Soul of Swords (Book 7) (2 page)

And before the Old Demon found a way into Cythraul Urdvul. Mazael suspected his father planned to use Lucan to enter Cythraul Urdvul, though he could not image how.

Gerald nodded. “That is why we came to the Grim Marches, Mazael.” He looked at his wife and sons. “Rachel and Aldane and Belifane will be safe here, as will the rest of our families. The Grim Marches have known nothing but war since the Malrags came, and I hate to ask it of you. But…”

“You shall have my help,” said Mazael. “The Lord of the Grim Marches will ride to the aid of the Lord of Knightcastle.”

Gerald flinched. “But I’m not…”

“You are,” said Mazael. “Like it or not, Gerald. Your brothers are dead, and your father has turned to madness. Lord Malden is no longer fit to rule. That means you are the rightful Lord of Knightcastle and liege lord of Knightreach. If your people are to be saved from Lucan and the runedead, you shall have to save them.”

Gerald nodded. Once, Mazael knew, such a burden would have been too much for the younger man. And Gerald had never expected to become the Lord of Knightcastle. But the years had hardened him, and Gerald would do what was necessary to save his people.

“Then the Lord of Knightcastle,” he said, “is pleased to accept your aid, my lord Mazael.”

“Good,” said Mazael, thinking. “You.” He pointed at a tall, handsome man in the blue and silver surcoat of the Justiciar Order. “You’re Aidan Tormaud? The Justiciar commander that helped Gerald escape?”

He saw a flicker of pain pass over Molly’s face. She had been in love with Nicholas Tormaud, Aidan’s younger brother, until the Old Demon and Corvad had murdered him. Now she was betrothed to Riothamus, but Mazael suspected the old pain would never quite leave her.

“Aye, my lord,” said Aidan.

“I suspect you are the highest-ranking Justiciar officer who hasn’t followed Caldarus into his lunacy, Sir Commander,” said Mazael. “Which means you are now the commander of the Justiciar Order.”

Aidan’s mouth fell open. “But…”

“Not all the Justiciar officers and knights will follow Caldarus,” said Mazael, “and we need every man. Someone has to lead them.”

Aidan swallowed, and gave a sharp nod. 

“My lords and knights,” said Mazael, raising his voice, “we have plans to make. Rufus! Get Master Cramton, and have rooms found for our guests. We will have a feast tonight, and then a council of war.” 

Rufus bowed again and ran to fetch Mazael’s seneschal. Pages hurried forward to take the lords’ and knights’ horses. Mazael stepped closer to Rachel, Romaria at his side, while Riothamus and Molly spoke in low voices.

“This is your second son?” said Mazael, looking at the child in Rachel’s arms.

For the first time she smiled. “He is. Belifane.”

Mazael looked at Gerald. “Named for your brother.”

“Aye,” said Gerald. “My brother Belifane was slain fighting in the Grim Marches twenty years ago. I suppose it is a peculiar twist of history that I should bring my son Belifane to the Grim Marches to keep him safe.” 

Mazael felt a touch on his arm.

He turned and saw Romaria staring up at the sky. 

“What is it?” said Mazael. Her half-human, half-Elderborn heritage had given her keen senses, and he knew to trust them.

“Skythain,” said Romaria, and Mazael saw the black speck against the blue sky. “I think he’s going to land in the courtyard.”

The skythains usually landed their griffin mounts in an enclosed field outside of Cravenlock Town, a half-mile from the castle. The scent of the griffins terrified horses, and the beasts sometimes stole pigs and sheep when their riders’ attention was elsewhere. 

Only urgent news would bring a skythain directly to the castle. 

The black speck grew larger, circling towards the courtyard.

“Father, look!” said Aldane, his voice full of delight. A murmur of alarm went through the lords from Knightreach, and Mazael remembered that they had never seen a griffin before. “A griffin!”

“Gods,” said Gerald, reaching for his sword. “Is that…”

“Hold!” said Mazael, his voice cutting through the noise. “The Tervingi scouts ride griffins.”

The griffin circled lower, its white wings spread, its golden-furred limbs tucked close to its body. A man in leather sat on a saddle atop the beast’s back, his reins looped through the griffin’s razor-edged beak.

