Soul of Swords (Book 7) (3 page)

She reappeared before the shield wall, where a knot of runedead struggled against the knights. The knights and armsmen held the full attention of the runedead, and the creatures did not notice Molly until she stepped behind them and plunged her sword and dagger into an undead back. The runedead fell as she ripped her blades free, and Molly spun and took the head from another. The runedead turned to attack the new threat, which gave the knights and armsmen the opportunity to strike. A heartbeat later the runedead fell beneath their blades, and for a moment the battlefield was clear around Molly.

She turned in search of new foes, and a flare of yellow-orange light caught her eye. 

A burning corpse strode across the field towards her. 

For a moment sheer surprise froze Molly’s muscles. She had dealt with undead before, with Corvad’s pet zuvembies and Lucan’s runedead and others, but she had never seen a burning undead before. The creature was little more than a blackened skeleton wreathed in snarling flame, yet it moved with the same speed and strength as the runedead. 

Through the halo of flames, she glimpsed the faint glow of a crimson sigil upon the charred skull’s forehead.

The creature’s gaze fixed on her, and it lifted a hand. The flames around the skeletal fingers brightened, and Molly realized the burning runedead was casting a spell.

At her.

A fireball erupted from the creature’s hand, and Molly threw herself into the shadows. She reappeared a dozen yards away as the blast struck the ground and tore a smoking crater in the earth. The shock wave of superheated air rocked Molly, her eyes watering, and knocked a dozen armsmen to the ground. 

The runedead raced for them, and Molly strode into the shadows to intercept the attack. 

###

Riothamus felt the surge of arcane power.

He saw the burning corpse striding among the runedead and felt the magical power snarling through the undead thing. Runedead wizards rarely had the skill to match Riothamus, but they could draw much more magical power than any living wizard. 

And raw power was sometimes enough to batter down skill.

A fireball arced towards Molly, and Riothamus felt a stab of fear. But Molly disappeared in a swirl of darkness and the flames slammed into the ground. The shock wave knocked armsmen and knights to the ground, and even from a distance Riothamus felt the heat from the spell. 

The runedead raced towards the gap in the shield wall. Molly flickered through the darkness and appeared in the gap, her blades a blur of azure flame. But even she could not hold off the runedead forever.

“Circan!” shouted Gerald from his place in the shield wall, his sword crunching through a runedead skull. “Hold the line! Guardian! The wizard!” 

Riothamus hurried forward, the staff blazing with golden flames in his hand. Circan ran to the line and began hurling invisible blasts of psychokinetic force, knocking the runedead to the ground. Molly danced through them, cutting down the runedead as Circan stunned them. 

The runedead wizard focused on her, the flames around its blackened fingers brightening. 

Riothamus leveled his staff and unleashed a burst of golden fire. It struck the burning runedead, but the creature raised its hands. A shield of snarling fire appeared around it, crude but powerful, and deflected Riothamus’s spell. 

The stunned knights and armsmen scrambled to their feet, reforming the shield wall. The burning runedead turned to face Riothamus, and he felt the malevolence of the creature’s attention.

It began casting a spell, as did Riothamus.

###

Romaria stared at the melee, fascinated.

Not by the violence. She had left Deepforest Keep at the age of eighteen, and in the eighteen years since she had traveled from one end of the world to another, from the Old Kingdoms south of Knightcastle to the barbarian lands, and she had seen her share of fighting.

But she had never seen the currents of magic before.

She saw the dark masses of corrupt power pulsing in the runedead, saw the flare of clear fire in Lion’s blade and the swords of the gathered knights and armsmen. She saw the radiance of the Guardian’s power shining in Riothamus’s staff.

And she saw the raw power gathered around the burning runedead.

What was happening to her? Ever since she had awakened, ever since Riothamus had cured her of Skalatan’s poison, she had been seeing more and more strange things.

The burning runedead’s power brightened, and Romaria pushed aside her doubt. She could worry about it later. She had seen more than her share of fighting…and she knew that distractions in a battle were lethal.

“My lord,” said Sir Hagen Bridgesbane, scowling behind his black beard, “we must charge at once.”

