise again as runedead. Mazael wondered just how many undead now waited inside Swordgrim. 

“You miserable cur!” roared Lord Robert, stalking towards Toraine. “You sent us to die!” 

“You are my vassals!” said Toraine, pointing his sword. “You will do as I command!”

Yet the young Lord of Swordgrim looked shaken. His eyes were wide and wild, and the muscles of his jaw would not stop twitching. He had faced Malrags and undead before. So why had the runedead shaken him so badly?

“My oath of fealty is dissolved!” said Lord Robert. “No longer does Castle Highgate obey Swordgrim!”

“Betray me and I’ll hang your gutted corpse from my walls!” said Toraine. 

Robert spat. “Your walls, fool boy! Those stinking corpses have conquered your castle! You’ll have to find a wall to hang me from first!” 

“You did it,” said Mazael, “didn’t you?”

Toraine flinched, and Robert fell silent. 

“What are you talking about?” said Toraine. “I am no wizard.”

“No, but Lucan is,” said Mazael. “And he needed a safe place to cast his spell, so why not Swordgrim? What did he promise you, Toraine? That he would use his magic to wipe out both your vassals and the Tervingi in one blow?”

Toraine said nothing.

“Ah,” said Mazael. “I thought so.”

“We should kill him,” growled Lord Jonaril. “Bad enough that he sent us to die against the Tervingi! And now we find that he let his brother raise up these unholy abominations?”

“Raise your hand against your liege lord,” said Toraine, pointing his sword, “and I will cut it off!”

“Don’t bother killing him,” said Mazael. “If we cut him down, he’ll just rise as a runedead, and we’ll have to kill him all over again.”

“What shall we do?” said Lord Astor.

“I am your liege lord!” said Toraine, but the lords ignored him. 

Toraine was finished, Mazael knew. He had betrayed too many of his vassals, and even those who had remained loyal would turn against him once they knew about his bargain with Lucan. 

Yet if his vassals refused to obey him, what would happen to the Grim Marches? Would the lords devolve into petty warlords, each waging war against a dozen neighbors?

Assuming they survived the next hour, of course.

“We must take Swordgrim,” said Mazael, “whatever the cost.”

“Can we even take Swordgrim?” said Robert. “The runedead are climbing onto the ramparts, and there are an entire army of the things before the gates. Perhaps it would be better to lay siege to the castle.”

“How?” said Sir Tanam. “Pardon, my lord, but one can hardly starve out an army of dead men.”

“There isn’t time,” said Riothamus, stepping forward. The lords cast cautious glances as the glowing sigils upon his staff. “My lords, Lucan Mandragon’s spell is touching the entire world, and even as we speak, thousands more runedead are rising in every nation under the sun.” 

“Gods,” said Robert. “We should have killed him when we had the chance.” 

“We must act quickly,” said Riothamus. “My lords, the the lives of uncounted millions rest on the choices you make here and now.”

“Well,” said Tanam. “Certainly words to put a man’s mind at ease.”

“We attack,” said Mazael, “and retake Swordgrim. We’ll fight our way in to the castle, and deal with Lucan when we find him.”

And what Mazael would do then, he didn’t know. Perhaps he could yet make his former friend see reason. 

“Yes,” said Toraine. “A solid plan.”

Lord Robert made a show of ignoring him. “How shall we proceed, Lord Mazael? We will follow your commands.” 

“We will array with the Tervingi for battle,” said Mazael. “The center will attack towards the gates. The left and rights wings will join the attack, and then split off towards the lake shore. More runedead keep coming out of the water, and we’ll never take Swordgrim unless we can stop Lucan from receiving reinforcements. Once the center takes the gates, we’ll break into the castle and find Lucan.”

A straightforward plan, but it had too many problems. The runedead held the castle’s gate and walls. And every man that fell in battle would rise again as a runedead to bolster the enemy. Yet Mazael could think of nothing better. Perhaps Riothamus’s magic would turn the tide…

The pillar of green flame rising from Swordgrim flared brighter, and for an instant of haze of whirling shadow swirled around the crown of Night Sword Tower.

“My lords, beware!” shouted Riothamus, lifting his staff.

###

Lucan saw the distant figures gathering around the blue flame of Lion as the host of the Grim Marches and the Tervingi assembled for battle. He smiled at the opportunity. Most of the nobles of the Grim Marches and the chief thains of the Tervingi gathered in once place? He would wipe them all out with a single spell, and the Great Rising would continue und hindered. 

He began summoning power.

“What are you doing?” said Tymaen, hurrying to his side. 

“Ensuring that no one can stop the Great Rising,” said Lucan.

“But those are the lords of the Grim Marches!” said Tymaen. “You’ll kill all of them!”

“So?” said Lucan, drawing more magical force. Why could she not understand? He was doing this for the greater good. “Robert Highgate is with them, I suspect. I thought his death would please you.”

“They’re just trying to defend their homes,” said Tymaen, her blue eyes bloodshot with tears. “You told me you were going to kill Demonsouled. Instead you’re killing everyone!”

“You’ll understand,” said Lucan, “once a new world arises from his carnage.”

He pointed the Glamdaigyr, unleashing the spell through the sword’s blade.

###

Mazael watched as something like a swirling tornado of shadow exploded from the top of Night Sword Tower and hurtled towards them. He felt the chill as the thing flew towards them with supernatural speed, felt it start to suck the life and warmth from his body…

Riothamus swept his staff before them.

A dome of blazing golden light appeared overhead, and the shadow vortex slammed into it. A tremendous thunderclap filled Mazael’s ears, and for a moment the world dissolved into strips of golden flame and ribbons of writhing shadow.

Another thunderclap, and both the dome of golden light and the vortex of shadow dissolved into nothingness.

Riothamus wiped sweat from his forehead, the light of his staff dimming. “He is strong enough to contest the power of the Guardian’s staff. That spell would have killed us all.”

Lord Astor scowled. “We cannot take Swordgrim if Lucan is flings spells upon our heads with every step.” 

“I can stop him,” said Molly. “I can avoid the runedead, and walk the shadows into Swordgrim. Then I will sneak up behind him and kill him.”

“No,” said Romaria. “He’ll have the Glamdaigyr, and the Glamdaigyr blocked your ability to travel through the shadows.” 

“There is another way,” said Riothamus, lifting the staff. “Toric!”

His voice boomed over the battlefield. Mazael saw shadows flitting below the dark clouds, and then a half-dozen griffins dropped from the sky. Their claws raked at the turf, and Mazael felt the weight of their golden gaze. 

“I will hold Lucan’s attention with my magic,” said Riothamus. “The Tervingi thains and the lords of the Grim Marches can fight the runedead. And Toric and the skythains shall carry warriors to stop Lucan.”