Soul of Sorcery (Book 5) (40 page)

“Gods,” muttered Molly, breathing hard as she got to her feet, ignoring the aches. “Let’s not do that again.”

A man’s laughter rang in her ears, and Molly whirled, weapons in hand.

“How appropriate! I came to the Grim Marches to kill you…and you fall out of the sky into my lap! Truly, fortune has smiled on me.”

Molly stiffened.

She recognized that voice. 

###

Mazael strained and pulled himself onto the turret.

The black staff still floated in the center of the pillar of flame. Tymaen Highgate stood near the runes of fire, staring at him in terror. There was no sign of Toraine, and Mazael suspected that he had fallen to his death. 

Lucan Mandragon watched him, face expressionless. The Banurdem rested upon his brow, the emerald in its dragon’s claws glowing, and the sigils of the Glamdaigyr blazed in his right hand. He reminded Mazael of the carvings in Arylkrad, the reliefs that showed the terrible high lords of Old Dracaryl.

For a moment they stared at each other.

“Why?” said Mazael at last. 

“Because of you,” said Lucan.

“Me?” said Mazael. He raised Lion and took a step forward. Lucan made no response. “What does this possibly have to do with me?”

“Not you, precisely,” said Lucan, his voice cold and hard, “but what you are. You are Demonsouled, my lord Mazael, and so long as your kind exists, the world will never be free of war and bloodshed.”

“War and bloodshed?” said Mazael, incredulous. He took another step forward. “If you want to rid the world of war, loosing an army of your undead upon the Grim Marches is a strange way to go about it.”

“It is necessary,” said Lucan. “The Banurdem allows me to command the runedead. And they will hunt down every last Demonsouled and kill them all.”

“Then why are they attacking my men?” said Mazael.

Another step closer.

“Because they are Demonsouled,” said Lucan.

“Has your dark magic driven you mad?” spat Mazael. “I am Demonsouled! They are not! Your walking corpses are killing innocent men!”

“Some innocents will die,” said Lucan, “but they are a necessary sacrifice. And many of your men are Demonsouled, Mazael. They just don’t know it. Half your soul is demon. But the Demonsouled are old, and extend back for a hundred generations. Some of your men have blood that is one-twentieth Demonsouled, or perhaps even less. Not enough power to manifest, but Demonsouled blood nonetheless. They must die, if I am to cleanse the world of the Demonsouled taint.” 

“You cruel madman!” said Mazael. “You will slaughter thousands of men who bear no threat to you or to anyone else. Men and women and children!” He pointed Lion at the walls of Sword Town. “Can you hear the screaming, Lucan? How many women and children did your undead slaughter today?” 

“It is a hard thing I am doing, yes,” said Lucan, without a hint of remorse, “but it is necessary. From their deaths will arise a better world.”

“How can you believe that?” said Mazael. “Have you no conscience?”

Lucan flinched, all the blood draining from his face. “What did you say?”

Mazael opened his mouth to answer…and stopped.

He saw a dark shape crawling along the battlements, a curved sword glimmering with pale flames in his right hand. 

Toraine.

###

Molly turned.

A man stood on the steps to the great hall, slim and fit. He wore a crisp white shirt and a black leather vest, and a sword and dagger hung at his belt. His blond hair and beard were trimmed with precision, and he descended the steps with easy grace. 

The man was handsome, and the sight of him filled Molly with alarm.

“Malaric,” spat Molly, pointing her sword and dagger at him. 

“Little Molly,” said Malaric, grinning. “Look at you. All grown up and the daughter of a lord.”

“The Skulls sent you after me,” said Molly.

“They did,” said Malaric. He stopped a dozen paces from her and craned his head, still smiling.

And for an instant, he reminded her of Corvad. 

“But I can’t blame you for leaving the Skulls,” said Malaric. “I did, too.” His smile widened. “I found something in the darkness, something that made me so much stronger than the Skulls.”

“So,” said Molly. “I suppose you work for Lucan now.”

“For now,” agreed Malaric. He drew his sword. “But I’m still going to kill you and take your head back to the Skulls. They will reward me richly…and I will use that reward to claim the throne of Barellion.”

“A stupid plan,” said Molly.

“Oh?” said Malaric. His sword burst into pale green flames. “Why is that?”