Mazael did not answer, his gray eyes fixed on the fighting. He wore the expression he used when commanding men in battle, calm, remote, resolute. But she knew the Demonsouled fury burned just beneath the surface. 

“Soon,” said Mazael. “Wait until the runedead are engaged.”

Another flare of orange light rang out, followed by a blast of golden flame. 

“The runedead wizard might kill all of Lord Gerald’s men,” said Hagen. 

“It might,” said Mazael, “but I think Riothamus can distract it until we arrive.”

He was right. Romaria saw that the runedead wizard could summon tremendous power, more power than Riothamus could call with the Guardian’s staff, but Riothamus had the greater skill. 

“Now,” said Mazael, lifting Lion. “Sir Aulus!”

Romaria got a tighter grip on her bastard sword, blue fire flickering around the blade. 

Sir Aulus lifted his horn and blew a long blast. The knights and armsmen raised their lances with a shout, and the horsemen surged forward. Romaria rode in their midst, the Cravenlock banner flapping from Aulus’s lance, her bastard sword ready. 

Perhaps she could see the aura of magic around the runedead…but that would only make it harder to miss them.

###

The runedead wizard unleashed a fireball, a blast hot enough and powerful enough to burn the flesh from every man in Gerald’s shield wall.

Riothamus swept his staff before him. A column of white mist rose up and hardened into a pillar of glittering ice an instant before the fireball slammed into it. Both the fireball and the ice vanished in a burst of hissing steam, their magic negating each other. 

The runedead wizard began another. The sound of war horns rang over the plain, and Riothamus saw both Mazael’s and Earnachar’s horsemen surge into motion. The shield wall need only hold a little while longer, and then the horsemen would smash the runedead to pieces.

Unless the wizard first killed them all. 

Riothamus flung another burst of golden flame, but again the undead wizard conjured a shield of fire, deflecting the spell. The creature was simply too powerful. Riothamus could not hit it hard enough to destroy it, not without distracting it first.

Could he have Circan work an illusion spell? No, an illusion would not work on an undead creature. The runedead was awakened, had some semblance of the mind it had possessed in life, but awakened runedead were rarely sane. The creature would attack whatever it perceived as the greatest threat. 

Which meant Riothamus needed to find a greater threat. 

He worked another spell, golden fire striving against the runedead’s snarling halo of flames. As he did, he saw Molly dancing through the charging runedead, flickering in and out the shadows. 

He caught her eye, and she paused.

He looked at the burning runedead, and Molly nodded and disappeared into the darkness.

###

Gauntlet surged forward, steel-shod hooves tearing at the ground, and Mazael braced himself. 

An instant later his horsemen crashed into the lines of the runedead. Lion thrummed in Mazael’s fist as he swung. The blade sheared through the neck of the nearest runedead, and the creature crumpled to the ground, the sigil upon its forehead winking out. All around him the knights and armsmen drove into the runedead with practiced efficiency. They had faced the runedead many times before, and knew how to fight them.

From the north he saw Earnachar’s horsethains smash into the runedead, heard the headman’s hoarse shouts. The knights, armsmen, and horsethains hammered into the runedead, mowing them down like wheat. The Demonsouled rage thundered through Mazael, and he gave himself to it, cutting down the undead right and left. 

Then a flare of fiery light rose from the heart of the runedead. 

###

Molly stepped out of the shadows.

The runedead wizard stood before her, its attention focused on Riothamus. The heat radiating from the undead creature made her eyes water, her face sting, and she feared that the intensity of its fire would melt her sword.

So she slashed through its back with her dragon’s tooth dagger.

The runedead wizard staggered forward with a hiss of rage and spun to face her, hands hooked into claws. Its tongue and lips had burned away, but nevertheless a voice came from the grinning skull.

“Perish!” hissed the wizard. “When Caraster raises the new order, you all will perish! The old world will drown in blood, and…”

Gerald had mentioned a renegade Demonsouled named Caraster. He and all his disciples had been powerful wizards, but Lucan had killed them all.

Apparently Lucan had created some new runedead.

“The new order will rise,” shrieked the runedead, “and…”

“Oh, shut up,” said Molly, swinging her dagger at the sigil on its head. The runedead jumped back, the fires around its blackened bones brightening. 

It pointed at her, a fireball blazing to life around its hand.

