Soul of Sorcery (Book 5) (26 page)

###

“It was a grave risk you took,” said Richard. 

Mazael shrugged. “Ragnachar led them to the brink of ruin. I doubt the Tervingi would side with him again, given a choice.”

Athanaric nodded. “You speak truly.”

They sat at the high table. The feast had resumed, the rumble of conversation and the songs of the loresingers and the jongleurs filling the hall.

There was no hint that Ragnachar had almost started a war.

“Ragnachar was trying to shame the Tervingi into fighting,” said Romaria. 

“He forgets that becoming the vassal of Lord Richard is no different than a thain pledging his sword to a hrould,” said Athanaric. 

“Aye,” said Mazael, “but it is different when the hrould is a foreigner, is it not? I doubt any of your folk wanted to side with Ragnachar. Not when the benefits of peace have become so obvious. But all it would have taken was one man siding with Ragnachar, and it might have started an avalanche.”

“You handled his well, my lord Mazael,” said Aegidia, leaning on her staff beside Athanaric’s chair. “It is as if the fate of the Tervingi rests in your hands.”

Both Molly and Riothamus gave the old woman a sharp look. 

“And if he had accepted the duel?” said Richard.

“Then I would have killed him,” said Mazael, “and we would have an end to our problems.”

Oh, how he wanted to do it. For a terrible moment he had wanted to cut down Ragnachar as he walked from the hall. But Ragnachar was still a Tervingi hrould, and butchering him in Lord Richard’s hall would have offered a grievous insult to every man of the Tervingi. 

No. Peace was better. No matter how much he wanted to kill. 

“Though Ragnachar will be all the more dangerous now,” said Romaria. “A rabid beast is the most dangerous when cornered.”

Lord Richard nodded. “We shall have to be wary. But on his own, without allies, Lord Ragnachar is no threat to us.”

###

Ragnachar stalked into the night, his orcragars following. His heartbeat thundered in his ears like a war drum, calling him to battle, to killing.

How he wanted to cut down Mazael Cravenlock! 

But it would have resulted in his own death. He could have slain Mazael easily enough, but even he could not have fought his way through the assembled lords, knights, and thains. He would have killed many of them, true, perhaps even most of them. But they would have taken him down in the end.

Perhaps that would have been a mercy. He was so tired of holding himself back.

“What shall we do now, master?” said one of the orcragars.

“We shall return to Gray Pillar,” said Ragnachar, “and await the chance to strike.”

“You might,” said a dry voice, “be a little busy for that.”

Ragnachar whirled, drawing his greatsword, and his orcragars yelled and raised their weapons. 

A tall man stood in the grasses a few paces away. He wore a black robe that flowed about him like wings of shadow. Gray streaks marked his hair at the temples, and his gray eyes were the exact color and shape of Ragnachar’s.

Save for when they flickered with a pale haze of crimson light.

The orcragars fell to their knees in reverence, and even Ragnachar felt a sudden thrill of terror.

“Urdmoloch,” murmured the orcragars in awe. “Great Urdmoloch. We are strong. We are worthy. Command us and we are yours.” 

The tall man’s lips twitched in amusement beneath his hooked nose. 

“Father,” said Ragnachar, though he did not kneel. No matter how much fear he felt. He would not show any weakness, not now. 

The Urdmoloch, the creature the folk of the Grim Marches named the Old Demon, smiled at him.

“Ragnachar,” said the Urdmoloch. “You’ve been busy since we last spoke, I see.”

“I did as you commanded, father,” said Ragnachar. “The Malrags waited in the mountain valley, just as you said, and I convinced the moot of descend upon the Grim Marches with fire and sword.”

“So you did,” said the Urdmoloch. “And then you were defeated.”

Ragnachar’s fingers tightened against the hilt of his greatsword. “I did what I could. But the Tervingi are weak. They yearn for peace. Even the sternest warrior among them does not understand the joy of killing, not as we do.”