Gerald shook his head. “I thought griffins were only a story.”

Molly snorted. “Wait until you see a mammoth, Lord Gerald.”

“Mammoth?” said several of the lords. 

The griffin landed at the base of the keep, downwind from the stables. Mazael recognized the lean, sunburned man in the saddle as Toric son of Torvmund. Toric had been a skythain in the service of the hrould Athanaric, and after Athanaric’s death, had become a headman in his own right. 

“Toric!” said Mazael. “What news?”

“Ill news, hrould,” said Toric. “There is a party of horsemen upon the road,” he glanced at the nobles from Knightreach, “and I see they have arrived.”

“This is my sister Lady Rachel, her husband Lord Gerald of Knightcastle, and their sworn men,” said Mazael. “Their arrival is hardly ill news.”

Toric shook his head. “It is their pursuers that concern me.”

“Pursuers?” said Gerald. “We were not…”

“Runedead,” said Toric. “Over a thousand strong, and of a sort I have not seen before. The sigils upon their brows blaze with crimson fire, not green.”

“Crimson fire?” said Gerald. “Caraster’s runedead had symbols of crimson fire on their foreheads.”

“And Caraster’s runedead belong to Lucan now,” said Mazael.

“Gods, Mazael,” said Gerald. “They followed us here. I’m sorry. We…”

Mazael lifted a hand. “Do not blame yourself. Even if you were slain, we would have had to face Lucan’s runedead eventually.” He looked back at Toric. “Where are they?”

“Four miles west of here, hrould,” said Toric, “heading east upon the road. They are making for the castle, and ignoring anyone in their path.”

“Good,” said Mazael. If the runedead were focused upon Gerald and his men, they would not hurt anyone else. Perhaps he could use that to their advantage.

“How did they even find us?” said Rachel.

“It would not be a hard guess,” said Gerald, “to realize that we would go to Mazael for help.”

“An awakened runedead must be leading them,” said Riothamus. “The runedead are usually mindless, even if they retained the skills they possessed in life, but I suspect Lucan gave an awakened runedead command of this group and set it to follow you. An awakened runedead, bound to Lucan’s control, would chase you to the ends of the earth.”

“I will ride out and draw it away from you,” said Gerald, and Rachel grabbed his arm.

“No, you will not,” said Mazael, thinking.

“Are your walls warded, my lord?” said Adalar. “If the runedead become immaterial, they could enter unhindered.”

“Indeed,” said Sir Wesson. “We lost many castles that way in the first hours of the Great Rising.”

Mazael nodded. “Timothy and Riothamus warded them well. Toric! How long until the runedead arrive?”

“No more than an hour, hrould,” said Toric. 

“Very well,” said Mazael. He pointed at some of the pages attending the lords. “You and you. Find Sir Hagen Bridgebane and Earnachar son of Balnachar and tell them to gather every man they can muster. My lord Gerald, Sir Commander Aidan, gather your men and ride with us.”

Gerald nodded. “We came for your help, and you shall have ours.”

“Good,” said Mazael, turning. “Guardian. Daughter. We shall need your aid as well.”

Riothamus nodded. “You have it.”

“Why, Father,” said Molly. “You do know how I love a good fight before dinner.”

She was joking, but not entirely. He saw the eager glint in her gray eyes. He knew she felt a fire in her blood, an eagerness for battle, for combat, for the death of foes.

For he felt the same thing in his Demonsouled blood, and he had struggled to contain that rage for years. The arrival of the runedead brought a peculiar sort of relief. Here was a foe he could fight without reservation, without mercy. 

He had sworn to defend the folk of the Grim Marches and the Tervingi nation, and he would not suffer the runedead upon his land.

“Come,” Mazael said. “We will ride as soon as you are ready.”

Chapter 2 - Hunters of the Dead

Within an hour over four hundred horsemen passed through the gates of Castle Cravenlock, circled around the castle’s rocky hill, and rode west. 

