Soul of Swords (Book 7) (35 page)

“Impossible,” said Ardanna.

“It’s not,” said Mazael. “I lived at Knightcastle for years. I know its history. The original keep was built over the ruins of a citadel of the High Elderborn…”

“Where a Door could have been kept,” said Romaria.

“Gerald told me Old Dracaryl tried to conquer Knightcastle several times, but it was too far away for the high lords to manage it,” said Mazael. “They must have been trying to claim the Door of Souls. Think of what Gerald told us about Lucan. Lucan disguised himself as Ataranur, a High Elderborn prince sleeping beneath the mountains until the hour of Knightcastle’s greatest need. Those legends are as old as Knightcastle itself. A High Elderborn wizard sleeping in the darkness below Knightcastle, in long-forgotten vaults…vaults that might hold a Door of Souls.”

For a moment no one said anything.

“A doorway,” said Riothamus. “That’s what the Urdmoloch told me. He needed the proper tool. A doorway.”

“It would explain,” said Ardanna, “why the Sight cannot behold Knightcastle properly. An active Door of Souls creates tremendous magical turbulence. If Lucan Mandragon is truly opening a Door of Souls…”

“You have more experience with a Door of Souls than anyone else here,” said Mazael, though he suspected Riothamus might have more abstract knowledge from the Guardians’ memories. “And you know how Lucan has been gathering stolen life force with those black daggers. Would that work to reopen a Door of Souls?”

“It would,” said Ardanna, her voice solemn. “Gods of earth and sky, but it would. I fear you are right, Lord Mazael. There is a Door of Souls below Knightcastle, and Lucan will soon open it.”

“Gods,” said Mazael, his hand twitching towards Lion’s hilt. “All this time. Lucan and the Glamdaigyr. The Great Rising and runedead. Caldarus and the black daggers. It was the Old Demon’s plan from the beginning.” He shuddered. “For all those centuries he sired and slew Demonsouled children and sent their power to Cythraul Urdvul. All of it has happened at his design.”

And for a moment dread blacker than anything he had ever known settled upon Mazael Cravenlock. He had led men to victory in battle, had defeated powerful foes…but he was still as nothing next to the Old Demon. The ancient monster’s plots and webs spanned millennia. Nations and empires had danced upon his strings. How many generations of children had the Old Demon raised and devoured? How many kingdoms had he ground into the dust?

“Three thousand years,” murmured Mazael.

“Aye, three thousand years,” said Molly, “and the old devil finally made a mistake. He left you alive. You and I, father. We might be the last of the Demonsouled, but we’re the ones who are going to stop him. We’re the ones who are finally going to bring him to account.” 

“Aye,” said Mazael, though he could not see how.

“That explains why he needed Lucan and the Glamdaigyr,” said Riothamus. “Lucan to gather the power and open the Door of Souls for him.”

“And the Glamdaigyr,” said Romaria, “to claim the power when he enters Cythraul Urdvul.”

“Then we’ll have to defeat Lucan as quickly as possible,” said Mazael, “and kill as many bearers of the black dagger as we can.” He nodded to himself. “That was why Lucan attacked Barellion. Fifty thousand people live within its walls, and he could butcher them quickly and obtain the power he needed. But Skalatan stopped him. So he must not have enough power to open the Door yet.” He blew out a long breath. “We cannot allow Lord Malden’s knights to kill too many of our men with those black daggers. Otherwise we shall do Lucan’s work for him.”

“Easier to just find Lucan and kill him,” said Molly.

“He’s already dead,” said Riothamus.

Molly scowled. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” said Riothamus, “and it will be challenging. Lucan was a match for me during the Battle of Swordgrim, and he will have grown in power since then. I may not be able to overcome him.”

“You shall have my help,” said Molly.

“And the help of the druids of Deepforest Keep,” said Ardanna, “which I imagine would be rather more effective than the blades of an assassin.”

“Father,” said Molly, ignoring Ardanna, “you ought to be grateful that your wife inherited her charm from her father.” 

“Lion’s fire could destroy a revenant,” said Mazael, cutting off the argument. “It’s just a matter of getting close enough to stop him…”

Riothamus, Romaria, and Ardanna turned their heads in unison, and for a brief moment Mazael wondered if they were going to start fighting. Then he saw that all three wore identical expressions of alarm.