###

Riothamus saw the darkness flicker near the runedead wizard, saw the undead creature turn to face Molly. 

And its attention turned from him.

An inspiration came to him. The Guardian’s staff allowed him to conjure blasts of golden flame that could destroy undead. Yet Riothamus had wielded magic for years before he took the staff, learning from Aegidia, the previous Guardian. She had taught him to command the elements of wind and storm and rain.

Including ice.

He drew on his power, calling upon the Guardian’s staff to enhance the spell, and made a chopping gesture. A column of mist swirled over the burning runedead’s head, and hardened into a massive spike of ice. Again Riothamus made a chopping gesture, and the spike of ice fell.

It speared the burning runedead, driving it to the ground.

The runedead’s flames dissolved the spear into a column of hissing steam. When the steam disappeared, all that remained was a pile of damp, blackened bones.

Molly looked at him, winked, and vanished into the shadows, throwing herself back into the fray.

Riothamus summoned the staff’s power and drove blast after blast of golden flame into the attacking runedead.

###

The battle was over soon after that. 

Mazael reined up. He saw some of his men dead upon the ground, but more runedead, far more runedead, lying strewn upon the grasses.

“It went well, my lord,” said Hagen, his face smudged with sweat and soot. “Four men dead, eight wounded, none seriously.”

“Nine of my men fell,” said Earnachar, “acquitting themselves valiantly, as did the sons of Tervingar of old.” 

Mazael nodded. “Our men fought well.”

But against only a thousand runedead. Lucan Mandragon had many, many more to command…and tens of thousands of Aegonar waited in Greycoast, coming at Skalatan’s command to claim the power of the Demonsouled.

Harder fights than this were coming soon.

He turned his head and saw Romaria riding to join them. Her expression was distant, as it often had been since Riothamus had cured her. Which was not surprising. She had almost died once before at the Old Demon’s hands, and again at Malaric’s. 

A twinge of guilt went through him. If not for him, she would never have been in danger. But she loved him and would not leave him, and he would do whatever he could to save her. 

He had already killed Malaric, put Hugh Chalsain on the throne of Barellion, and allowed Skalatan to escape to save her. 

Gerald rode to his side, shaking Mazael out of his dark thoughts. 

“A solid victory,” said Gerald. “And the easiest I’ve seen for a long time. A sword like Lion and a wizard like Riothamus to spread its power are worth ten thousand mounted knights.”

“Aye,” said Mazael, looking to where Riothamus walked with Molly. “Without his aid, we would have perished. Not just today, but on many days.”

“A good choice,” said Gerald, “to wed your daughter.”

Mazael laughed. “He told you?”

“No,” said Gerald. “But Rachel told me before we left. She took one look at them and knew.”

Mazael laughed again. “She’s good at that. Though in a Tervingi wedding ceremony the husband traditionally presents the wife with trophies taken from three slain foes. I imagine Rachel would find that rather grisly.”

“Perhaps not,” said Gerald, his smile fading. “We have seen a great deal of war. First the runedead, and then Caraster…and now Lucan.”

“Aye,” said Mazael. He wanted to bring peace and prosperity to his lands, to allow his people to live and work in safety and quiet. 

But with Lucan pursuing his mad plan to destroy the Demonsouled, with Skalatan preparing to seize the power of the Demonsouled for himself, and the Old Demon plotting in the shadows, Mazael knew peace would not come for a long time yet.

If it ever did.

“Come,” he said, turning his horse towards Castle Cravenlock. “We have a war to plan.”

Chapter 3 - Visions

Women stood on the walls of Castle Cravenlock, watching the returning horsemen.

Every time Gerald had ridden to battle, he had seen women waiting on the walls, watching to see if their sons and husbands and brothers would return from battle. 

He glimpsed Rachel standing over the gate and felt a wave of relief. He would not leave Rachel as a widow and his sons as orphans.

Oddly, he felt more relief over that than the fact of his own survival. 

Gerald reined up in the courtyard and dropped from the saddle, Castle Cravenlock’s pages hurrying forward to take his horse. He headed for the stairs to the ramparts, and Rachel met him halfway. 

They hugged, heedless of his armor. 

“I am sorry,” said Gerald, “that I kept you waiting.”