Mazael rode at their head atop an ill-tempered destrier named Gauntlet. He wore armor fashioned from the carcass of the dragon he had slain in the mountains, the scales flashing like gold in the afternoon sun. Sir Aulus Hirtan, a thin, sour-faced knight, rode at Mazael’s left, carrying the Cravenlock standard, a black banner displaying three crossed silver swords. At his right rode Riothamus and Romaria and Sir Hagen Bridgebane, the black-bearded knight who served as Mazael’s armsmaster. After them came two hundred of Mazael’s sworn knights and armsmen, and fifty of the knights who had come east with Gerald.

One hundred and fifty Tervingi horsethains brought up the rear, Earnachar son of Balnachar riding proudly at their head. When the Tervingi crossed the Great Mountains and invaded the Grim Marches, the Tervingi thains had fought either on foot or upon the backs of their war mammoths. Their lack of horsemen allowed Lord Richard to defeat them at Stone Tower, and Mazael to overcome Ragnachar in the moments before Lucan unleashed the Great Rising. 

But Earnachar and Arnulf and the other Tervingi headmen had begun training horsemen of their own, swearing warriors into their service as horsethains. 

It was just as well. If Lucan had gathered a horde of runedead, Mazael would need every warrior he could find.

“Mazael,” said Romaria. “I see them.”

Mazael nodded and gave the command to halt.

To the west, he saw a dark mass coming closer.

###

Romaria stood up her stirrups and stared west.

Her senses had always been sharp. Her father had been Athaelin Greenshield, Champion of Deepforest Keep, but her mother had been Elderborn. And from her mother Romaria had inherited the keen senses of the Elderborn…and the earth magic that would eventually devour her mind and transform her into a beast.

Or so Romaria had thought. 

She had struggled against her Elderborn nature all her life, but she had faced herself in the caverns below Mount Tynagis. Now the two sides of her soul existed in harmony. When she wore the form of the beast, the form of the wolf, her senses were supernaturally keen, but even in her human form, she could clearly.

She looked at Mazael, and for an instant glimpsed the image of a pale woman in black hovering near him.

Ever since she had recovered from Skalatan’s venom, she had begun…seeing things. 

Visions. Premonitions. Flickers of the past. For a time Romaria had thought she was going mad, that Skalatan’s poison or Riothamus’s magic had damaged her brain, but she did not think so. She knew what madness felt like, and this was not it. 

Then what was happening to her?

She pushed the thought out of her mind. She could consider it later.

When there wasn’t a small army of animated corpses coming for Castle Cravenlock.

“Toric was right,” said Romaria, gazing at the dark mass. “At least a thousand of the runedead. Maybe more. Sigils of crimson fire on their foreheads.”

“Then they are Lucan’s,” said Mazael.

He remained calm, bearded face impassive, but Romaria knew her husband well enough to see his fury. He has trusted Lucan, despite Romaria and Rachel and Molly warning him against it, and Lucan had betrayed him. Mazael blamed himself for the Great Rising, for all the atrocities Lucan had worked since stealing the Glamdaigyr. 

“It’s not your fault,” she said, voice quiet enough that only he could hear it.

“No,” said Mazael, “but the consequences are still my responsibility. How far away?”

“About three miles, I think,” said Romaria. “They’ll reach us within the hour.”

“Good,” said Mazael.

“There’s something else,” said Romaria. “I think…I think one of the runedead is on fire.” 

“On fire?” Mazael frowned. “The runedead are impervious to normal steel, but fire harms them.”

Romaria shrugged. “I think one of the runedead is burning. A runedead wizard, perhaps?”

Mazael cursed. “The last thing we need. Awakened runedead are bad enough.”

“And the wizards are worse,” said Romaria, settling back into her saddle. 

“Aye,” said Mazael. “This is what we’ll do.”

###

Gerald Roland walked his horse to join the others clustered around Mazael. Romaria and Molly waited there, Molly fingering her dragon’s tooth dagger. The Tervingi wizard, the Guardian, waited at Mazael’s right, along with a short keg of a Tervingi man who had announced that his name was Earnachar son of Balnachar and that the sons of mighty Tervingar would smite the runedead. The Tervingi seemed like a wild lot, and Gerald was half-amazed that they followed Mazael at all.

But, still. If anyone could win the loyalty of a barbarian nation, it was Mazael Cravenlock.

