Soul of Dragons (17 page)

Chapter 14 – Secrets

Mazael entered Lucan's room. 

He had always wondered at its austerity. Lucan was the son of Richard Mandragon, the liege lord of the Grim Marches. Lucan had never shown any interest in wealth, but surely he would have preferred to live in more comfort than this.

Though if he had kept had hidden sanctuary in the San-keth temple, then this room had been nothing more than a mask. 

Mazael made a fist, forced aside the anger. “Where is the mistgate?” 

“There,” said Romaria, pointing at the stone wall. She moved closer to it, and gray mist shimmered over the stone. Soon Mazael saw the familiar rippling haze of a mistgate. It was much smaller than the one Corvad's warlocks had conjured, no bigger than a small doorway. 

“I'll go first,” said Mazael, drawing Lion. No blue fire appeared around the sword's blade. The mistgate itself, at least, was not a creation of dark magic. 

He walked through the gate. 

After an instant of disorientation, he stood in a dim-lit corridor of crimson marble, the vaulted ceiling rising overhead. Ahead he saw the doors to the sanctuary proper, a faint red glow shining from within.

The San-keth temple.

A rush of unpleasant memories flickered through Mazael's mind. Here he had learned that Rachel and Mitor were San-keth proselytes. Here the Old Demon had revealed that Mazael was Demonsouled. And here Mazael had returned with Lion in hand, ready to slay Rachel and Mitor both. 

Lion jolted in his hand, the blade glimmering with blue light.

There was still dark magic down here. 

The column of gray mist behind Mazael swirled, and Romaria appeared.

She took one look at Lion's glow and drew her own sword.

“There might still be things of San-keth necromancy down here,” said Mazael.

“Or something new that Lucan created,” said Romaria.

“Lucan,” said Mazael, the anger returning. “I ordered this place sealed. And he told me that the temple's library had been destroyed. What was he doing with books of San-keth necromancy?” 

“Perhaps,” said Romaria, “that explains what happened to him at Deepforest Keep. Perhaps he tried to use some dark spell against Malavost, only to have it turn on him.” 

Mazael nodded. “Let's find out.”

He started towards the sanctuary doors, Lion raised. Here, at this very spot, he had fought against the undead warriors raised by the Old Demon's necromancy.

He hesitated, and stepped through the double doors.

The sanctuary beyond had been transformed into a wizard's workroom. Long tables held bottles and jars and strange instruments of bronze and glass. Shelves beneath the balcony sagged beneath the weight of hundreds of books and scrolls. Mazael scowled, his hand tight against Lion's hilt. 

The San-keth temple's library. A collection of necromantic books, which Mazael had believed destroyed. His mistakes compounded each other. He had left Elizabeth of Barellion with child. He had trusted Lucan to destroy the library, and now one of Mazael's Demonsouled children had come to raid that library for dark lore. 

What other mistakes had Mazael made? 

“Where was Molly when you found her?” said Mazael.

“Over there,” said Romaria. “That table. She was reading a scroll.”

Mazael crossed to the table. It held jars of powder and a device that looked like a cross between a sextant and a clock. A pile of books lay in disorder at the center of the table - no doubt Molly had left them there. 

Romaria pointed. “There. That was the scroll she was reading.”

Mazael slid Lion into its scabbard and examined the scroll.

It was a map. After a moment Mazael realized that it showed the Grim Marches. The rivers and the hills and the mountains were there, but many of the towns and castles were in different places. An old map, then. Perhaps old enough that the kingdom of Dracaryl had still ruled over the Grim Marches. Each town and castle had notes beneath it, written in a strange, spidery script that looked familiar...

“Mazael,” said Romaria. “This is written in San-keth.” 

“Why would the San-keth create a map of the Grim Marches?” said Mazael. He looked at the location of Castle Cravenlock. The castle had not been built until after Dracaryl had fallen, but there was something at the location nonetheless. 

Romaria took a sharp breath.

“What is it?” said Mazael.

“I think,” said Romaria, “I think this shows every San-keth temple in the Grim Marches.” 

“Why the devil would the San-keth make something like that?” said Mazael. “They always strive to keep their temples secret.” 

“Some of the high lords of Dracaryl allied themselves with the San-keth,” said Romaria. “Perhaps the San-keth made the map for their allies.” She frowned, running a finger beneath some of the words.

