Soul of Dragons (30 page)

“And what happens,” said Lucan, “if the manifestation defeats me?” 

“Then the Demonsouled power devours your soul entirely,” said the Old Demon. “You'll wake up, return to your physical body...but you'll become a monster. Rather like poor Ultorin, I suspect. You'll be hideously deformed, of course, but your magical powers will be vastly stronger, and you'll be much harder to kill. Unfortunately, the process will drive you utterly mad.” 

Lucan shuddered. Ultorin's bloodsword had indeed made the renegade Dominiar far stronger and faster. It had also destroyed his sanity, and twisted him into a deformed nightmare, a thing that looked more Malrag than human. 

“Of course,” said the Old Demon, “one possibility is more likely than the other.”

“My defeat, I suppose,” said Lucan.

“Indeed,” said the Old Demon. “The Demonsouled manifestation is stronger than you. Much stronger. It is a portion of your own soul, your own magical strength augmented by Demonsouled power. You cannot overcome it by force. And if you let your blood fall upon the ground, try to use Demonsouled power against it...why, you are only feeding yourself to it, drop by drop. If you use Demonsouled power to defeat the manifestation, you might win...but in doing so, you'll transform the entirety of your soul into the manifestation.” He grinned. “And you'll turn into a horror that would make even Ultorin blanch.” 

“Then I'll use my wits,” said Lucan.

The Old Demon laughed. “A splendid plan. Your wits brought you here.”

“It doesn't matter,” said Lucan. “I will not yield without a fight. Either say something useful or get out of my way.”

He started walking.

“You know,” said the Old Demon after Lucan had gone a dozen steps, “there is a third possibility.”

Lucan stopped, looked back.

The Old Demon grinned. “You could accept my aid.” 

Lucan stared at him for a moment, and then burst out laughing. 

The Old Demon lifted an eyebrow. “Is something amusing?” 

“That's what this is about, isn't it?” said Lucan. “You can't kill me. You can't even hurt me. But...you can get me to accept a bargain. That's how you do it. You turn others into your weapons. It's what you tried to do with Mazael, and what you did with Amalric and Morebeth Galbraith.” 

“Mazael is a fool,” said the Old Demon. “I offered him immortality and the sword of the Destroyer, and he turned me down for a San-keth proselyte and a half-blooded Elderborn woman.” He shook his head, as if puzzled. “Amalric was loyal, but a fool...if you led him to water, he might or might not have figured out how to drink. And Morebeth, well, Morebeth was clever, but a scheming bitch.” 

“No,” said Lucan. “Whatever you want, no.”

“Why, you haven't even heard what I offer,” said the Old Demon.

“I don't care,” said Lucan.

The Old Demon laughed. “Now you are lying. But to prove my good intentions, I will give you a piece of information for free. Your physical body is almost out of time.”

“Ultorin is about to destroy Deepforest Keep?” said Lucan.

“Not at all,” said the Old Demon. “Ultorin and Malavost are both dead, their Malrag horde broken.”

Lucan blinked. “Mazael slew them both?” That was tremendous news. He had been certain that Deepforest Keep would fall, that Malavost would seize the Door of Souls. “Then why I am in danger?”

“Because your physical body was stolen by one of my grandchildren, a Demonsouled named Corvad,” said the Old Demon. “One of Mazael's children, incidentally.”

Lucan frowned. Mazael was a child of the Old Demon, a Demonsouled of tremendous power. One of his children would possess great power. “And why did Corvad steal my body?”

“To use it in the creation of a Malrag Queen,” said the Old Demon.

“That's...that's not possible,” said Lucan. He knew what a Malrag Queen was. Or, rather, Marstan had, and Lucan had Marstan's memories. The Malrag Queens were huge, bloated creatures, some of them larger than a castle tower. Malrags grew in their flesh like cancerous sores, demon spirits possessing the crude bodies. And when the Malrags were strong enough, they tore their way free from the Queen, even as more Malrags grew in their place. 

