Soul of Swords (Book 7) (36 page)

“He didn’t try to escape you at Barellion,” said Malden. “He was hunting you.”

Lucan looked up at him, his dark eyes like cold stone. “He caught me off-guard. He will not do so twice.” He looked at the advancing army. “Be ready, my lord. The moment will come soon.”

Malden’s hand tightened around the dagger’s handle. 

###

Hugh watched his men advance, his sword drawn. 

A ghostly ribbon of green flame danced around the steel blade. He would have preferred Lion’s blazing blue fire, not the necromancy of the seidjar priests. Still, his men needed a way to harm the runedead, and Hugh had to admit the spells were more effective than wizard’s oil.

He sat atop his mount alongside the other horsemen, waiting to move. Once the footmen engaged the runedead, they could flank the undead. Or if the runedead forced their way through the footmen, Hugh and his knights could seal the breach and aid the infantry. 

“Here we go again,” murmured Montigard.

Hugh was surprised at how thin the runedead line was. Malden had stretched it too thin. Bands of knights on horseback, clad in Roland colors, waited in scattered groups throughout the lines. It reminded Hugh of mounted knights leading bands of footmen into battle to raise their morale and maintain discipline. But that was absurd. The runedead had no morale and required no discipline. 

So why scatter the horsemen through the runedead line?

It made Hugh uneasy. His experience as a commander had taught him that unexplained behavior among the enemy was always a cause for alarm.

Then the footmen reached the runedead, and the fighting began.

###

The sound of battle filled Lucan’s ears.

The runedead fought in silence, but the living men did not. The armsmen and militiamen shouted war cries. The Aegonar warriors bellowed praise to Sepharivaim. Lucan saw runedead torn apart by axes and swords, saw spearmen and swordsmen fall beneath the cold hands of the undead. For an instant the two forces remained balanced, like wrestlers of equal strength straining against each other. 

Then, step by step, the runedead line began to buckle. There were simply too many footmen, and the runedead line was stretched too thin. Very soon the footmen would break through, and the way to Knightcastle would be clear.

“Now?” said Malden, his voice leaden. 

“Not yet,” murmured Lucan, calculating. “Another few moments. Once the footmen have fully committed themselves. Then we can break their lines, and your runedead can sweep them from the field.”

Still no trace of Skalatan, or his damned dragon.

“Assuming there are any runedead left,” said Malden.

“Fear not,” said Lucan. “In a few moments, my lord, you will never need worry about the enemy again.”

###

Knightcastle itself came into sight, and Mazael reined up.

A ferocious battle raged on the plain between Knightcastle and Castle Town. Mazael saw the combined infantry of the lords of Greycoast and the Aegonar striving against the remaining runedead. The battle hung perfectly in the balance. 

The horsemen had arrived at the right time.

“Riothamus,” said Mazael. “The Door?”

Riothamus stared hard at Knightcastle, and then shook his head. “No. I don’t believe Lucan has opened it yet. The Sight shows me tremendous dark power gathered within Knightcastle…but it is still latent, waiting. It hasn’t been activated yet.”

“Good,” said Mazael. “Then we are not too late. The spell.”

Riothamus nodded and produced a dagger, and Mazael offered up the blood necessary to power the magic. The Guardian of the Tervingi cast the spell, his staff flaring with golden light, and again Mazael felt a wave of pain and nausea. Lion’s fire flared, and the azure flame spread to the swords and lances of the waiting horsemen. 

“Now!” said Mazael as the pain lifted. “Sir Aulus, the charge!” 

The lean knight sounded the charge, and the horsemen surged forward. 

###

Lucan’s head snapped up. 

He felt a surge of tremendous power, and he began to brace himself to cast a ward. Skalatan must have decided to throw his magic into the fray, and Lucan started casting a defensive spell…

The he realized the power was coming from the east, not the north.

The blast of a war horn rang out, and he saw masses of horsemen galloping from the east, their swords and lances flickering with blue flame. The banners of the Rolands and the Cravenlocks flew over the horsemen. 

Mazael Cravenlock had arrived.

