Soul of Sorcery (Book 5) (43 page)

And his betrothed. 

Riothamus loved her as he had never loved anyone. He might not know how to fulfill the duties of the Guardian's office...but he vowed that he would see Molly safely through the battle. 

Though, he mused, she might not need his protection. 

Mazael's voice boomed over the battlefield, Romaria shouted a command, and the archers drew their bows and released. A storm of blue flames lanced overhead and slammed into the wandering runedead. Most of the arrows missed, but those that struck tore deep into undead flesh.

The hill flashed with green light as hundreds of runedead turned to face them, the sigils upon their foreheads blazing. 

"Again!" shouted Romaria. The archers loosed another volley, and the undead creatures broke into a charge. More and more runedead boiled from the empty village, a tide of dead flesh surging down the hill. They would not be as dangerous as some of the runedead Riothamus had faced. A runedead retained the skills it had possessed in life, and Riothamus doubted these villagers had been potent warriors. 

But they were stronger and faster than living men. 

Riothamus lifted the Guardian's staff, its sigils flaring with golden light. The Guardian used his power to preserve and defend, never to kill a living man or woman or child.

But the runedead had already died. 

Power flooded into Riothamus, magic drawn from the bones of the earth beneath his boots, the wind moaning overhead, even the roots of the low bushes clinging to the rocky hills. 

He struck the butt of the staff against the earth, and three blue-white lightning bolts screamed from the sky and tore into the runedead with deafening thunderclaps. The blasts reduced a score of the animated corpses to smoking shreds and threw dozens more to the ground.

But the rest kept charging, reaching with cold hands for the shield wall.

"Hold fast!" roared Mazael, and the mob of corpses slammed into the waiting men. 

Molly disappeared in a flicker of darkness. 

###

The darkness vanished, and Molly Cravenlock reappeared on the flank of the charging runedead. The burning blades of the men in the shield wall rose and fell, destroying the creatures, but more pressed the attack. 

Molly felt herself grinning. The rage of her Demonsouled blood burned inside her, making her faster and stronger, giving her the power to walk instantly through the shadows. She had grown weary of killing...but she could embrace a fight against Lucan Mandragon's pet monsters without hesitation. 

She darted forward, her Demonsouled blood lending her strength and power. Her sword and dagger flashed, and two runedead toppled, blue fire quenching the green light in their eyes. She took down another and danced to the side, and some of the runedead turned to face her. 

Swords darted from the shield wall, cutting down the undead, and Molly jumped into the shadows. 

She reappeared on the far end of the shield wall, where Earnachar and his swordthains struggled. For all his windy speech, Earnachar was no coward. He stood in the shield wall with his men, bellowing exhortations as he laid about with a spiked steel mace. A runedead reached for him, and Earnachar struck with such force that the creature’s head exploded. 

The headless corpse slumped to the ground.

Molly joined the fray, her blades a blur of blue fire. She dispatched one, two, three of them in as many heartbeats. More undead turned to face her, and Molly danced around their attacks. The creatures were fast and strong, and possessed the skills they had used in life…but they had been farmers and shepherds, not warriors. Had they been alive, Molly could have killed them with ease.

Their animated corpses did not fare much better. 

A score of runedead attacked her, and Earnachar’s swordthains seized the moment and pushed forward. A shout rang out, and the waiting knights charged down the hillside, plunging into the mass of runedead. The sheer weight of the attack drove the undead back, forcing them towards the ruined village. 

Then green light flared through the runedead, and dozens of them transmuted into wraiths of mist and ghostly green light. They strode through the shield wall, through the bodies of the men, and into the mass of archers. 

###

Riothamus had seen the runedead do this before. They could turn themselves into wraiths, to stride unhindered through walls and doors. Then they would take physical form once more and rip apart their foes. While in wraith form, they could not be harmed, not even by Lion's fire.

But Riothamus had access to weapons beyond mere steel.