Rachel laughed, and blinked tears from her eyes. “Most inconsiderate, sir, most inconsiderate.” 

“I shall try to do better the next time,” said Gerald.

“Those runedead,” said Rachel. “Where they truly pursuing us?” 

“I fear so,” said Gerald. “They followed me, and Mazael used it to lure them into a trap. We crushed them with light losses.” He sighed. “But there was a…new sort of runedead. A burning wizard. I think it used to be one of Caraster’s disciples. Lucan must have raised it and sent it after us.”

“Gods,” said Rachel. “Will this ever end?”

“Not until we find Lucan and kill him,” said Gerald. “He worked the Great Rising. He enslaved Caraster’s runedead, corrupted my father, and murdered my mother and my brother.” He felt his voice rising, and forced it back down to control. “Lucan Mandragon is the author of all our woes. And this will not end until we find him…and bring him to account for his crimes. Only then can we rebuild.”

“Husband,” said Rachel, and he held her hands for a moment. 

“I should go,” said Gerald. “Mazael will have a council of war. I am to be the Lord of Knightcastle now…and I will do what I must to save my lands and people.” He gripped her hands tighter. “And to make a safe home for our children.” 

Rachel tried to smile. “It could be worse. The last time we came to Castle Cravenlock, we were chasing Sykhana and she had Aldane.”

“Yes,” said Gerald. “Let us hope this battle goes as well.”

“Go,” said Rachel. “I’ll see to our rooms.”

Gerald kissed her and walked towards the keep.

###

Night fell as the council of war ended, and the lords, knights, headmen, and thains settled down to eat. Master Cramton and his cooks had been laboring all day, and brought forth a feast to feed the guests. The servants carried plates of pork and bread and chicken and cheese. Long tables and benches packed the great hall, and the steady rumble of conversation filled the air, along with the constant sound of clay cups clinking against the table. The Tervingi thains could put away a tremendous amount of ale, but many of Mazael’s knights could hold their own against them.

“I wonder,” said Molly, “how many of them will sleep off hangovers under the tables tomorrow.”

“Let them,” said Mazael. “We’ll have little enough cause for levity, soon enough.”

He sat at the high table on the dais with Romaria, Molly, Riothamus, his most powerful vassals, the chief headmen of the Tervingi, and the lords and knights from Knightreach. 

“It is just as well,” said Lord Robert Highgate, taking a drink of wine, “that you already called your vassals to march against the Aegonar. We can gather all the faster.” He was stout to the point of corpulence, and when clad in chain mail looked like an armored pear. Yet he had served as a capable commander against the Malrags, the Tervingi, and the runedead, and Mazael had come to rely upon him. 

“I thought it would be harder to persuade you to march,” said Arnulf son of Kaerwulf, a grim, yellow-bearded Tervingi headman who never went anywhere without the massive axe strapped to his back. “You seemed keen to defend the Grim Marches.”

Robert shrugged. “Aye, but I know Lucan Mandragon. I saw what he did at the Great Rising. He was a madman, and that was before he became an undead monstrosity wielding relics of power looted from Old Dracaryl.” He snorted. “The man has too much of his father in him. If he thinks he’s right, he’ll burn the world to ashes to win victory. The only thing that will stop him is a crushing defeat. And death. Again.”

Molly lifted her glass. “Well, Father, I suppose you slew him once, and you’ll just have to slay him again.”

“It would have been better had I killed him before he even left Castle Cravenlock,” said Mazael.

Romaria frowned at him. “Perhaps, but you did not know what he intended. Your mercy speaks well of you, husband.”

“Speaking as a recipient of your mercy,” said Arnulf, “I am glad you possess it. I know that some of Lord Richard’s vassals wanted to wipe out the Tervingi after our defeat at Stone Tower, but you persuaded him to show mercy.”

“Aye,” said Earnachar, “and the sons of Tervingar have loyally served their new hrould.” He scowled at Lord Astor Hawking, an ascetic-looking man with a haughty expression. “Especially given that some advised Lord Richard to slay us all.”

Mazael expected Astor to take offense, but the lord only shrugged. “Clearly I was mistaken. The Tervingi have been a valuable addition to the Grim Marches, even if some of your customs are…outlandish. If we had slain you all, we would now have to face Lucan Mandragon’s dark magic alone.”