Worse, the Guardian of the Tervingi was with him, and, that meant the Aegonar, the lords of Greycoast, and the men of the Grim Marches had at least temporarily set aside their differences to fight alongside each other. Lucan thought he could overpower either the Guardian or Skalatan in a straight fight. But if the archpriest and the Guardian worked together, aided by the lesser wizards, they would destroy him.

Or Mazael would simply walk up and plunge Lion through Lucan’s chest. 

It was time to activate the daggers and open the Door of Souls.

“Now, Lord Malden,” said Lucan.

But Malden said nothing as he gazed at the oncoming horsemen, his fingers rubbing the hilt of the dagger.

###

The flapping banner filled Malden’s eyes and mind. 

The banner of the House of Roland flew over the charging horsemen, the silver greathelm sigil upon a field of blue. It was Malden’s banner, the symbol of the Rolands and of Knightcastle, and he had ridden under it all of his life.

And now it had been raised in battle against him.

His own son rode to war against him. Gerald had always been so concerned with honor, so pious in his devotion to the gods, so disapproving of Malden’s many mistresses. Yet he possessed a stronger conscience than Malden himself had ever known, and Malden knew Gerald would choose the moral, honorable course of action.

And Gerald had decided that the honorable course of action was to betray and overthrow his own father. 

Malden stared at the charging horsemen as they crashed into the ranks of the runedead. The infantry held the full attention of the undead, and had no defense against the charging knights. The horsemen plowed through the runedead like reapers in a field, and the entire line began to disintegrate. 

“My lord, now!” said Lucan. “The dagger!”

Malden looked at the dagger, then back at the Roland banner flying over the horsemen.

“No,” he said. “This has gone on long enough.”

###

Lucan cursed.

The entire right wing of the runedead line collapsed under the weight of the knights’ charge. The rest of the line bulged backwards, breaking beneath the force of the attacking infantry. In a matter of moments, the runedead host would be driven to the walls of Knightcastle. 

And Lucan would have lost his chance to open the Door of Souls. 

“My lord,” said Lucan, “it has to be now, or else you shall be defeated.”

“Let me be defeated,” said Malden. “I have betrayed my forefathers and blighted Knightreach. Let me be defeated here, and perhaps Gerald can rebuild…”

“Silence,” said Lucan, green fire crackling around his fingers as he worked a spell. Linking the spells upon the daggers to Malden’s blade had clearly been a mistake. 

Lucan would just have to kill him and take the dagger himself. 

He had come too far just to turn back because Malden had suffered an inconvenient attack of conscience.

Lucan raised his hands in the killing spell…and froze, his mind fixing upon a thought.

Conscience. For a moment he saw again that damned city of crumbling black stone, heard the laughter ringing in his ears…

He pushed aside the thought and focused his will upon Malden.

###

Riothamus galloped through the chaos, the staff of the Guardian laid across his saddle, and reached for the Sight. 

Through the Sight he saw the dark magic swirling through the runedead, the powers of the seidjar maintaining the spells upon the blades of Hugh’s and Ryntald’s men. And though the Sight he saw the locus of dark power standing behind the lines of the runedead, dark magic unyielding and mighty.

Lucan Mandragon.

Riothamus leveled the staff, summoned its power, and unleashed a blast of dazzling golden flame.

###

Malden saw Lucan stepping towards him, hands raised, shadow and green fire swirling around his fingers.

He realized that Lucan was going to kill him. 

A heartbeat later golden fire filled his vision, and Lucan stumbled backwards as a pillar of golden flame slammed into his chest just as a bolt of shadow-wreathed green flame burst from his fingers. The bolt missed Malden and struck his horse in the shoulder, a pulse of green fire washing through the beast. The horse died in an instant. Malden tried to throw himself from the saddle as the beast collapsed, but moved too slow, and the horse fell atop his legs, the black dagger spinning from his grasp. 

He heard the snap as the bones in his legs shattered. 

###

Lucan stumbled, pain stabbing through his limbs at the Guardian’s fire disrupted the spells binding his undead flesh. But the Guardian’s magic, for all its power, was not as potent as the dragon fire, and Lucan forced his will through the pain, summoning more power. Wards flared to life around him, brushing aside the fire, and he steadied his grip upon his limbs. 