“It is a poor warrior that blames his weapons,” said the Urdmoloch. “No matter. Why have you not begun fighting again?”

“I cannot,” said Ragnachar through clenched teeth. “Athanaric and that damnable Guardian stand opposed against me, along with all the lords and vassals of the Grim Marches. Your blood flows through my veins, but I am only one man. Without allies, I cannot fight them by myself.”

“Ah.” The Urdmoloch grinned, the fiery haze in his eyes growing brighter. “What if there were a way to turn the Tervingi against the lords? To rally every last one of them to your side?” 

Ragnachar scowled. “How would I accomplish such a feat?”

“In a week’s time,” said the Urdmoloch, “Lord Richard Mandragon will travel to Stone Tower. Athanaric, you see, has extended an invitation in repayment for Lord Richard's hospitality. It would be an excellent opportunity to kill them both.”

“And what would that gain me?” said Ragnachar. “If I attacked and slew them, satisfying as it would be, it would turn both the Tervingi and the lords against me.”

The Urdmoloch grinned. “Why do my sons always have such limited imaginations? You must get your wits from your mothers. Think, Ragnachar. What would happen if you slew them both, and made it look as if the Tervingi slew Lord Richard and the knights slew Athanaric?”

"I see," said Ragnachar, thinking it over. "Yes. That would rally the Tervingi to me. Especially since Toraine would become liege lord, and he would make war against us at once." His scowl returned. "But just how am I to accomplish this?" 

The Urdmoloch pointed at the kneeling orcragars. “You. Come here.”

One of the orcragars, a burly man with a bushy black beard, rose and hurried to the Urdmoloch. “Command me, I am strong, I am worthy…”

“Yes, yes, shut up,” said the Urdmoloch. He reached into his robe and drew out a folded cloak of odd color. It looked like a sheet of dull, tarnished silver marked with streaks of deep black. The Urdmoloch lifted the cloak and threw it over the orcragar’s shoulders.

The orcragar vanished.

Ragnachar blinked. If he squinted, he could just make out a faint shimmering where the orcragar had stood. But otherwise no trace of the man remained.

“A spell of invisibility?” he said. 

“Well…not quite,” said Urdmoloch. “Most invisibility spells manipulate light, and your clever Guardian could sense those with ease. Her doting apprentice, as well. This is called a wraithcloak, and it shifts the wearer partly into the spirit world. Nearly invisible to the mortal eye, and much harder for a wizard to detect.” 

“You have more than one?” said Ragnachar, intrigued. With fifty of these cloaks, he could ambush and kill both Athanaric and Lord Richard.

The fury in his heart, always hot, blazed brighter.

With fifty of these cloaks, he could rid himself of that damnable Guardian at last. 

“Yes,” said the Urdmoloch. “Enough for you to conceal a small force of your orcragars. Lie in wait at Stone Tower for Lord Richard and Athanaric, and attack them as Athanaric renews his oaths of fealty. Kill everyone, and leave no witnesses behind. Then you can claim Lord Richard murdered Athanaric, and that Athanaric died trying to defend the honor of the Tervingi. You can lead the Tervingi in a war of vengeance and drown the Grim Marches in blood.” 

Ragnachar nodded, his mind racing. If he slew both Athanaric and Lord Richard and put the blame on Richard, the Tervingi would rise up in wrath. And with Richard dead, Toraine Mandragon would become the liege lord of the Grim Marches. His father’s death would give him the excuse he needed to launch a war of extermination.

The killing would not stop until one side or another was destroyed. 

And if Ragnachar struck quickly, he could win this war. And with the Grim Marches conquered, he could lead the Tervingi on to new lands, to new foes to crush.

He could drown the entire world in blood. 

“It can be done," said Ragnachar.

“I thought you might agree,” said the Urdmoloch. “And to assist you in your task…I have a little gift for you.”

He held up his palms, and suddenly a sheathed greatsword lay upon his hands.

“Take it,” said the Urdmoloch, holding the hilt toward him.