“You can read San-keth?” said Mazael, surprised.

“No,” said Romaria. “But parts of it are similar to High Elderborn, and I do know that.” She gave a sharp nod. “Yes. The notes below Castle Cravenlock say both 'temple' and 'library'.” 

“Library,” said Mazael.

Corvad and Molly had been looking for books. Secrets and lore of Old Dracaryl. They had taken Lucan for a reason. Perhaps they knew what they wanted to do, but had not yet found a way to do it. 

Something clicked.

“That's why they're stealing books,” said Mazael.

“What do you mean?” said Romaria. 

“They intend to use Lucan somehow,” said Mazael. “Something involving dark magic or necromancy, I'll wager. They know what they want to do, they just don't know how to do it. They need something first, some spell, some secret, some lost bit of lore. That's why Corvad has been stealing books.”

He blinked as an idea came to him.

“Romaria,” he said, “do any of these other temples have libraries?”

“Let me look,” said Romaria, stooping over the map. She squinted at it for a moment, then nodded. “Here. At the edge of the hill country, about two days west of Castle Cravenlock.” 

“There's a village there,” said Mazael. “Morsen. Not a large place. Mostly goat herders.”

“Do you think there's still a San-keth temple there?” said Romaria.

“Possibly,” said Mazael. It might lie hidden beneath the village. Or the villagers knew about it, and worshipped Sepharivaim as proselytes. “Or it's abandoned. Either way, the temple's library could still be there. And that's what Corvad wants.”

“Wait,” said Romaria. “It says something else. It says...it says the lords of Dracaryl sent gifts to that temple, including a map of their strongholds in the Great Mountains.”

“A map of Old Dracaryl?” said Mazael. “Is that what Corvad wants?”

But what if Corvad could use the map to find something else? The lords of Old Dracaryl had been wizards and necromancers of power, able to command both living dragons and the walking dead to serve in their armies. If Corvad sought some sort of magical relic or buried secret of Dracaryl...

Better to let such things lie buried and forgotten. 

"Corvad's going to Morsen," said Mazael.

“Are you sure?” said Romaria.

“No,” said Mazael. “Timothy can find Lucan with his spell, but with the mistgates, we'll never be able to catch Corvad. We need to lay an ambush for him. This is our best chance to do it.” And a fleeting chance - Corvad could attack Morsen at any moment. “We need to leave at once.”

“Wait,” said Romaria, sniffing at the air. 

Her tone made Mazael reach for Lion.

“I think there's another Demonsouled down here.”

Mazael drew his sword. Lion's blade still glimmered with azure flame, perhaps in response to the lingering aura of dark magic that hung over San-keth temple. But he knew better than to question Romaria's senses. “Where?”

“I smelled it when I fought Molly,” said Romaria, half to herself. “I thought it was just her.” She prowled away from the table, looking back and forth. “But it's still down here. Surely she wouldn't be foolish enough to return? No. I think...here!”

She hurried to another table, Mazael following. 

The table looked like a smith's workbench, with chisels and hammers and other tools. A pair of clamps held a foot-long length of cylindrical black metal. A book sat open before the clamps, the pages covered in San-keth writing. Next to the book sat four vials, each filled with a dark fluid. 

“It's coming from here,” said Romaria. She lifted one of the vials. “Right here. This is a Demonsouled's blood.”

“How the devil did Lucan get his hands on Demonsouled blood?” said Mazael. 

Romaria looked at the vial, at him, and back at the vial. Then she pulled the cork and took a quick sniff.

“Mazael,” said Romaria, voice quiet, “this is your blood.”

“Mine?” said Mazael.

“I'm sure of it,” said Romaria. “I know what you smell like.” 

“Why would Lucan take vials of my blood?” said Mazael. It wouldn't be all that hard to do  for someone like Lucan. He could have drugged Mazael's wine, cut his arm while he slept, and drained off the blood. Mazael's Demonsouled healing would have made the cut vanish by the time he awoke. 

But why bother?

“Demonsouled blood has power,” said Romaria.

“Why...”

His voice trailed off as he looked at the slender cylinder of black metal. Sigils had been carved into it metal, deep and sharp. Sigils that looked exactly like the symbols upon the black metal staff Lucan had carried. 

