Soul of Sorcery (Book 5) (36 page)

The Tervingi host filled the plain below Sword Town's eastern wall. The mammoths acted as living siege towers, and the gates had been smashed, a black mass of orcragars pouring into the town. The defenses were crumbling, the Tervingi gaining footholds on the wall. 

“We have to charge at once,” said Sir Hagen, making a fist. 

“We have only two thousand men,” said Molly. “There must be at least fifteen thousand Tervingi.”

“But the town's walls are still holding,” said Hagen. “And if we hit the Tervingi now, we’ll trap them between the walls and our men.”

“No,” said Riothamus.

She looked at him. His expression was calm, and the staff rested easily in his right hand. He seemed older, somehow, now that he had claimed the power of the Guardian’s staff. 

Riothamus raised the staff, its sigils flaring with golden light, and his voice boomed louder than the thunder itself.

###

“Fall back!” shouted Mazael, killing another orcragar.

The orcragars had claimed most of the square, and the surviving knights and armsmen had been pushed back to the street. On the walls, more Tervingi had gained the ramparts, clearing the way for more thains. Mazael cursed in fury. The archers still stood on the wall, Romaria in their midst, but sooner or later the Tervingi would reach them…

“Fall back!” said Mazael, catching an axe blow on his battered shield. “Fall back to the church!” 

He would send the remaining forces to make a last stand in the church. And as they fell back, he would cut his way to Romaria and get her out, or die trying.

Death seemed more likely, he had to admit.

The knights and armsmen fell back, and Mazael braced himself to charge.

Then a voice thundered from the heavens.

“Hear me!” 

Mazael blinked. He knew that voice.

Riothamus.

“Hear my words, and cease fighting! I am Riothamus son of Rigotharic, the Guardian of the Tervingi! By the authority of my office, cease fighting, and hear my words!”

And to Mazael’s amazement, the Tervingi stopped. 

Even the orcragars. 

###

Ragnachar looked to the south and cursed in fury. 

He saw a small host there, perhaps two thousand strong, a dozen mammoths in their midst. That was no concern, and he could crush them with ease once Sword Town fell. 

But that voice.

“I killed him,” spat Ragnachar, “I killed that miserable little wretch.”

Evidently, he had not.

Golden light blazed from the south.

###

Riothamus gripped the staff in both hands, holding it over his head. The staff’s power surged through him in pulsing waves, strength enough to summon the lighting and to command the earth to heed him. 

But for now, he only needed the power to carry his words to every man on the field. 

“The Tervingi have gone to war,” he said, “to avenge the foul murder of Athanaric son of Athaulf and the Guardian Aegidia at the hands of Richard Mandragon, Lord of Swordgrim and liege lord of the Grim Marches. Ragnachar has led you on this quest for vengeance.”

Dead silence answered Riothamus, and he felt the weight of every eye on the battlefield. The Sight flickered through him, showing a dozen different potential futures. Mazael Cravenlock held the fate of the Tervingi nation in his hands, but for this moment, the weight of the future rested on Riothamus’s words. 

For the Sight also showed him the dark power gathering atop Swordgrim. 

“But I tell you now,” said Riothamus, “that I was at Stone Tower, and I saw what transpired. I tell you that Ragnachar’s words are a lie! For Ragnachar slew Aegidia! I saw him plunge his sword into her back. Ragnachar cut down Lord Richard, and Ragnachar murdered Athanaric as he lay dying from his wounds!”

A rustling noise reached his ears. Angry mutters, rising from the Tervingi thains. A ripple went through the host, more and more men turning towards the gates.

Towards Ragnachar. 

“I am the Guardian of the Tervingi nation,” said Riothamus, “and before the Tervingi nation, I accuse Ragnachar, son of the Urdmoloch, of murder. I accuse Ragnachar, son of the Urdmoloch, of betraying his overlord. And I accuse Ragnachar, son of the Urdmoloch, of deceiving the Tervingi nation into a war against their neighbors!”

The angry murmurs rose to shouts.

“And as Guardian of the Tervingi nation,” said Riothamus, “I call on you – avenge Aegidia! Avenge Richard Mandragon! Avenge Athanaric!”

The shouts rose to a roar, and the Tervingi host turned upon itself. 

The thains attacked each other, the supporters of Athanaric striking at those who remained loyal to Ragnachar. 

“I think,” said Molly, “that you made them mad.”