The greatsword's pommel was red gold, worked in the shape of a snarling demon’s head. 

Ragnachar drew the greatsword from its scabbard. The blade was fashioned from blood-colored steel. As he lifted it, Ragnachar felt a surge of power from the weapon, strength pouring up his arm and into his chest. 

One of the orcragars flinched in terror.

Ragnachar wrapped both hands around the hilt, and the blade erupted into howling crimson flames, painting the plains around him with bloody light. 

“The Destroyer!” shouted one of the orcragars. 

As one they turned and knelt before Ragnachar, even the Urdmoloch temporarily forgotten. 

“The Destroyer comes!” repeated the orcragar.

“He will trample kings and lords beneath his feet!” said another. 

“The Destroyer comes!” roared the orcragars in unison.

“You alone, Ragnachar,” said the Urdmoloch, voice quiet. “So many have fallen short or betrayed me. But you alone, Ragnachar, are worthy to take up the sword of the Destroyer. You will destroy nations and kingdoms and remake the world in your image.”

“Yes,” hissed Ragnachar. The sword filled him with power and strength. He felt as if he could return to Swordgrim and kill every man in the castle. 

“You must do two things,” said the Urdmoloch. “First, kill the Guardian. She will prove troublesome. Most likely she will accompany Athanaric to the meeting with Richard Mandragon.”

“I would have killed her anyway, now that I have this,” said Ragnachar, gazing at the burning sword. “She deserves it.”

“Second,” said the Urdmoloch, “Mazael Cravenlock.”

Ragnachar scowled. “What of him?” The Lord of Castle Cravenlock was a capable warrior, but he could not stand against the sword of the Destroyer. “I shall sweep him from my path like the worm that he is.”

The Urdmoloch smiled. “You should not speak so harshly of your brother.”

Ragnachar flinched. “What?”

“Well, your half-brother, to be accurate,” said the Urdmoloch. “Just under twenty years your junior. He is strong, Ragnachar, very strong. I had thought to make him into the Destroyer, but the fool rejected me, and turned his back on all the gifts I offer. Kill him, and you kill the only one who can stop you.”

“He shall perish,” said Ragnachar. Mazael Cravenlock was also a child of the Urdmoloch? That explained his prowess in battle. He would prove a dangerous foe.

Well, he could die beneath the blade of the Destroyer like any other man. 

“Good,” said the Urdmoloch. “Kill Richard Mandragon and Athanaric. Strike down the Guardian and Mazael Cravenlock, and the ultimate victory shall come.”

“It will be done,” said Ragnachar. “I swear it. Come!”

He turned and headed east, his orcragars following, his mind afire with plans. All his life he had waited for this, yearned for this. At last he could release his control, could kill to his heart’s content. 

And the Grim Marches would drown in blood.

###

The Old Demon watched Ragnachar and his pets stride away across the plains. 

“The ultimate victory,” he whispered, smiling to himself.

Yes, indeed, the ultimate victory would soon come.

It just wouldn’t belong to Ragnachar. 

Chapter 25 – Treachery

“I must go,” said Riothamus.

Molly stretched and yawned. “Must you?”

Swordgrim was overflowing with guests, but as heir of Castle Cravenlock, Molly warranted her own room. Granted, it was a cramped room atop a turret in Swordgrim’s outer wall, but it was still her own room. Fortunately, it had a comfortable bed that was large enough for two.

“I fear so,” said Riothamus.

Molly watched with a lazy smile as he collected his scattered clothing. The turret’s narrow windows did not admit much sunlight, but enough for her to see the muscles on Riothamus’s chest and arms as he moved. 

“I would rather you stayed with me,” said Molly. 

“So would I,” said Riothamus, tugging on his trousers, “but I must go. Athanaric is renewing his oath to Lord Richard at Stone Tower, and Aegidia will witness it. I should go with her.” 

Molly rose, smiled, and kissed him.

“You are determined,” said Riothamus, “to lure me back into bed.”