He looked around with a curse. Malden’s horse lay upon its side, and Malden lay beneath it, injured or dead, but Lucan did not care. The dagger, where was the damned dagger?

Another blast of golden fire hammered into him, and Lucan swept his hand before him, strengthening his wards. The Guardian could strike with tremendous force, but the Guardian was still a living man, and could only summon so much magical force at once without burning his flesh to smoking embers.

Lucan had no such limitations. 

He could defeat the Guardian, he knew, given enough time. But Skalatan would not give him that time. Nor would Mazael Cravenlock, and his horsemen were drawing dangerously close. For that matter, the Guardian’s magic had spread Lion’s flame to every man in Mazael’s host, and if the Guardian battered down Lucan’s wards, the weapons of the common armsmen could harm his undead flesh. 

And this was not his fight. He had come here to destroy the power of the Demonsouled, not to wage war against half the armies of the realm. 

But to destroy the Demonsouled, he needed to open the Door of Souls. And to open the Door of Souls, he had to trigger the spells upon the daggers. And to trigger the daggers, he needed Malden’s dagger. 

Once again, Lucan cursed himself for entrusting the dagger to Malden.

Fine. He had made mistakes before, but he had overcome them…and he would overcome this.

He summoned magical power, more and more, until it snarled around him like a storm.

###

Lion blazed in Mazael’s fist like a bonfire. 

Gauntlet crashed through the runedead, shoving aside the undead with sheer power and speed. Mazael struck again and again, the sword’s blade shearing through flesh and bone, the blue fire quenching the harsh crimson glow of the sigils upon pallid foreheads. He carved a path through the runedead, his knights and lords and headmen following him. To his right, he saw the Aegonar warriors and the footmen of Greycoast striving against the runedead. 

He took the head off a runedead with a single blow, and saw the green light flaring ahead. Behind the center of the runedead line a sphere of green light shone, growing brighter.

Lucan.

Mazael turned Gauntlet towards the glow.

###

Riothamus lifted the staff, summoning more magic as he prepared to launch another attack at Lucan.

But Lucan struck first. 

Green lightning ripped down from the sky, and Riothamus diverted his magic into a ward, a sphere of golden light shimmering around him and his horse. Another blast screamed down out of the sky, and another, and Riothamus gritted his teeth, concentrating as he maintained the ward. 

He could hold the spell…but he did not have enough strength left to strike back at Lucan.

And still the rain of green lightning continued. 

###

“There,” said Hugh, pointing with his sword. “You see?” Green light and golden fired played back and forth behind the runedead line. “The Guardian has engaged Lucan. If you throw your strength into the fight now, you can overwhelm Lucan.”

“Perhaps,” said Skalatan, who did nothing. 

Hugh frowned. He knew very little about magic, but it seemed that both the Guardian and Lucan were evenly matched. Skalatan’s spells could tip the difference.

But Skalatan had to know that. 

Then Hugh realized that Skalatan didn’t want to help the Guardian to win, nor did he want the Guardian to lose. The San-keth wanted them both to lose. He would wait until either the Guardian or Lucan prevailed, and then he would attack the weakened victor. 

And then he would seize the power of the Demonsouled and become the new serpent god.

Hugh hesitated, aware of the weight of the sword in his hand. 

Skalatan had saved Barellion from the runedead, but Hugh had no illusions about the archpriest’s benevolence. It had served Skalatan’s purposes to break the runedead host against Barellion’s walls. And had it served Skalatan’s purposes to kill every last man, woman, and child in the city, the San-keth would have sent his dragon to burn the city to the ground.

Hugh shuddered to think of what Skalatan would do with the powers of a god.

Skalatan’s attention remained focused on the battle, his unblinking yellow eyes watching the magical duel behind the runedead. One solid blow from Hugh’s sword would take off the archpriest’s head. Then Skalatan would never become the new god. 

And if the Guardian destroyed Lucan, no one would take the power of the Demonsouled.

Of course, if he attacked Skalatan, Ryntald and the other Aegonar would cut him down in an instant. But if he killed Skalatan, if he stopped the San-keth from becoming a god, it would be worth the cost of his life. The people of Greycoast would not have to live in a world ruled by the ruthless serpent.