“My own people,” said Riothamus, his heart heavy, “tearing themselves apart. It should never have come to this. I should never have let it come to his. I…”

Then he remembered the vision the staff had shown him. Riothamus closed his eyes and let out a long breath. No one could save everyone.

Not even the Guardian.

“We had best move,” said Molly. “This isn’t over until we find Ragnachar.”

“No,” said Riothamus, “and it is not over, even then. We have to find some way to keep Toraine Mandragon from slaughtering the Tervingi. And then…”

He looked at Swordgrim, at the dark mass of Night Sword Tower.

Something terrible was happening there, and not even the Sight could penetrate the dark power radiating from atop the tower.

###

Sword Town exploded into chaos. 

Some of the Tervingi still fought, pockets attacking the knights and armsmen. But most charged at Ragnachar’s orcragars, driving them back from the square. The orcragars put up a ferocious fight, but there were too few orcragars, and too many thains, and the orcragars began to waver.

It was the best chance Mazael was going to get.

“Now!” he bellowed to his remaining men. “Now! Charge them! Drive them from the town!”

He threw himself at the orcragars, the remaining defenders following. In a matter of moments the ramparts cleared of Tervingi as they withdrew onto the mammoths or raced down the stairs to attack the orcragars. Arrows whistled down, and Mazael saw Romaria and the remaining archers standing over the ruined gate, shooting at every orcragar in sight.

And then orcragars were in full flight, scrambling out of the broken gate and over the abandoned ram. Mazael raced after them and onto the fields outside the town. The Tervingi ran in all directions as Athanaric’s supporters turned on Ragnachar’s men. Everywhere Mazael looked, he saw thains cutting down the orcragars, saw Ragnachar’s thains fleeing in all directions.

And then he saw Ragnachar himself. 

The Demonsouled hrould faced a dozen thains, and he cut through them like a fire through a dry forest. The sword of the Destroyer blazed in his fists, and he struck with such force that his blows cut men in half. The thains rained slashes upon him, but his black armor deflected most, and any marks upon his flesh healed almost at once.

Just as Mazael’s did. 

Ragnachar cut down the last thain, and Mazael found himself a dozen paces from the other Demonsouled. Ragnachar’s eyes met his, and Mazael realized they were the same shape and color as the Old Demon’s eyes.

The same shape and color as his own. 

"So,” said Ragnachar. “It has come at last.” 

“It’s over, Ragnachar,” said Mazael. The battle raged around them, the Tervingi struggling against each other. “Surrender, and I will spare your life. No one else need die today.” 

Ragnachar laughed. “You know what I am, Lord Mazael. And I know what you are. Killing is our purpose.” 

“Don’t be a fool,” said Mazael. “The Old Demon, the thing you call the Urdmoloch, has pumped your head full of lies. He gave you the sword of the Destroyer. But it will destroy you, and the Old Demon will use you up and cast you aside.”

Ragnachar shrugged. “Perhaps. It is of no importance. Even if I had never met our father, I would still be what I am. A killer. A wolf in a world of sheep. I will kill until I met someone who can kill me.”

“It needn’t be that way,” said Mazael.

“You lie to yourself,” said Ragnachar, his deep voice distant. “I am older than you, and I have struggled against myself longer. Once, like you, I thought to master my blood. But in the end, it mastered me. I am a killer, and I will kill while my strength lasts.”

Mazael lifted Lion. “Not unless I stop you.”

Ragnachar laughed, the sword of the Destroyer in both hands. “As it should be! Our confrontation was inevitable. Two sons of the Urdmoloch, fighting for supremacy! If you are indeed the stronger, you shall stop me. But if I am the stronger, I shall crush you as I have crush everyone who has stood in my path!”

He roared and came at Mazael, the sword a fan of crimson fire in his armored hands. 

Mazael cast aside his shield, knowing it would useless against the Destroyer’s blade. He took Lion’s hilt, and Demonsouled fury poured into him, filling him with strength and power. He had always struggled to hold himself in check, to keep the Demonsouled wrath from twisting him into a monster. But here at last was a foe against whom he could unleash his full fury, against whom there was no need to hold himself back.

He even felt a dark joy at the prospect.

And then the crimson flame of the Destroyer’s blade met Lion’s azure fire with a screaming crash. The force of the blow buckled Mazael’s arms, and he staggered back a step. Ragnachar came at him again, hammering at him like a smith working iron. The strikes should have been slow and clumsy, yet Ragnachar wielded the massive sword with speed and power. Mazael backed away, his arms burning with the effort. 

