Soul of Sorcery (Book 5) (34 page)

And then the grinning shadow saw him. 

Riothamus recoiled in fear.

“Ah,” said the Urdmoloch, and Riothamus glimpsed a man with graying brown hair and eyes of red fire, draped in a black robe like a flowing shadow. “A new Guardian? Delightful. I think you’ll arrive just in time to see it begin. Observe.”

The cloaked man spread out his arms, the sigils on his sword blazing brighter.

Darkness spread from him and devoured the world.

###

Molly gripped Riothamus as he trembled, the sigils on the staff flaring and pulsing with white light.

And then the white light changed to a gentle golden glow, and Riothamus’s eyes shot open.

He looked around, breathing hard, eyes wild and terrified.

“Riothamus,” she said, grabbing his hands. “I’m here.”

“The Urdmoloch,” said Riothamus. “I saw the Urdmoloch.”

“The Old Demon?” said Molly, shooting to her feet in sudden alarm as she drew her sword and dagger. “Where?”

“No,” said Riothamus, shaking his head. “A…a vision.” He got to his feet, leaning on the staff. “How long was I out?”

“A few seconds,” said Molly. “No more. Was…that it? That’s it and you’re the Guardian?”

Riothamus gestured with the staff, and it shone with a golden light. “Apparently.”

“You look so grim,” said Molly.

“Molly,” said Riothamus. “I have the Sight now. I think we were wrong. Ragnachar is only a pawn. He isn’t our real enemy. The Urdmoloch is manipulating everything. It’s the other one we have to worry about.”

“Which other one?” said Molly.

“The one atop Swordgrim,” said Riothamus. “A man in a black cloak, holding a black sword with sigils of green fire on the blade.”

“A black sword?” said Molly, frowning.

Then the realization struck her, and her eyes widened.

“Lucan Mandragon?” she said.

Chapter 32 – A Traitor’s Death

Ragnachar and the Tervingi arrived shortly after dawn. 

Mazael stood on the curtain wall of Swordgrim with the other lords and watched them come.

Thousands upon thousands of spearthains and swordthains, marching in orderly ranks. A hundred skythains circled overhead, and the archers upon the walls gripped their bows, lest the griffins come too close. A hundred and fifty mammoths accompanied the Tervingi host, and Mazael saw that they had been outfitted for war. The platforms atop the mammoths’ backs had been fortified, providing cover for the archers, and great sheets of chain mail shielded the beasts’ flanks, while iron plates guarded their heads and legs. Some of the mammoths bore wooden towers upon their backs, ropes trailing from their sides.

“Siege towers,” said Mazael, pointing at the mammoths.

“Aye,” said Lord Robert. “With those towers, the mammoths are taller than the walls of Sword Town. The militiamen inside the town won't be able to hold off the Tervingi for long. And once the town falls, the Tervingi can use its stone and timber to build siege engines to assail Swordgrim itself...”

“Let them try,” said Toraine, hands resting on the battlements. “Swordgrim is strong, and the rest of our vassals are on their way.”

“The rest of our vassals will arrive piecemeal,” said Lord Astor. “If the Tervingi keep their wits about them, they’ll be able to wipe them out one by one.”

“And we have insufficient supplies here,” said Mazael. “Ragnachar doesn’t need to attack Swordgrim. He only needs to keep us bottled up in here and fend off any reinforcements. A few weeks and we’ll run out of food.”

“Too many mouths,” said Toraine, and he grinned. “We’ll have to do something about that.” 

“What, precisely?” said Mazael.

There was something in Toraine’s tone that set off alarm bells in his head.

“We fight back, of course,” said Toraine. “The Tervingi host has not deployed itself properly. If we hit them with a charge of heavy horse, we can throw them into chaos. They won’t retreat, but it will take them hours to recover, and make them vulnerable for any reinforcements that do arrive.”

Lord Jonaril scowled. “Those mammoths will crush our horsemen.”

“Perhaps not,” said Mazael. Toraine’s idea was bold, but good one. “The swordthains and spearthains are between us and the mammoths. If we hit them now, we can throw them into disarray and retreat back to Swordgrim before the mammoths strike back.”

“I agree,” said Sir Tanam. “We will suffer losses, but we are at a disadvantage, my lords. Best to strike boldly while we still can."

"Then it is decided," said Toraine. "My lord Mazael, will you take command of the sortie?"

"I shall," said Mazael, but his mind raced through the implications. Why would Toraine entrust him with command of the sortie, when they had all but come to blows a few days earlier?

"My lords Jonaril, Astor, and Robert," said Toraine. "And Sir Tanam. Lend your forces to Mazael's strength. Your knights and armsmen should give Mazael an additional twenty-five hundred men That should be enough to deal a telling blow to the Tervingi."

The lords bowed in agreement.

"I will hold Swordgrim," said Toraine, "until you return. The Tervingi have shown themselves to have an uncivilized cunning. They might try to swim the lake and scale the walls during the attack. No sense in launching a sortie against the Tervingi only to lose the castle."