“Mazael!” said Romaria. “The Sight. Something’s coming.”

“A spell,” said Riothamus, raising the staff of the Guardian. “Someone is casting a spell…”

The air rippled before them, and Mazael drew Lion. The nearby armsmen, close enough to see the distortion, shouted and raised their weapons. Then the rippling stopped, and three figures appeared before Mazael.

“Hugh?” said Mazael in surprise.

Hugh Chalsain, Prince of Barellion, stood before Mazael. He wore fine steel plate armor, and looked much the same as Mazael remembered, though there were dark circles below his green eyes. Next to him stood an Aegonar warrior in gilded scale armor, the serpent diadem of the Aegonar upon his red hair. Behind them both stood a gaunt figure draped in ragged gray robes, head concealed in a cowl…

Fury like fire spread through Mazael.

“Skalatan,” he spat, urging Gauntlet forward. “I said I would repay you for…”

“An illusion,” said Riothamus. “They’re not really here.” 

“You will forgive me, I trust,” hissed the archpriest, “for not appearing before you in person. Given your likely reaction.” 

“Lord Mazael,” said Hugh. “It is good to see you again.”

“Prince Hugh,” said Mazael, his mind racing.

“Guardian, Lady Molly,” said Hugh, turning in their directions. “I am glad to see you unharmed.”

“Oh,” said Molly, “it will take more than ninety thousand runedead to kill me.”

Hugh grinned. “Clearly.” He bowed to Romaria. “You are Lady Romaria, I trust? It is good to meet you at last. Mazael crossed the realm, waged war, and threw down both a High King of the Aegonar and a Prince of Barellion to save you…and I’m glad to see he was successful.”

“And it is good to meet you, lord Prince,” said Romaria. “Mazael always spoke highly of you.”

“You’ve allied with the Aegonar,” said Mazael, the pieces falling into place, “haven’t you?”

Hugh grimaced. “I fear I had little choice. Lord Malden came against the walls of Barellion with a great host of runedead, and we could not stand before him. Skalatan offered to come to our aid, and I had to accept. We have put aside our differences until Lucan Mandragon and Lord Malden Roland are defeated. Then we can go back to killing each other.” He gestured at the Aegonar warrior. “This is Ryntald, the High King of the Aegonar.”

Ryntald bowed. “It is an honor to meet you, Mazael Cravenlock.” His voice was quiet and deep. “Your war against us in Greycoast caused us a great deal of trouble.”

“A pity I did not cause more trouble,” said Mazael, “else we would not be having this conversation.”

Ryntald grinned like a wolf showing its teeth. “Indeed not.” 

“Both the army of Greycoast and the host of the Aegonar are marching to Knightreach,” said Hugh. “We decided to contact you, in hopes of launching a combined assault upon Knightcastle.”

“Perhaps,” said Mazael. “But before we go any further, you should know what Lucan truly intends to do.” He looked at the gray-cloaked figure. “And what Skalatan intends to do.”

Skalatan made no response. 

“I would dearly like to know,” said Hugh. “We have suffered much misery since the Great Rising, and I would like to know why such evil as befallen our lands.”

“Lucan Mandragon worked the Great Rising to destroy the Demonsouled,” said Mazael, “every last man, woman, and child who possessed a single drop of Demonsouled blood. Their power gathered in a domain of the spirit world, a place called Cythraul Urdvul. There’s a relic of the High Elderborn called the Door of Souls beneath Knightcastle, and the purpose of the black daggers is to collect enough power to open the Door. Lucan intends to enter Cythraul Urdvul and destroy the power of the Demonsouled. But he is only a puppet. The Old Demon himself will use Lucan to claim the power and transform himself into a god.”

Hugh stared at him in silence.

“You’re serious?” said Hugh.

“Lord Mazael,” said Skalatan, “speaks the truth.” 

“Gods,” said Hugh. “If both of you agree…gods. If Lucan is doing this…I thought the Old Demon was just a story. If he does as you say, it will be the end of the world.”

“Indeed,” said Skalatan. “Which is why we must stop him.”