“Not to mention,” said Molly, “that many more runedead when he cast the Great Rising.” 

“Indeed,” said Mazael, and saw Morebeth staring at him.

She stood against the wall behind the dais, near the door leading to the lord’s private quarters and the chapel. Mazael stared at her for a moment, and then rose.

“Are you leaving us so soon, my lord?” said Astor.

“Not at all,” said Mazael. “I’ve drunk too much wine, and it’s rude to piss at the table.” They laughed. “A moment, my lords and headmen.” 

He rose and walked to the lord’s entrance behind the dais. The corridor beyond was dark and quiet, with stone stairs rising to Mitor Cravenlock’s old rooms and the balcony overlooking the chapel. Given that Mitor’s old rooms held a sealed entrance to the San-keth temple below Castle Cravenlock, Mazael had never slept there.

Morebeth awaited him at the foot of the stairs, her dark gown blending with the shadows. 

“The time is coming,” said Morebeth. “You will need to be ready…”

“No,” said Mazael. “Stop talking.”

She blinked, her gray eyes regarding him with surprise.

“You helped me against Skalatan and Malaric,” said Mazael, “and for that I am grateful. But Lucan Mandragon is coming with the Glamdaigyr and a hundred thousand runedead and the gods know what else. And our father has a hand in his plans, I doubt it not. But if I am to stop them, I need your help.”

“You have it,” said Morebeth. “Why do you doubt me now?”

“Because,” said Mazael, “I know you. You are a manipulator. It is simply who you are.”

Morebeth shrugged. “I cannot disagree with that.”

“When you lived,” said Mazael, “you tried to corrupt me into becoming the Destroyer so you could wield me as a weapon against our father. Now you are doing the same thing. You may not want me to become the Destroyer, true, but you are still trying to wield me as a weapon.”

“Do we not want the same thing?” said Morebeth. “The defeat of our father?”

“We do,” said Mazael, “but now the stakes are far too high. Molly and I are the last living Demonsouled, Morebeth, save for our father. We are the only ones who can stop him. You will give me the information I ask for, and everything else I might need. But no games. No manipulations.”

For a moment Morebeth said nothing, and then her mouth curled into a half-smile.

“Do you know why I picked you instead of Amalric?” she said.

“Because Amalric murdered Sir Brandon and you hated him for it,” said Mazael.

“True,” said Morebeth, “but I hate our father more, and I would have made Amalric my weapon against him. But no. I chose you instead of Amalric, my brother, because you were the stronger. You alone had the strength to defy our father. You alone have any chance of defeating him.”

“Then you will aid me as I ask?” said Mazael.

“Yes,” said Morebeth. “Though I fear I do not know everything you wish. Our father did not confide in me while I lived, and he certainly has not done so since my spirit came to Cythraul Urdvul. And…I do not see time as you do, Mazael, not any longer. I am dead.”

Mazael nodded. “Then we shall start with some questions.”

“Ask.”

“The Old Demon is behind Lucan, isn’t he?” said Mazael.

“I believe so,” said Morebeth. “Our father is skilled at manipulating mortals, and the Dragon’s Shadow may be more vulnerable than most. He used some of your blood, did he not, to augment his magic?”

“He did,” said Mazael. “A bloodstaff. The thing almost destroyed him.”

“He was foolish,” said Morebeth, “for it would have made him vulnerable to our father’s manipulations. It is entirely possible Lucan does not even realize how deeply our father has manipulated him. Just as he made your daughter into a weapon against you.”

“Aye,” said Mazael, remembering his brutal duel with Molly in the black depths of Arylkrad. She had hated him, had desired his death, and killing her would have been the only sensible thing to do. 

Yet he had spared her life…and had come to love her, despite her barbed tongue and mocking attitude. And without her, Lucan might well have prevailed at Swordgrim, or Malaric might have killed Mazael outside the walls of Cravenlock Town. 

Perhaps he was wrong to regret his mercy to Lucan …thought it was hard to see how.

Then a darker thought occurred to him.

“What is it?” said Morebeth. 