The staff’s magic flooded through him, old as the mountains and just as strong. The last wizards of the High Elderborn had imbued their powers into the Guardian's staff, to stand forever vigilant against the Demonsouled and the powers of dark magic, and the staff had been passed down from bearer to bearer over the millennia.

And now Riothamus was the custodian of that power. 

He leveled the staff and cast a spell.

Blasts of golden flame erupted from the staff and stabbed into the immaterial runedead. The bolts of flame reduced them to piles of smoking ash. A few of the runedead shifted into material form to avoid the golden fire, only to have the surrounding militia archers attack with their short swords. 

In a matter of moments the attack collapsed, the shield wall and the knights pushing back the runedead.

“Advance!” Mazael’s voice roared over the melee, and he led the charge, striking right and left with Lion. His armor of golden dragon scales glittered in the sun, and with Lion in hand he looked invincible. 

###

The battle was over a few moments later.

Mazael wiped sweat from his forehead. Hundreds of runedead lay carpeted upon the ground, their flesh and bone crumbling into black dust. No matter how long they had been dead, the runedead usually crumbled into dust after the spells binding them had been destroyed. A few runedead retreated towards the ruined village, but not many.

Mazael had lost seven men in the fighting, and a score more wounded. 

The cost had been much lighter than he expected. 

“We should pursue them, hrould!” said Earnachar, face flushed with excitement and battle-rage. “Cut them down as they flee, just as mighty Tervingar pursued the sons of Greuthungar after…”

“No,” said Mazael.

Earnachar blinked in surprise. “What? Why not?”

“They’re withdrawing in an organized fashion,” said Mazael. “Which means that mind in the village is controlling them. Pursue the runedead, and we’ll run right into a trap.” 

Earnachar grunted. “Then perhaps our work is done. If the undead priest in the ruins has no further runedead to command, it is no threat. Let it lurk in its lair and lord over dust and bone.”

Arnulf barked a laugh. “Turning from a fight, Earnachar? I’d never thought I’d see the day.”

Earnachar scowled and raised his mace an inch or so. “Earnachar son of Balnachar does not run from battle! But there is a difference between honorable battle and chasing a poisonous serpent into its hole.”

“Exactly,” said Mazael, “but if our guess is right, this poisonous serpent is an undead San-keth cleric. It won’t stay in its hole. Sooner or later more runedead will pass Morsen, and it will take control of them. Or it will decide to attack your villages directly. No, best to deal with it now.” He raised his voice. “I will defeat with the undead priest myself. Guardian, Lady Molly, come with me.” 

“We shall accompany you, hrould,” said Earnachar, and Arnulf nodded in agreement.

“No,” said Mazael. “I have Lion’s fire, and the Guardian has his magic. Together we can protect ourselves. The priest probably lurks underground, and if it unleashes its spells while the men are packed together, it would be a slaughter.” Besides, Mazael’s and Molly’s Demonsouled blood would heal any wounds or injuries. The other men were not so lucky. “Lady Romaria will remain in command here.”

“No,” said Romaria, voice calm. “It will be dark underground, and my senses are sharper than yours. You will need my aid.” 

Mazael gritted his teeth. He could command her to remain behind, but he knew she would follow him up the hill anyway. And he could use her help. But he remembered that dark day she had followed him into the San-keth temple below Castle Cravenlock, the day the Old Demon had killed her.

He did not want to lose her again.

“Very well,” said Mazael. “Earnachar, Arnulf. You’re in command until I return. For the love of the gods, don’t kill each other.”

Earnachar scowled. “It will take more than the likes Arnulf to slay Earnachar son of Balnachar!”

Arnulf only snorted.

Mazael turned and strode up the hill, the others following.

Follow this link to continue reading 
Soul of Skulls
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Other books by the author

The Demonsouled Saga

MAZAEL CRAVENLOCK is a wandering knight, fearless in battle and masterful with a sword. 

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