“Because it assumes you can kill me,” said Molly. “We’ve fought before. You can’t take me.” 

“Things have changed,” said Malaric.

Molly set herself, sword and dagger ready. She had fought Malaric when they had both been assassins in the brotherhood of the Skulls. She had his measure, and she knew she could kill him in a straight fight.

Malaric charged at her.

Much, much faster than she expected. 

###

Tymaen watched Lucan, a sudden hope flaring in her heart.

“What did you say?” he whispered. 

“Conscience,” said Lord Mazael. He was a terrifying man, a solid mass of muscle and armor with gray eyes like sword blades. Yet Lucan was listening to him. “Have you no conscience?”

“Conscience,” said Lucan, a muscle in his jaw working. “I…I don’t know.” His free hand went to his head, as if he had a headache. “I don’t…remember.” He shook his head. “That can’t be right. All this is necessary. I am doing what is necessary. Yet…yet there’s something I’ve forgotten. Something important. I am ridding the world of Demonsouled. Yet what can’t I remember?”

“You’re slaughtering thousands of innocents,” said Mazael. Tymaen wondered if he would attack, if he would try to plunge that burning sword into Lucan’s heart. Yet he only seemed to want to talk. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Their deaths are necessary,” said Lucan.

“And that doesn’t trouble you?” said Mazael. “I’ve known you for years, Lucan. You swore to fight dark magic, to keep it from devouring others as it devoured you. Look at what you’re doing! An army of undead? Why?”

“To…to rid the world of the Demonsouled,” said Lucan, shaking his head. “Yes. It…I must do it. I must! It will be worth the cost in the end.” An instant of terrible confusion crossed over his face. “Isn’t it?”

“The Glamdaigyr and the Banurdem,” said Mazael. “Don’t you see what’s happened? They’re too powerful for you, just like the bloodstaff. They’ve warped your mind until you are capable of doing…this.” 

“No, no,” said Lucan, shaking his head. “No, that’s not it. The Banurdem and the Glamdaigyr and the Wraithaldr are only tools. I can control them. I am controlling them!”

“Then why,” said Mazael, “are you so comfortable killing all those people?” He took another step closer. Tymaen watched him, her heart hammering. “All those thousands of people, Lucan.” His gray eyes flicked towards Tymaen, and she flinched from the heavy force of his gaze. “All those women like Tymaen. They’re all going to die. And you feel no remorse? A year ago you would never have dreamed of doing anything like this! What changed?” 

“I don’t know,” whispered Lucan. Again the terrible confusion came over his face.

“Was it the bloodstaff?” said Mazael. “Something it did to you?”

“I don’t know!” shouted Lucan. He shook his head and pressed the heel of his free hand against his temple, his fingers brushing against the Banurdem. “I remember…something. Wait. I remember it. A…a black city, full of ruins…”

Tymaen saw a shadow moving along the battlements behind Lucan. She glimpsed armor of black scales, a curved sword glimmering with blue fire.

Lord Toraine Mandragon.

“Lucan!” she screamed.

He turned, looking at her, and Toraine jumped from the battlements, sword angled to kill.

###

Malaric’s sword, wreathed in green flame, swung for Molly’s head. She ducked, slipped past his next thrust, and stabbed for his chest. But his sword snapped up, deflecting the blow, and he brought his blade hammering for her face.

She crossed her sword and dagger before her and caught the descending blade, her arms trembling with the strain. 

He was strong. Freakishly strong, strong enough to match Molly’s Demonsouled strength. And he was much faster than she remembered. That wasn’t possible. Men slowed as they aged. They didn’t get faster.

Yet Malaric moved so fast she could barely follow the movements. 

He stabbed at her, and Molly slipped into the shadows, reappearing a dozen paces away to consider her options. 

Malaric laughed. 

“You’ve gotten slower, little girl,” he said. “Or maybe I’ve just gotten faster.” 

“What is this, some spell?” said Molly. “Or some enspelled toy you found with Lucan?”

Malaric’s smile widened. “It is, indeed an enspelled toy. And it lets me do some impressive tricks. Like this.”

He disappeared in a swirl of darkness. 

Molly blinked in astonishment. Had he turned invisible? Or…

A heartbeat later her brain caught up with her eyes and screamed a warning.

She whirled just as Malaric reappeared behind her, her blades coming up to beat aside the thrust that would have plunged between her shoulders. 