“Our father,” said Mazael. “You told me he intends to claim the gathered power of the slain Demonsouled and make himself into a god, but he had not yet found a safe way to take the power. We were wrong. He has possessed a way to take the power all along.”

“How?” said Morebeth.

“The Glamdaigyr,” said Mazael, and he saw a hint of fear go over her face. “Don’t you see? He sent Corvad into the Great Mountains to claim the damned thing. He knew where the sword was all along, and he just sent Corvad to fetch it for him.” He shook his head with a furious curse. “Then he must manipulated Lucan into casting the Great Rising. He made sure the Banurdem and the Glamdaigyr were close at hand, and he must have arranged for Lucan to find the knowledge of the Great Rising and that black crystal staff.”

For a moment Mazael remembered Tymaen Highgate flinging herself at the staff, remembered the life draining from her eyes as the shard of black crystal transfixed her heart. 

“I fear you are right, brother,” said Morebeth. “Our father once boasted to Amalric and I of how he manipulated the high lords of Old Dracaryl to their doom. Perhaps he did so by teaching them how to forge the Glamdaigyr.” 

“The Glamdaigyr drains the power from anything it strikes and transfers the power to its bearer,” said Mazael. “With it he could claim the power in Cythraul Urdvul and make himself into a god.” He cursed again. “That has been his plan all along, Morebeth. For all these centuries, all these millennia. The Great Rising and the Glamdaigyr.”

“And now,” said Morebeth, “his plan is almost finished.”

“He needs one more thing,” said Mazael. “A way to physically enter Cythraul Urdvul.” He snapped his fingers. “And that’s it, isn’t it?”

“What is it?” said Morebeth.

“That’s what Lucan is doing,” said Mazael. “He must have some method of entering the spirit world in the flesh. Some spell or relic or something. That must be why he went to Knightcastle and took control of Lord Malden and Caraster’s runedead. Somehow he needs them so he can enter Cythraul Urdvul.”

“All while acting as the instrument of our father,” said Morebeth.

Mazael nodded. “That’s also why Skalatan is leading the Aegonar to Knightcastle. He must plan to kill Lucan, take the Glamdaigyr, and seize the power of the Demonsouled for himself.”

“So he can become the new Sepharivaim,” said Morebeth. “He would be a different sort of tyrant than our father, but he would enslave the world to his vision nonetheless.” 

“Unless we stop him,” said Mazael.

“Unless you stop him,” said Morebeth. “You have puissant allies, your daughter and her betrothed most of all. But the burden lies upon you, Mazael. You are the last son of the Old Demon, the only one with strength to challenge him…and you bear the one weapon that he fears above all.”

“Lion,” said Mazael. 

“Yes,” said Morebeth. “The blade forged by the High Elderborn of old to slay Demonsouled. Like the Guardian’s staff, it has passed from bearer to bearer over the centuries, its true purpose forgotten. Not just to fight creatures of dark magic, but to slay the Demonsouled themselves. Ever has our father hunted its bearers…but ever has the Guardian’s staff and Lion opposed him, and he fears them above all else.” Her gray eyes met his. “They are destined to face him.”

“Destiny?” said Mazael. “You are a prophet now?”

“No,” said Morebeth. “The future is uncertain, and I see many different endings. But in all possible endings, Lion and the Guardian’s staff face our father before the end.”

“And in some of those possible futures,” said Mazael, “does our father prevail?”

Morebeth closed her eyes, her voice little more than a whisper.

“In most of them.” 

Mazael nodded. “Then it seems that I have work to do, do I not?”

He strode back to the great hall, deep in thought. Lucan Mandragon was the key. He held the Glamdaigyr, and if Mazael could find and kill him, he could destroy the black sword before the Old Demon had a chance to use it. 

He turned to his seat in the great hall and noticed that Romaria was gone.

###

Romaria stepped through the darkened corridor, her senses straining.

There had been…something when Mazael left the great hall. Some dark flicker that hovered at the edge of her senses, a ripple in the corner of her eye. Curious, she walked from the hall and into the courtyard. After a few moments she closed her eyes and let this strange sense guide her. When wearing the form of the wolf, she could let her nose and ears guide her without benefit of her eyes, and she did the same with this peculiar new sense, letting it move her forward.