“I am,” said Molly, “but I am going with you.” She began gathering her clothes. “At least for half of the way. Lord Richard’s vassals are remaining here until he returns from Stone Tower, enjoying his hospitality. Since Lord Toraine is oversees Swordgrim in Richard’s absence, my father thinks I should go back to Castle Cravenlock and oversee there.”

Riothamus laughed. “That’s just an excuse to get away from Toraine.” 

“And can you blame me?” said Molly. She found her trousers, and then her sword belt. “I know you won’t use your power to kill, but you should make an exception for him. The gods know he’ll try to kill us all once he becomes liege lord.”

“I will not make an exception, even for him,” said Riothamus. “He may yet change. Perhaps by the time Lord Richard dies, he will have come to new wisdom.” 

“Or mayhap he’ll choke on his dinner,” grumbled Molly. 

“But you are lying,” said Riothamus, smiling.

“Oh?” said Molly.

“You’ll have to go past Stone Tower to reach Castle Cravenlock,” said Riothamus. “I think you just want to travel with me.”

Molly grinned. “You think highly of yourself, don’t you?” 

He touched her cheek. “More than I once did.” 

Molly felt color flood into her face and looked away. 

“You’ll come to Castle Cravenlock, once the oaths are finished?” said Molly.

“A horde of Malrags would not keep me away,” said Riothamus. 

“Good,” said Molly.

###

Aegidia, Guardian of the Tervingi, leaned upon her staff. 

She was tired.

Too many years spent fighting the Malrags. Too many years keeping the Tervingi from ripping themselves apart. Too many years seeing friends die and the Tervingi crumble beneath the weight of the Malrag assault.

And too many years spent carrying her great regret.

She had made one mistake, just one, but it had been more than enough. She could not even claim the flimsy excuse of a girl’s poor judgment. Fifty-five years ago she had already been a woman of twenty-five, inexperienced in her office as Guardian, but the Guardian of the Tervingi nonetheless. 

Just one mistake.

And it haunted her to this day. Now the Tervingi had the chance to grow and prosper in their new homeland. 

Unless her mistake ruined everything. 

“Guardian?”

Aegidia’s eyes shot open.

She stood in the square outside Stone Tower’s massive keep. Athanaric stood on the steps, flanked by his most trusted thains, waiting for Lord Richard Mandragon to enter the village with ceremonial pomp. Both men would renew their oaths, forging another tie of friendship to bind the two peoples together.

“Guardian, are you all right?” 

Riothamus stood nearby, his blue eyes worried. 

“I’m fine, boy,” said Aegidia, with more harshness than she intended. 

Riothamus nodded, unruffled by her temper, and she felt a surge of pride. At twenty-six years old, he was no longer a boy, but a man grown. And he looked happier than she had ever seen him. 

“Perhaps we should get out of the sun,” said Riothamus. “If you faint, it will hardly enhance the honor of the Tervingi.”

Aegidia laughed. “I’m fine, Riothamus. Merely an old woman wandering the maze of her memories.” She grinned. “You are looking well, these days.”

His expression did not change. “The brisk air on the plains, I think.”

She lifted an eyebrow.

“A curious nickname for Molly Cravenlock,” said Aegidia.

Riothamus sighed. “How long have you known?”

“For a while,” said Aegidia. “I didn’t even need the Sight to tell me.”

“We were careful to keep it quiet,” said Riothamus.

She smiled. “And I’ve known you since you were six, boy.” She lowered her voice. “Do you know that she is demon-blooded?”

“Aye,” said Riothamus. He coughed. “We take…precautions. And she tells me that the heir of Castle Cravenlock having a bastard baby with a barbarian wizard would be…complicated.”

So she had told him the truth? That was good. 

“You realize,” said Riothamus, “that means Lord Mazael is demon-blooded…”

“And a child of the Urdmoloch,” said Aegidia. Like Ragnachar. “I should have expected it. He is destined to face the Urdmoloch one day. And who better to face the Urdmoloch than one of his own children?” 