Somehow, Malaric had gained the power to travel through the shadows, just as Molly did. 

She jumped back into the shadows, reappearing atop one of the inner walls. Malaric disappeared, and reappeared atop in the wall in a swirl of darkness an instant later, his sword ready.

“Run as far as you want,” said Malaric, “run as fast as you can. It won’t matter. You can never escape from me.”

He came at her in a blur, his sword spitting green fire.

###

Lucan whirled just as Toraine sprang from the battlements. 

He flung out his hand, hurling a blast of invisible force, but Toraine was moving too fast. His spell clipped Toraine’s shoulder and spun him, but his older brother’s black-armored body slammed into Lucan. He lost his balance and fell to the ground, hand still clutching the Glamdaigyr’s hilt, and Toraine landed beside him with a clatter of armor. 

Lucan heard Tymaen shouting, Toraine snarling, and the clatter of boots as Mazael ran at him.

He cursed in fury.

It had all been a trick, the deception of a Demonsouled trying to save himself. For an instant Lucan had wavered, wondering if he had made a terrible mistake. 

If he had become the puppet of something else. 

But it all had been another lie. No doubt Mazael had planned to distract Lucan, keeping him occupied until Toraine struck. Mazael was Demonsouled, and the world would not be safe until every last drop of Demonsouled blood been spilled. 

Starting with Mazael.

Toraine rolled to his feet, sword raised, and Lucan cast a spell.

###

Malaric pursued Molly through the shadows, and they danced and flickered over the walls of Swordgrim. 

She hissed in fury, risking a look at the top of Night Sword Tower. Mazael needed her aid. But she could not walk the shadows to his side, and she could not get away from Malaric long enough to take the stairs. 

She reappeared atop one of Swordgrim’s outer towers, Malaric behind her. Their blades met in a furious dance, the pale blue flames from Lion straining against the necromantic fire of Malaric’s sword. Her sword caught his, and she rolled her left wrist, her dagger raking against his hip. Malaric staggered with a grunt of pain, and at last Molly had her opening.

Her sword flashed across his neck, opening his throat. 

Malaric stumbled against the battlements, blood dripping down his neck...and grinned.

A few heartbeats later the wound in his throat closed.

Malaric had gained the ability to heal his own wounds.

“How?” said Molly.

Malaric laughed. “Let us just say your brother was most obliging.”

“Corvad?” she said. “Corvad’s dead, you idiot.” But while Malaric and Corvad had not been friends, they had respected each other, at least as much as Corvad respected anyone. Had Corvad given Malaric a bloodsword, the way Amalric Galbraith had given Ultorin one? “So what is it? Did he give you a bloodsword?”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Malaric. “A bloodsword is a gift. I took this power by right. Just as I shall take your head.”

His blade came at her, and Molly parried.

She realized she could not defeat Malaric on her own.

Molly fled into the shadows, and Malaric pursued her. 

###

Lucan flung out his hand, and invisible force hammered into Mazael. 

The blast knocked him over and sent him rolling across the turret. He clawed at the floor, trying to stop himself before he bounced over the battlements and plunged to his death.  

But something lifted him up, and Mazael found himself floating in the air, unable to move. He saw Toraine floating a short distance away, cursing and slashing at the air.

Lucan’s magic held them fast. 

“I should have known,” snarled Lucan, leaning on the Glamdaigyr as he staggered back to his feet. “Deception is the chief weapon of the Demonsouled. I am going to rid the world of the Demonsouled, now and forever!”

“What are you going to do to them?” said Tymaen.

Lucan ignored her. “They will not stop me.” 

“Lucan,” said Mazael. “Listen to…”

“You will release me!” screamed Toraine. “I command it! I am the liege lord of the Grim Marches. You will release me!”

Lucan’s black eyes turned toward Toraine.

“We had a bargain!” said Toraine. “You would rid me of both Mazael and the barbarians! That was our bargain.”

“I suppose,” said Lucan, “that it was the great disappointment of our father’s life that he turned us both into weapons, but not into capable lords. If he had left the Grim Marches to the town’s drunkard, my brother, he would have left them in better hands than yours.”

“You miserable wretch!” shouted Toraine. “I am your liege lord, release me, I command you to release, me, I command…”

Lucan pointed the Glamdaigyr and beckoned.