“You should also know,” said Mazael, “that Skalatan plans to claim the power for himself, and become the new god.”

Hugh looked at Skalatan, while Ryntald merely nodded, as if having a suspicion confirmed.

“Why should I not?” said Skalatan. “If you are wise, you will support me.”

Hugh laughed. “And why should we do that?”

“Someone must claim that power,” said Skalatan. “The Old Demon is consumed by needless cruelty. I would set this world to order, and bring a new era of harmony and peace.”

Ardanna laughed. “A likely story, serpent. Ever has your kind sought to dominate the world.”

“As opposed to your kind,” said Skalatan, “who created the Demonsouled through their folly.” 

“Enough,” said Mazael. “Skalatan is right, at least in this. We cannot allow the Old Demon to become a god.” He leveled a finger at Skalatan. “But neither will I allow you to claim the power. You would be as ruthless a tyrant as the Old Demon.”

“You would not think so,” said Skalatan, “should he become a god.”

“That we must first destroy Lucan and stop the Old Demon,” said Mazael, “we can all agree.”

Ryntald smiled. “Then we kill each other.”

“How far are you from Knightcastle, and how many men do you have?” said Mazael.

“Three days’ march,” said Hugh. “We have twenty thousand men, knights and militia and armsmen. The Aegonar have thirty thousand men, though no cavalry among them.”

“It is indeed interesting,” said Ryntald, “how you heathens have turned beasts of burden into effective instruments of war.” 

“I have thirty-five thousand men with me, assembled from the lords of the Grim Marches and the headmen of the Tervingi nation,” said Mazael. “And it is fully my intent that you should see what beasts of burden can do as instruments of war, High King of the Aegonar.” 

Ryntald offered a thin smile. “I look forward to it, Lord Mazael.”

Mazael doubted it, given that he intended to break the lines of the Aegonar beneath a charge of Tervingi war mammoths. But Skalatan was right. They could not afford to fight among each other in the face of the threat of Lucan and the Old Demon. 

Unfortunately, that played to Skalatan’s advantage.

“Lucan doesn’t have many runedead left,” said Mazael. “Perhaps fifty thousand, once they are all gathered.”

Hugh snorted. “Only fifty thousand?”

Mazael gestured with Lion. “With the help of Lion’s magic, fifty thousand runedead are still formidable…but not as formidable as they would be otherwise.” He scratched his chin with his free hand, thinking. For all that the Aegonar lacked cavalry, they were nonetheless formidable infantry, and their seidjar priests wielded potent destructive magic. “This, then, is what I propose.”

They listened to his plan of battle, and agreed upon it.

###

That night Mazael stood outside his tent, Romaria at his side. The campfires stretched away in all direction, but for the moment they were alone. 

“I’m surprised,” said Romaria, “that they agreed with so little fuss.”

Mazael shrugged. “Skalatan wants to be a god, and the Aegonar want to worship a great damn snake. And that won’t happen unless we first stop Lucan and the Old Demon.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

“Do you think it will work?” said Romaria.

“I don’t know,” said Mazael. “No one can see the outcome of a battle.” He smiled. “Not even those of us with the Sight.”

She laughed.

“Do I think we will defeat the runedead?” said Mazael. “Yes. But they’re not the enemy. Lucan himself isn’t even the true enemy.”

“The Old Demon,” said Romaria, voice soft. 

“Skalatan thinks he can defeat the Old Demon and become a god,” said Mazael. “But I fear he is overconfident. It is the Old Demon we must defeat.”

And if they did not, the world would be his, and all mortals would be his slaves.

“Aye,” said a soft voice.

Mazael turned his head, and saw the spirit of Morebeth standing nearby.

“Why did you not tell me about the Door of Souls?” said Mazael.

“I did not know,” said Morebeth. “I can only manifest in the material world near you. I told you the Old Demon had some means of reaching Cythraul Urdvul hidden in Knightcastle.”

“You were right,” said Mazael. He hesitated. “Your visions. Do you see any future where we prevail?”

Morebeth did not answer for a long time.

“No,” she said at last.

Chapter 26 - And All The Nations Shall March

Lucan strode through Knightcastle’s gates, walking alongside Lord Malden’s horse. 