It was a sound plan. And not at all what Mazael would have expected of Toraine. He would have thought Toraine would lead the sortie himself, or to sacrifice the town to preserve Swordgrim.

So why this sortie?

"Best get moving," said Toraine. "Victory does not come to laggards."

"As you say, my lord," said Mazael, and headed for the barbican. 

###

"It's a good plan," said Romaria.

She sat atop her horse with the other archers, clad in leather armor, her bow ready in her hand. Around her chaos reigned in the barbican as the knights and armsmen prepared for the attack. 

"He's up to something," said Mazael, "I'm sure of it."

"But what?" said Romaria.

"I don't know," said Mazael. "But your eyes are keener than mine. Let me know if you see anything."

She nodded, and rode at his side as he steered Hauberk through the throng and joined the other nobles. 

"Ready, my lords?" said Mazael. 

"Aye," said Lord Robert. His paunch, combined with his armor, continued to make him look like a large steel pear. "We'll show the Tervingi what it means to challenge the lords of the Grim Marches!" 

Trumpet blasts rang out from the walls of Swordgrim, and the barbican gates boomed open. Mazael rode Hauberk out, Romaria and Sir Aulus at his side with the Cravenlock banner, and the knights and armsmen poured out after him. Sword Town rose three-quarters of a mile to the south, its walls lined with militia archers. 

And east of Sword Town stood the Tervingi host.

Mazael's fist tightened around Hauberk's reins. The Tervingi had deployed themselves to attack the town's walls, the mammoths with the towers on their backs lumbering forward. But the swordthains and spearthains had left their flanks exposed, and vulnerable to a cavalry charge. 

More horsemen poured through the gate, forming themselves into a broad wedge. Mazael glanced back at them, drumming his fingers on his saddle impatiently. The Tervingi reacted to the new threat, turning away from the town to face the castle. If Mazael delayed too long, the Tervingi would form themselves into a spear wall.

"Sir Aulus!" shouted Mazael. "Sound the charge. Now!"

Sir Aulus blew a long blast, and the knights and armsmen cheered. Mazael put spurs to Hauberk's side, and the horse surged forward with an excited whinny. The horsemen galloped forward, their lances lowering to form a wall of gleaming steel. 

Arrows hissed overhead as the Tervingi archers and the militia horse archers loosed shafts. The Tervingi host scrambled, trying to form themselves into a shield wall, but it was too late.

Hauberk crashed into the Tervingi, Mazael's lance driving through a spearthain's chest. The horsemen galloped into the thains, lances splintering, steel clanging, men and horses shouting and screaming and dying. Mazael drove a swordthain to the ground, pinning him with the lance, and the weapon splintered in his hands. He yanked Lion from its scabbard and whipped the blade around, taking the head from a spearthain.

He killed two more men before he noticed the sword's glow. The blade's edges glimmered with blue light, and azure flames danced on the blade itself. It trembled in his hand, and he felt the power rising in the weapon. 

Dark magic was near. 

Ragnachar, perhaps?

Mazael killed, and the sword's fire grew brighter. The Tervingi shied away from the fire, eyes filled with awe and horror. Yet around him the charge faltered and slowed. There were too many Tervingi, and Mazael glimpsed the mammoths circling around to attack. 

It was past time to retreat. 

"Sir Aulus!" roared Mazael. He spotted his standardbearer nearby, armor and weapons spotted with blood. "Sir Aulus, sound the withdrawal! The withdrawal!" 

Sir Aulus blew a string of blasts on his horn The surviving knights and armsmen turned their horses and galloped back towards the walls of Swordgrim. Mazael killed one final Tervingi and spun his horse toward Swordgrim, following Aulus. Romaria rode at his side, twisting back in her saddle to loose arrow after arrow at the pursuing Tervingi. Ragnachar would regain control of his men, eventually, but the sortie had won the defenders of Swordgrim a few hours...

"Mazael!" shouted Romaria. 

He look at her, and then at the castle. A frown spread over his face. The first of the horsemen had reached the barbican, but they weren’t going through the gates. What the devil were they waiting for? Mazael urged Hauberk closer, trying to see what was going on…

A twinge of alarm went through him.

The gates were closed. Mazael stared at them, wondering if the portcullis had jammed. Or perhaps Toraine was waiting until more of the horsemen had reached the wall…

Then all had once he realized what had happened. 

“Damn it,” he said. "I'm a fool." 

“What is it?” said Romaria, craning her neck. “Why aren’t the gates open?”

“Because,” said Mazael, “Toraine ordered them closed.”

Romaria blinked, and Mazael saw the anger flash over her face as she understood.

“Open the gates!” bellowed a knight, standing up in the saddle. “Damn you, you craven laggards, open the gates!” 

The gates remained closed, but a volley of arrows launched from the ramparts.

The knight fell from his saddle, arrows sprouting from his chest.