“His black staff,” said Mazael, voice a whisper. “He never told me where he found it. I assumed he made it somehow. But he made it with my blood. Like Ultorin and that damned bloodsword.”

“It smelled...rotten,” said Romaria. 

“That fool!” said Mazael. “Didn't he know what Demonsouled blood would do to him? What it did to me? What it almost did to everyone I love?” He smashed his fist against the table, the vials and tools shuddering. “That's what happened to him, Romaria. He stole my blood, used its power to strengthen him...and the power tried to consume him. And that must be why Corvad kidnapped him. Gods damn it!”

Another of his mistakes, returned to haunt him. Romaria had been right. Rachel had been right. He never should have trusted Lucan Mandragon. 

“It might be simpler than that,” said Romaria. “The power of the Demonsouled is like a...poison, I suppose. You're used to it. You've carried it your entire life, and you know how to fight it. How to resist it. Lucan didn't. He tried to use it, and it overwhelmed him.”

“The fool,” said Mazael. “And I am the bigger fool. You were right. I trusted him, and he plotted against me the entire time.”

“He wasn't plotting against you,” said Romaria. “He saved your life, and mine.” She took a deep breath. “He must have thought he needed more power. You, and your blood, were an obvious source for that power. He didn't realize what it would do to him. Or perhaps he did, and was arrogant enough to assume he could control it.” 

“Let's go,” said Mazael. “The sooner we find Corvad, and Lucan, the better.”

So many mistakes. Elizabeth. Corvad and Molly. Lucan. Now those mistakes had returned to bring war and death to the Grim Marches once more. 

But Mazael would put it right.

Whatever the cost to himself. 

###

“I have found Lucan,” said Timothy the next morning.

Mazael stood in the great hall, Romaria at his side. Gerald, Kjalmir, Nathan, and Hagen waited, listening. Timothy stood between them, looking haggard, while Circan waited next to him, yawning. While Timothy had been busy with the seeking spell, Mazael had sent Circan to collapse the mistgate in Lucan's room, sealing the temple and its library of dark books. The process had been within Circan's skills, but only just.

Lucan Mandragon had been a wizard of power, even without the black staff. And what he might become, if he ever awoke, Mazael did not like to contemplate. 

“Where is he?” said Mazael.

“About six days' ride east of here,” said Timothy. “A abandoned village in the foothills of the Great Mountains. At least that's what the map indicates. It has been empty for years, so its ruins would make an ideal place for Corvad to shelter.”

“Then our course is clear,” said Gerald. “We ride east at once, find Corvad, and defeat him.” 

“No,” said Mazael.

They all looked at him in surprise, save for Romaria.

“Corvad will not wait idly for us to attack him,” said Mazael. “And with the mistgates, he can travel far more quickly than we can. We could spend five days riding east, only to have him flee to the other side of the Grim Marches on the sixth. No, we need to catch him unawares.”

“The principle is sound,” said Kjalmir. “Wars are not won by reacting to the enemy – you must force him to react to you. But how shall we catch Corvad, my lord Mazael?”

“I know where he's going,” said Mazael. “Romaria found Molly looking over an ancient map.” He had decided against telling the others that Lucan had used the San-keth temple as a hidden sanctuary. “The map claims there's a San-keth temple beneath the village of Morsen. I think Corvad is looking for an ancient relic of Old Dracaryl, and he needs a map to find it. The San-keth map claimed the Morsen temple has a library. Corvad will likely strike there next.”  

“A bold gamble,” said Nathan.

“A bold one, aye,” said Mazael, “but a necessary one. My lords, I shall be blunt. Corvad has mistgates, and so long as he keeps his wits about him, we will not be able to pursue him. Therefore, we must ambush him. Morsen is our best chance to do so. I will ride west ere the day is out, with my sworn men, and you are welcome to join me.”

“I cannot take Rachel home until the roads are safe,” said Gerald. “You have my aid, and the aid of my men.” 

“It is the sworn duty of my order to fight the Malrags, wherever they go,” said Kjalmir. “And Corvad has the blood of Arminiar knights upon his hands. My men will fight under your banners,  Lord Mazael.”

“I am grateful for your aid,” said Mazael. “Sir Nathan, Sir Hagen. I leave my castle and my lands in your care.” Both men bowed. “Sir Hagen, select three hundred men from the garrison. I wish to leave by noon.”

They went about their tasks.