Malden looked towards the ramparts of Knightcastle’s outer wall, as if expecting cheers, but none came. A few servants stood on the walls, but quickly scurried out of sight at their lord’s approach. Not surprising, given how many of them Malden had murdered in fits of rage. 

A flicker of pain went over Malden’s face, but Lucan hardly cared.

After today, he would no longer need Malden, or Knightcastle, or the runedead.

After today, the Demonsouled would be destroyed. 

They headed for the runedead host, drawn up in battle formation northeast of both Knightcastle and Castle Town, in position to intercept the armies coming from the north and the east. Between the survivors of Barellion and those who had escaped the Grim Marches, Lucan had assembled just under fifty-three thousand runedead. A paltry number compared to those he had once commanded, but they would hold their positions long enough to engage the enemy.

The household knights began to disperse themselves, moving into position along the long line of runedead.

“You seem so confident,” said Malden. Despite his youthful vigor, the Lord of Knightcastle looked tired and haggard. 

“I am,” said Lucan. “This is a great day, my lord. Today you will win your final victory. Today we will cleanse the world of the wicked, and from the ashes we will raise up a new and better world, one free of the tyrannies of the old.”

He stopped talking, realizing that he had said too much, but Malden only shook his head.

“All this with fifty thousand runedead,” said Malden. “It will be quite a sight, I am sure.” 

“You will see with your own eyes, my lord,” said Lucan. “You have the dagger?”

He had thought about triggering the spells upon the black daggers himself, but had decided against it. Both Skalatan and the Guardian of the Tervingi would unleash their full powers against him, and turning his attention away from them, even for the few moments required to activate the daggers, might prove fatal. Instead he had placed the activation spell on Malden’s dagger. When the Lord of Knightcastle used it, every last one of the black daggers would erupt in a wave of deadly energy, slaughtering thousands and sending their life force to the Door of Souls.

Of course, Lord Malden and all his household knights would perish alongside their foes.

But Malden didn’t need to know that.

It was treachery. But it was a necessary betrayal. He had to reach Cythraul Urdvul. If he did not destroy the Demonsouled, they would be free to continue their reign of tyranny, and all the blood shed at Lucan’s hands would have been for nothing. 

Tymaen’s death would be meaningless.

Lucan would not allow that to happen. 

Malden took his place behind the line of runedead, his household knights dispersed throughout the front. At his command, the runedead and the knights would charge the enemy. And at Lucan’s command, Malden would trigger the daggers, harvesting the necessary life force to open the Door of Souls. 

Malden squinted at the sky. “Those damned griffins. They’ve been circling overhead for days. Mazael knows our every move.”

“No matter,” said Lucan. “The only move that will matter is the one that you shall unleash with the black daggers. That will win the battle and usher in a new era for the world.”

That, at least, was true.

“So much death,” said Malden, and again he looked and sounded older than his youthful face. “So much blood, Lucan. Has this truly been worth it?” 

“It will be,” said Lucan, “if we do not waver. If we do not turn back from our purpose.”

“Perhaps it would have been better,” said Malden, shaking his head, “if you had never come to Knightcastle.” 

Lucan glared at him. “If I had never come to Knightcastle, my lord, you would have died in bed, and Caraster would have overrun Knightreach. Your vassals would have been scattered, your armies broken, your people ravaged, your sons slain…”

“My vassals are scattered,” said Malden, “my armies have deserted me, Knightreach has been ravaged by runedead and invading hosts, and my wife and all but one of my sons are slain.” He shook his head. “And all because I was too cowardly to die in my bed at my appointed hour.”

Now was a damnable time for Malden to develop doubts. Still, given the magnitude of the setbacks they had suffered, it was only to be expected. And perhaps Malden had realized that Lucan regarded him as a useful tool and nothing more. 

But he just needed Malden to obey for only a few more hours. 

“My lord,” said Lucan, “we…”

Hooves drummed against the ground, and one of the scouts galloped towards them. 

“Aye?” said Malden.

“My lord,” said the scout, reining up, “my lord, the enemy comes from the north.”

Lucan looked north, and just over the horizon glimpsed the crimson banners of the Aegonar alongside the green and black standards of the House of Chalsain.