And if anyone could defeat Lucan Mandragon, it was Mazael.

“This is my plan,” said Mazael, looking them over. “If the runedead want to get their hands on Gerald, we’ll give them a chance.” His eyes shifted to Gerald. “Form a shield wall with your men and meet the runedead.”

“We won’t last long,” said Gerald. 

“You won’t need to,” said Mazael. “I will break off to the south, and Earnachar and his horsethains to the north. Even awakened runedead are not cunning, and they’ll focus on you and your men. Once you are engaged, Earnachar and I will strike the runedead on the flanks.”

Earnachar slammed a fist against his thick chest. “Earnachar son of Balnachar will not fail you! We shall ride to victory, as mighty Tervingar did against the treacherous sons of Greuthungar!” 

“Indeed,” said Mazael.

“We don’t have much wizard’s oil with us,” said Gerald. “Not enough for that many runedead.”

“You won’t need it,” said Mazael, drawing his sword. 

The blade burst into raging azure flames, the sword’s magic awakening in response to the approaching runedead. 

The sword was older than Castle Cravenlock, older than Knightcastle, but the blade remained razor-sharp. The High Elderborn had forged the sword long ago to oppose creatures of dark magic, and Gerald had seen Mazael wield that weapon to deadly effect.

“Gods, but I wish you had been in Knightreach,” said Gerald. “That fire would have been useful against Caraster and his runedead.”

“We’ll get the chance to use it soon enough,” said Mazael. “Riothamus, Molly. Stay here and help with the shield wall. Riothamus, you’ll know what to do.”

Molly offered a smirk. “I’ve certainly had enough practice carving up dead men, Father.”

“Why, daughter,” said Mazael. “I would not want to deny you anything.”

“Mazael,” said Romaria, looking to the west. “The runedead are moving faster.”

Mazael nodded. “We had best ride.”

Gerald’s men dismounted and formed a shield wall, while Mazael and his armsmen rode away to the south and the Tervingi to the north.

Leaving the runedead to bear down upon them.

###

Molly took a deep breath, drew her sword and dragon’s tooth dagger, and prepared herself. 

Her Demonsouled blood pulsed through her veins, its dark power making her stronger and quicker. With it, she could hit harder and move faster than a normal man, and heal even serious wounds in a matter of moments. In her battle rage, few could stand against her.

And the dark power offered certain other useful abilities.

Molly watched the mass of runedead approach. She had been raised and trained as an assassin of the Skulls, as a killer, and had indulged her bloodlust for years. Now she worked to keep her rage in check, to keep herself under control.

But it was good to face a foe that deserved her rage.

Riothamus stepped to her side, one hand around the Guardian’s staff, and she smiled at him. After Nicholas Tormaud had been slain, Molly had blamed her father for his death. Later she had learned the truth, and had come to live at Castle Cravenlock, waiting for her chance to strike at the Old Demon. But she had only lived for killing.

Then she had met Riothamus.

Gods, how she loved him. Seeing Sir Commander Aidan, his features so similar to Nicholas’s, had been a shock. She would always miss Nicholas…but she loved Riothamus more than she had thought possible. 

“Are you ready?” said Riothamus, his voice low.

She grinned at him. “A row of runedead and room to swing my sword? Why, how could I be happier?” 

Riothamus squeezed her hand, and she followed him to Sir Gerald’s side. Molly could see Mazael’s influence on the man. Gerald had gotten his men into order, arranging them to meet the charging runedead. He moved among them, giving instructions and encouragements, just as Mazael did. 

“You have our aid,” said Riothamus.

“Good,” said Gerald.

Gerald looked at the advancing runedead and rubbed his hand over his face. The mass of runedead had spread into a battle line, moving at a steady pace. Some had rusted chain mail and carried battered weapons, while others only wore the crumbling clothes of farmers and peasants. Every last one was gray and gaunt, symbols of crimson fire burning upon their foreheads and reflecting in their dead eyes. 

Crimson fire. That was odd. Perhaps it was a side-effect of the spell Lucan used to control them. 

Through the gaps in the runedead Molly saw yellow-orange fire. The burning runedead Romaria had seen?

“Lord Mazael’s plan will work, my lord,” said Riothamus.