“Gods,” said Mazael, “he’s shooting at his own vassals.” 

“That was the scoundrel’s plan all along,” said Romaria. “Send us out to charge the Tervingi, and then close the gates behind us. Either the Tervingi will destroy us, or we’ll defeat the Tervingi. Then Toraine can crush the victor. He’ll rid himself of his disloyal vassals and the Tervingi in one fell swoop.”

Mazael cursed. More arrows fell from the battlements, shooting down the knights and armsmen trapped below the gates. The Tervingi had almost reformed their lines, the mammoths deploying on the wings. Once they reformed, they could smash through the disorganized horsemen with ease. Either way, the horsemen would be trapped between the Tervingi and the walls of Swordgrim.

Unless they acted right now.

“Aulus!” said Mazael. “Sound the reform! Now! All men to me, now!” 

Aulus loosed the blast on his horn. A few men turned, and Aulus sounded it again and again. More men galloped to Mazael’s banner, and soon the entire mass of knights and armsmen moved towards him. Lord Robert, Lord Astor, Lord Jonaril, and Sir Tanam hurried to Mazael’s banner, swords in their hands.

“That damned bastard!” bellowed Lord Robert. “He sent us out to die! His father would never have tried something like this.”

“We should storm Swordgrim,” said Lord Astor, “and put Toraine to the sword. He has betrayed his oath as his liege lord.” 

“Are you mad?” said Lord Jonaril. “We have only three thousand men! We cannot possibly storm Swordgrim.”

“Then what would you have us do?” said Lord Robert. “Attack the Tervingi? We will perish to a man!”

“We should slip away beyond the town,” said Sir Tanam, “and charge the Tervingi from behind, once they assail Swordgrim.”

“That is madness,” said Lord Jonaril. “We have no supplies with us, and we cannot spend long in the field. And come to Toraine's aid? He sent us all to die!”

They began arguing, each man trying to shout down the other.

“Silence!” roared Mazael, lifting Lion. 

The lords fell quiet, glaring at him.

“If Toraine sent us all to die, so be it,” said Mazael. “But I will not throw away my life at his command. If we assault Swordgrim, we will fail, and if we attack the Tervingi, we will perish to the last man. Let us instead fall back to Sword Town. Toraine was ready to abandon the town, so they will open their gates to us.”

“Sword Town’s walls are not strong enough to hold against the Tervingi,” said Lord Astor. 

“No,” said Mazael, “but they’re better than nothing. And three thousand men cannot stand against fifteen thousand men in the open field. My lords, we must move now, or the Tervingi will crush us against the walls of Swordgrim.”

“Lord Mazael is right,” said Tanam. 

“Then let’s go,” said Lord Robert. 

“Make for the town’s western gate,” said Mazael, turning Hauberk around. “That will shield us from the Tervingi long enough to enter the town.” 

He urged his horse forward, and the lords and their knights followed.

###

The bailiff of Sword Town, a wiry, humorless knight named Red Theobald, admitted them to the town at once. 

“I sent message after message to Swordgrim,” said Theobald, grimacing. His nickname came from the garish red scar stretching across his right cheek. “I told Lord Toraine the Tervingi were coming, asked permission to evacuate the townsfolk to the castle. He ignored me, and now we are trapped here. Why didn’t he heed me? Lord Richard would have heeded me.”

“Because,” said Mazael, “Toraine has decided to sacrifice both of us. He hopes the Tervingi will suffer enough that he can destroy them after they kill us all.”

Red Theobald spat. "Lord Richard would not have countenanced such a thing."

They rode down Sword Town’s main street, three-story houses surrounding them on either side. Terrified women and children watched from the windows, gazing down at the knights and militiamen. The knights dismounted, stabling their horses wherever they could find room, and hurried to the town’s eastern wall. Mazael, Romaria, Red Theobald, and the other lords rode through the town’s main square, past its fountain and domed church, and to the eastern gate. Sword Town’s stone walls stood fifteen feet high, crowned with ramparts and battlements. Stout walls, and strong enough to defy both raiders and Malrags.

But they would not stop the Tervingi mammoths. 

“What do we do, my lord?” said Theobald. “We have a thousand militiamen. But that won’t be enough to stop the Tervingi. What shall we do?”

“We hold,” said Mazael, swinging off Hauberk’s back. “They’re going to assault the walls any moment. With our men and yours, we’ll have just under four thousand. The Tervingi will break through eventually, aye. But we’ll slow them down, and every lord and knight in the Grim Marches is making for Swordgrim. If enough of them arrive, they can attack the Tervingi from behind.”

It was a slim hope, but the best they had. 

Mazael hurried up the stairs to the ramparts, while Romaria went to take her place with the archers in the square below the gate. Knights, armsmen, and militiamen lined the ramparts, spear and sword at ready. 

He looked over the battlements, and saw a sea of Tervingi warriors moving towards the walls, the mammoths lumbering in their midst.

And in the center of the host, he glimpsed a flicker of crimson flame.