“Or Ragnachar,” said Riothamus. 

Aegidia opened her mouth to speak, and then trumpets rang out.

Lord Richard Mandragon arrived at Stone Tower. 

###

Ragnachar stood beneath his wraithcloak. 

The Urdmoloch had given him two hundred wraithcloaks, and he had concealed his orcragars around the square. Bands of orcragars waited on either side of Athanaric and his men. Once Lord Richard rode in, they would kill everyone in sight.

No witnesses, and it would be so easy to blame the massacre on Lord Richard.

Ragnachar stood a few paces from the Guardian and her wretched apprentice. 

He was going to enjoying killing them both.

His hand tightened against the hilt of the Destroyer’s greatsword.

###

Riothamus watched Lord Richard’s procession enter the square. 

Richard sat atop a magnificent black horse, resplendent in his armor of red dragon’s scales. A score of household knights in his colors followed. The Mandragon banner floated from the standardbearer’s lance, a crimson dragon on a black background. 

“Welcome, Lord Richard,” called Athanaric, “to my hold of Stone Tower.” A bondsman hurried forward with a goblet of wine. “I offer you wine…”

Riothamus’s mind wandered as Athanaric and Richard went through the ritual of host and guest. Neither Ragnachar nor Lord Toraine favored peace, but neither man had enough supporters to win a war. That might not keep them from starting a war, but Riothamus doubted they were that suicidal. Of course, Molly would say they were idiots…

He smiled as he thought of Molly. For all the suffering and death that had accompanied the march of the Tervingi to the Grim Marches, he was glad they were here. 

Else he would never have met her otherwise. 

“By the exchange of salt and bread and wine,” said Richard, his deep voice ringing over the square, “I pledge to respect your rights as host, and defend your house and name from dishonor while I am a guest under your roof.” 

The air rippled.

Riothamus blinked, trying to clear his eyes. It was hot, but certainly not hot enough for heat ripples to rise from the cobblestones of the square. Maybe he should have taken his own advice to Aegidia and stayed out of the sun. 

He looked at her, and saw her eyes narrow, saw her hands tighten around her staff. 

“Guardian,” said Riothamus, “what…

“My lords!” Aegidia shouted, and the ceremony came to a stop, every eye turning her way. “Defend yourselves! We are betrayed! To arms! To…”

The air rippled, and hundreds of figures in black armor and strange silvery cloaks appeared in the square.

Orcragars. 

###

Aegidia raised her staff, its sigils flaring with brilliant white light. Her own magic was potent, honed by decades of practice, and combined with the staff’s strength she could unleash spells of tremendous power.

Not to kill, though. Not even Ragnachar and the orcragars. But a warding spell to defend Richard and Athanaric. And other spells to turn the wind to ice and the ground to quicksand, to slow the orcragars until the loyal thains and knights could win the day.

She pointed the staff, power surging through it, and then a blade of red steel erupted from her stomach.

Pain exploded through her, and she heard Ragnachar’s laughter.

###

“Guardian!” shouted Riothamus. “We…”

He froze, horrified.

Aegidia slumped, her mouth sagging open with pain. Ragnachar stood behind her, a crimson greatsword in his hands, the blade emerging from Aegidia’s belly. Howling flames surrounded the greatsword, charring the Guardian’s skin, and Riothamus felt waves of dark power rolling off the weapon.

Ragnachar sneered and kicked Aegidia off his sword.

She collapsed atop her staff, her cloak of feathers fluttering, and did not move. 

Riothamus shouted and worked a spell. Freezing air swirled around his fingers, and he flung a spear of ice at Ragnachar. But the hrould moved with uncanny speed, the burning blade of his greatsword a blur, and the icy spear shattered into steam against his blade. 

“Do you remember,” said Ragnachar, “what I told you about threats?”

He surged forward, a blur of black armor and crimson flame.

###

Aegidia rolled onto her side, her hand wrapped like a claw around her staff. Pain pulsed through her in sickening waves, and blood soaked the front of her clothes. 