“Of course it will,” said Gerald. “Or it will get us all killed.”

“We’re not dead yet,” said Molly. 

A thin man in a long black coat stepped to Gerald’s side, his hair so blond it was almost white. He looked more tired than Molly remembered, but Circan had survived both the runedead and Lucan Mandragon since she had last seen him. He carried a copper tube capped with cork in his right hand.

“My lord,” said Circan, “shall I use my war spells?”

“Yes,” said Gerald. “We will need every advantage.”

“I can augment the spell,” said Riothamus. 

Circan gave him a suspicious look, but Gerald nodded. 

“Do it,” said Gerald.

###

Riothamus stepped in front of the shield wall, Circan at his left. 

“You know what you are doing, I trust?” said Circan.

Riothamus heard the doubt in the older man’s voice, but he did not mind. Circan only knew him as a barbarian wizard. He did not know about the Guardian’s office, about the power and the accumulated knowledge bestowed by the Guardian’s staff. 

And he would not know the burdens that came with the power.

“Circan!” said Gerald. “Now!”

Circan pointed the copper tube and began chanting a spell. Riothamus felt the power stirring, and his Sight flared to life. With the Guardian’s staff came the power of the Sight, the ability to see magical forces, to capture glimpses of the past, present, and the future. He saw the power Circan gathered, saw the necromantic power bound into the advancing runedead. 

He lifted the Guardian’s staff, and the sigils cut into the wood flared with golden light. The magic of the Guardian rushed into him, power as furious as a storm and as unyielding as a mountain. Circan’s spell reached its completion, and Riothamus loosed his own power, using his magic to augment Circan’s power.

With explosive results. 

A screaming bolt of fire of erupted from the tube. The blast howled over the field, turning the grass to ash in its passage, and slammed into the advancing runedead. The spell exploded in a raging inferno, turning scores of runedead to smoking ash, the flames spreading to the others. 

Circan blinked, his expression startled. 

“That,” he said at last, “was effective.”

The runedead broke ranks and charged, avoiding the burning corpses. 

“Guardian!” said Gerald. “The blue fire!”

Riothamus and Circan stepped back behind the shield wall, relying on the knights and armsmen to shield them. Riothamus began another spell at once, his staff flickering with golden light. Power thrummed through him, and he looked to the south, to where Mazael’s horsemen waited.

To where Lion burned in Mazael’s fist. 

The High Elderborn had wrought that sword long ago to fight against the Demonsouled, and they had also created the Guardian’s staff, the last of their wizards imbuing their magic into the staff to stand forever vigilant against the forces of darkness. 

The sword and the staff were kin, and the sword’s power came at the staff’s call.

There was a thunderclap, and Riothamus’s staff blazed with blue flame. The fire leapt from his staff to sheath the swords and spears and maces of Gerald’s men, and Riothamus saw the fire spread among the weapons of Mazael’s horsemen to the south and Earnachar’s horsemen to the north. 

“Stand fast!” yelled Gerald, raising his blazing sword, and the charging runedead crashed into the shield wall.

###

Molly watched the battle raging before her, her Demonsouled rage howling through her, her weapons ablaze with blue flame. 

Gerald’s men were veterans, and held their own against the runedead. Yet the sheer number of undead crashed against the shield wall like waves hammering against the shore. Sooner or later the undead would wear down the living men. Worse, there were so many runedead that they began to circle to the sides, flanking the shield wall. If they got behind the men it would be a slaughter. 

It was up to Molly and Riothamus to prevent that.

She took a deep breath and drew on the dark fire in within her blood. A stride forward carried her into the darkness, and shadows rose to envelop her. A heartbeat later the darkness vanished, and in that time she had traveled twenty yards to the south.

Putting her directly behind the attacking runedead.

Molly stepped into the battle, her Demonsouled blood lending her strength and power. Her sword plunged into a runedead’s neck and ripped up, severing its head. The sigil of crimson flame winked out, the corpse collapsing motionless to the ground. Her dragon’s tooth dagger, sharper and harder than steel, split the skull of another undead, blue fire drowning the red. The runedead turned to face her, and Molly jumped back into the shadows.