Ragnachar pursued, and Mazael dodged the next swing. The massive sword gave Ragnachar greater reach, but Mazael was faster. It reminded Mazael of his fight with Corvad beneath the great black dome of Arylkrad. Yet Corvad, for all his rage and power, had only been twenty. Ragnachar had the skills and reflexes of a hardened warrior. 

Which he proved when he reversed his swing, sidestepped, and brought the crimson sword plunging toward Mazael’s midsection. Mazael jerked back at the last instant, and the tip of the greatsword raked across his belly. The dragon scales turned aside the point, but the heat of the flames plunged into him. He staggered in pain, and Ragnachar reversed the demon’s head pommel of the greatsword and brought it hammering toward him. Mazael tried to dodge, but the pommel slammed into his left shoulder. His feet went out from beneath him, and Mazael fell hard to the ground, his armor clattering. 

Ragnachar brought the point stabbing down.

Mazael rolled to the side. The greatsword plunged into the earth, and Mazael raked Lion at Ragnachar’s legs. The blade ripped into Ragnachar’s left calf, the azure fire pumping into his flesh. Ragnachar roared in fury and pulled free, and Mazael staggered back to his feet. 

“Ah,” said Ragnachar, limping. “You are strong.” Mazael saw blood dripping down the black armor of his boot, the flow slackening as the wound healed itself. “A worthy opponent at last, after all these years.” 

“How flattering,” said Mazael, trying to catch his breath. His stomach and chest ached damnably from the sword’s strike, and it hadn’t even penetrated his armor. Had it pierced his flesh, he suspected the crimson fire would have left him in too much pain to move. 

“I am the Destroyer,” said Ragnachar, “and I shall crush everything in my path. Including you!”

He whirled the greatsword and charged. Mazael dodged around the slash and struck at Ragnachar’s side, Lion’s point scraping against the black armor. Yet Ragnachar did not slow, and Mazael found himself forced to dodge again and again, unable to land any telling blows. Ragnachar raised his arms for a massive overhand strike, and Mazael surged forward. Lion’s point plunged into the gap in Ragnachar’s armor below his arms. Ragnachar bellowed in fury, blood flying from his bearded lips, and brought his sword hammering down.

The motion drove Lion deeper into his armpit, but the crimson edge of the greatsword bit into Mazael’s flesh. Blood-colored fire poured into the wound, and agony exploded through Mazael. He snarled in pain and jerked away, ripping Lion free from Ragnachar’s side. 

Agonized laughter exploded from Ragnachar’s mouth, blood trickling from his lips.

“Perhaps we shall slay each other!” he said. “A worthy end for two brothers, no?”

Mazael grinned back, even through the agony filling his veins. “I killed my half-brother, my half-sister, and my son. Do you think you can stop me?”

Ragnachar nodded in approval. “Let us find out!”

He roared in fury, a black blur behind the crimson pillar of flame in his fists. Mazael met his attack, Lion whirling in his hands. The swords shrieked and howled as they met, their magic struggling against each other. Mazael met Ragnachar blow for blow, circling around him as Ragnachar did the same. He felt the pain in his shoulder lessening as his Demonsouled essence healed the wound, and he saw the blood flowing down Ragnachar’s cuirass stop. They were matched evenly, too evenly, with Mazael’s advantage in speed negated by Ragnachar’s heavy armor. 

Would they fight each other for eternity?

The Demonsouled rage thrummed in Mazael’s mind, whispering that he and Ragnachar were not so different from each other, that once he slew Ragnachar he could butcher the Tervingi and slay Toraine and take the Grim Marches for himself…

Then a flicker of darkness swirled in the corner of his eye. 

An instant later a slender figure appeared behind Ragnachar, clad in dark wool and leather, sword in her right hand, dagger in her left.

She buried both blades in Ragnachar’s back.

“That was for Riothamus!” she shouted.

Ragnachar bellowed as Molly ripped her weapons free. He spun around, his crimson sword blurring toward her skull, but she disappeared in a swirl of darkness. She reappeared next to Mazael, her blades ready.

“Greetings, father,” she said. “I’ve brought you an army. I hope you like it.”

Mazael looked south, saw another force hastening across the plains. A mixed host of his own men and Tervingi thains, perhaps two thousand strong. Mammoths screened their flanks, and skythains circled overhead on their griffins.