It seemed that Skalatan and Prince Hugh had arrived first.

###

Hugh gazed upon the stern stone walls and proud towers of Knightcastle. 

The great castle sat at the foot of the mountains, with three concentric rings of curtain walls rising up the slope. At the top of the castle sat the High Court and the great Hall of Triumphs, an enormous blue and silver banner flying overhead. Knightcastle was vast and old, and every generation of Roland lords had expanded and rebuilt the castle, adding towers and keeps and walls, until it was a fortress without peer in the realm. Barellion was strong, but Knightcastle, held by a determined defender, was all but impregnable. 

“Why the devil is he outside of the walls?” said Hugh. 

Mazael’s skythains had been bringing Hugh reports, and now Hugh saw the truth with his own eyes. Fifty thousand runedead stood in battle formation between Knightcastle and Castle Town, spread into a thin line, bands of living troops scattered here and there. 

“It seems that Lord Mazael’s foresight was correct,” said Ryntald. “The foe has left his walls to face us. Though it seems folly. If the runedead held that castle, it would never fall. They fight with supernatural strength and vigor…and unlike living men, have no need of food and water.” 

“Is not the answer obvious, High King?” said Skalatan, motionless in the gray robes of his carrier. “There are far greater concerns at stake that the outcome of one battle or the fall of one castle. Lucan Mandragon requires more life force to open the Door of Souls, so he sends his puppet Malden Roland forth to collect it. If he acquires enough power, he will flee the battlefield to pass through the Door of Souls, leaving Malden to his fate.” 

“Then let us stop him,” said Hugh, “and ensure that the Door of Souls does not open.”

“Indeed,” said Skalatan.

“This plan has great risks for my men,” said Ryntald. “And for yours as well, Prince of Barellion. I know there are greater things at stake here than the outcome of a single battle, but I nonetheless must look to the welfare of my warriors.”

“Mazael will not betray you,” said Hugh. “He gave his word that he will come.” He shrugged. “He vowed that he would come to the aid of the lords of Greycoast, and he has done so, despite the full might of the Justiciar Order and the runedead.”

“And that is what concerns me,” said Ryntald. “He vowed he would stand with the lords of Greycoast against the Aegonar.”

“He will not,” said Hugh. “Not until Lucan Mandragon is defeated.” 

“If we defeat Lucan,” said Ryntald, “the Aegonar warriors will be scattered across the field. Easy prey for the horsemen and war beasts of the Tervingi.”

“Do not fear, High King,” said Skalatan, “for once I have claimed the power and become the new Sepharivaim, all shall recognize their place in the new order to come. Even Mazael Cravenlock, proud and stubborn as he is.”

“Assuming you are able to take the power,” said Hugh.

He expected Skalatan to rebuke him, but the San-keth remained calm. “If I fail and the Old Demon takes the power, we shall all be his slaves. If we both fail, then both Hugh and Mazael are men of their word, and you can leave the field and return to Greycoast unharmed, High King. In any event, fifty thousand runedead led by a revenant are a formidable foe, and I suggest we cease bickering to face them.”

“Very well,” said Ryntald. 

“High Priest!” said Skalatan. Korvager stepped forward, giving Hugh a sullen glare, the bronze rings piercing his arms glinting despite their patina. “Make sure your seidjar are dispersed throughout our lines. You will need to enspell the weapons of the warriors to fight the runedead. If you are gathered together, Lucan might well wipe you out with a single spell.”  

“Victory shall be ours, Herald of Sepharivaim!” said Korvager with a bow, and then turned to join the other seidjar. 

“I notice,” said Hugh, once the High Priest was out of earshot, “that you haven’t told Korvager and the other seidjar what you really intend.”

“It is unimportant,” said Skalatan. “The truth shall be apparent soon enough. High King, Prince of Barellion, I suggest you begin the attack. Better to take the initiative than to wait for the enemy to claim it.”

“As you say,” said Ryntald, and Hugh went to join his men.

###

“You know what you must do?” said Mazael.

Sir Hagen nodded, standing with Arnulf and several other Tervingi thains. “The footmen will march for the runedead host with all speed.”