With cold clarity, she realized that she was going to die.

Ragnachar. She had to stop Ragnachar. She had to atone for her mistake. 

She drew on the staff’s power, trying to summon enough magic for a spell. 

But the pain was too much, and she trembled against the cobblestones.

###

Riothamus threw all his power into a spell and pointed at the ground. 

The earth heaved, responding to his will, and a man-sized knot of stone rose from the ground, interposing itself between Riothamus and Ragnachar. The stone blocked the blow that would have taken Riothamus’s head, yet Ragnachar’s burning greatsword cut through the rock like butter. The earth jerked as the knot collapsed, and Riothamus lost his balance. 

He fell into a group of charging orcragars. 

Swords plunged into his side, his hip, his shoulder.

###

Aegidia tried to sit up, leaning on the staff like a crutch.

Everywhere she saw scenes of horror. The orcragars rampaged through the square, killing everyone in sight. Neither the thains nor the knights had been prepared for a fight, and the orcragars cut them down without mercy. Lord Richard and his remaining knights fought at the foot of the keep’s stairs, while Athanaric battled at the base of the tower. 

Failed. She had failed.

She tried to stand, and the blackness swallowed her. 

###

Riothamus would not use his magic to kill, but he could defend himself by other methods. 

He ripped a dagger from the belt of the nearest orcragar and plunged it into the man’s throat, even as another sword plunged into his side. The orcragar’s eyes went wide, and he toppled into Riothamus, knocking him from his feet.

He struck the ground hard, the dead orcragar atop him, and his head slammed against the cobblestones. 

Darkness claimed him.

###

Ragnachar watched Aegidia twitch in a pool of her own blood, saw her apprentice fall beneath the orcragars’ blades. 

Good. The battle was all but over.

Time to finish it.

He went in search of Lord Richard.

Richard Mandragon stood with his remaining knights, holding fast against the orcragars’ assault. Despite his age, Richard wielded a greatsword with skill, throwing back his foes’ attacks again and again. No doubt his dragon’s scale armor had helped keep him alive.

But he could not stand against the power of the Destroyer. 

“So, traitor,” said Richard, raising his greatsword. “I hope you have the nerve to kill me yourself, rather than cowering behind your lackeys.”

“As you wish,” said Ragnachar, lunging.

Richard parried the first blow, the second, and the third, his face tight with strain behind the white-streaked red beard. Ragnachar thrust past his guard, but the edge of the burning sword only scraped Richard’s armor. The Lord of Swordgrim twisted and managed to land a blow in the gaps of Ragnachar’s shoulder plates. Pain flooded through Ragnachar’s arm, blood trickling down his cuirass.

The pain diminished as the blood of the Urdmoloch healed the wound. 

Ragnachar sidestepped and brought his sword around in a massive sideways blow. 

Richard raised his sword to parry, and the blade of the Destroyer shattered his weapon into a hundred gleaming shards. Richard stumbled, the hilt still clutched in his hands, and Ragnachar whipped his sword around.

Richard’s head rolled across the ground, leaving a trail of blood. 

A heartbeat later the Lord of Swordgrim’s armored body clattered against the cobblestones.

Ragnachar stepped over the corpse and strode toward the keep. Athanaric slumped against the wall, trying to lift his sword. Blood drenched his clothing, and his face had gone gray. 

“You dog!” spat Athanaric, struggling to stand upright. “You took an oath, and you’ve betrayed it! You have doomed the Tervingi nation!”

“Perhaps,” said Ragnachar. 

“You don’t care?” snarled Athanaric.

“A new world comes,” said Ragnachar. “The Tervingi will either be strong enough to live in the new world…or they will not. It is no concern of mine.”

He buried the crimson greatsword in Athanaric’s belly. The old hrould screamed, and Ragnachar seized his throat and drew him closer.

“For I am the Destroyer,” he whispered into Athanaric’s ear, “the son of the Urdmoloch, and I shall crush the realms of men beneath my feet.”