“Good,” said Mazael. “If all goes well, once you arrive the runedead host should be badly scattered. Hunt down the individual bands and destroy them, but keep in battle formation. Lucan might have another trick or two up his sleeve. After you arrive, I will have the Guardian recast the spell to spread Lion’s fire to your blades.”

Hagen nodded again. “Good hunting, my lord.”

“I’ll see you at Knightcastle,” said Mazael.

He rode Gauntlet through the press. The host of the Grim Marches and the Tervingi nation filled the road leading to the gates of Castle Town. The war mammoths brought up the rear, and the heavy horsemen, six thousand knights, horsethains, and mounted armsmen, had gathered at the head of the army. Mazael rode for the horsemen, where the Cravenlock and Roland banners waved in the breeze. Romaria, Riothamus, and Molly waited there, along with Earnachar and many of Mazael’s chief vassals. Gerald sat atop his horse, surrounded by the exiled lords of Knightreach. 

“The footmen are ready,” said Mazael, reining up near the others. Behind him he saw the dust start to rise as the infantry began to march, the mammoths bringing up the rear.

“We had best ride at once, then,” said Adalar. For an instant Mazael remembered the Battle of Tumblestone, years ago, when he had led the host of Knightreach in battle against Amalric Galbraith and the Dominiar Order. He had gambled then, separating the horsemen from the infantry in hopes of pinning the Dominiars against the walls of Tumblestone. 

Just as he hoped to gamble now.

“If this doesn’t work,” said Gerald, “we’ll be badly exposed.”

“It will work,” said Mazael, filling his voice with a confidence he did not feel. “Hugh will hold the runedead in place, and then we’ll smash the undead from behind. Remember,” he swept his gaze over the lords and headmen, “remember the reason for this battle. Lucan will want the knights with the black daggers to kill as many men as possible. Our first task must be to kill any knights with black daggers. Without those daggers, Lucan cannot harvest the life force he needs.”

The others nodded their agreement.

“Then let us ride,” said Mazael. Sir Aulus blew a long blast on his horn, and the horsemen started forward, making the final leg of the journey to Knightcastle.

###

“What are they doing?” said Malden, craning his neck for a better view.

To his surprise, the enemy host marched south, the infantry spreading into a broad front to match the line of his runedead. Malden saw armsmen and militia from Greycoast scattered through the enemy, but most of the footmen were Aegonar warriors clad in scale armor, round shields on their arms and broadswords and battle axes in their right hands. 

“Attacking, it would seem,” said Lucan, motionless in his black cloak.

Malden glared at the wizard, irritation forcing its way through the dark cloud in his mind. “I hadn’t noticed.” He shook his head. “I expected they would wait for the runedead to attack.”

Lucan shrugged. “Their blood is up. They think they have the momentum. The time has come to strike the final blow and overthrow the tyrant of dark magic ruling in Knightcastle.”

Sarcasm colored his words, but they stung Malden nonetheless. Was that truly what he had become? A tyrant, ruling over his lands through force and fear and an army of animated corpses? 

How had it come to this? 

Dozens of pulses of emerald light flared in the advancing army, and a shimmering haze of green light settled over the advancing footmen.

“Lucan!” said Malden. “They’re working a spell.” 

But Lucan seemed unconcerned. “Observe.” The glowing haze faded, and Malden saw that every axe and sword in the army now flickered with ghostly green flames. “The Aegonar wizards have enspelled their weapons to harm the runedead.”

“And we lose another advantage,” said Malden.

“It won’t matter,” said Lucan. “Once the footmen close with the runedead, you can activate the daggers. Thousands will die in a single heartbeat, and you can drive the foe from the field with ease.”

He sounded so unconcerned. 

Malden looked at the black dagger in his hand, the sigil pulsing with green light. He had murdered innocent people with that weapon, feasting on their life force to make himself younger and stronger, even if he hadn’t realized that was what he was doing. Now he was planning to kill tens of thousands. Even if they were Aegonar serpent-worshippers, he would still kill them in a heartbeat. 

So much more blood on his hands. 

“What of Skalatan and his magic?” said Malden. “Can you deal with him?”

“I shall,” said Lucan. “I will wait until he reveals himself, and then strike with my full strength. He will not escape me this time.”