“Oh, it's quite possible,” said the Old Demon. “How did you think Malrag Queens were created?” He gestured at the massive holes in the walls. “The corruption in your flesh has made you vulnerable to more than mental assault. That corruption, coupled with a bit of Demonsouled blood and a certain magical artifact of Old Dracaryl...and you will be instrumental in the creation of a Malrag Queen. You won't enjoy that at all.”  

Lucan said nothing.

“So, you see,” said the Old Demon, “you're almost out of time, and all but one path leads to your destruction...or worse. You really need my help.”

“Then why help me?” said Lucan. “If this...Corvad is going to turn me into a Malrag Queen, isn't that what you want?”

The Old Demon laughed. “You children. So very shortsighted. You think there is only one path to victory. But in the unlikely event that you live long enough, you'll come to understand that it's best to rig the game. The best battles are the ones where you win no matter what the outcome.”

“So you're manipulating me,” said Lucan.

The Old Demon spread his hands. “That should be obvious, I hope.”

“Fine,” said Lucan. “You want to make a bargain. What do you offer me?”

“I can help you defeat the Demonsouled manifestation,” said the Old Demon. “That is within my power. By yourself, you might, perhaps, get lucky and defeat the manifestation. But more likely than not you will be crushed and transformed into a monster like Ultorin. But with my aid, victory is certain, and you can return to your body.”

“Such a generous offer,” said Lucan. “I doubt you would do it for free.”

The Old Demon shrugged. “Is anything free?”

“And what price would you demand?” said Lucan. “My soul?”

The Old Demon laughed. “Your soul? Are you jesting? What would I possibly do with your soul? Especially one so tarnished? Do you think I am some comic devil out of a song, promising to rid a peasant's cabbage field of caterpillars in exchange for his soul? Why don't you ask me for riches and the most beautiful woman in the world to be your bride?”

“What price?” repeated Lucan.

“Only your conscience,” said the Old Demon.

Lucan blinked. “My...conscience?” He had been expecting a demand of servitude. “Why?”

The Old Demon shrugged. “Why not? Perhaps I have a good use for your conscience. Or perhaps I merely plan to keep it as a curio. And would you really miss it all that much?” He grinned. “It's not as if you listened to it very often.”  

“So you would...remove my conscience?” said Lucan. “How is that even possible?”

“This is the spirit world,” said the Old Demon. “Things are possible here that are not in the material world.” 

Lucan hesitated. Right and wrong were blatantly obvious, were they not? Did he really need his conscience to sort between them? It seemed like a small price to pay. 

And yet...

He wanted to kill his father, his brother, Tymaen, everyone who had ever wronged him. He had been dreaming about it as he climbed the sides of the mountain. Yes, he wanted to protect others from dark magic, to keep them from suffering as he had suffered. But it would be so very sweet to make them pay for all the pain he had endured...

“I simply wish to claim your conscience,” said the Old Demon. “It is such a small thing, such an unimportant thing, and you've ignored it for all these years, anyway. Would the loss inconvenience you at all? A small price to pay. And exchange for that price, you shall have my aid. With my help, you can expel the Demonsouled essence from your spirit, and return to your body.”

“No,” said Lucan.

The Old Demon lifted his eyebrows. “That is unwise.”

“Perhaps,” said Lucan, “but I care not. You said my problems are my own fault, and you were correct. I used Demonsouled power, and I found myself trapped here.” He took a deep breath. “And you cannot attack me. You cannot kill me. You cannot force me to do anything. You can only persuade me...or make a bargain with me. And I will not listen to you.”

He expected the Old Demon to fly into a rage.

Instead, the ancient creature only smiled.

“I have only told you the truth,” said the Old Demon.

“I don't care,” said Lucan. “I don't want your help.”

The Old Demon's smile widened. “We'll see.”

Lucan turned and walked away, making for the black city's heart.

He felt the Old Demon's eyes on him with every step.

Chapter 25 – Dragon Fire

“Gods and devils, it's cold,” said Gerald.

Mazael couldn't argue.

His men, along with Gerald's and Kjalmir's, marched through the High Pass. The Great Mountains rose over them, the craggy peaks crowned with ice and snow. Some rose so high that the peaks disappeared into the gray clouds. A cold wind whistled from the heights, tugging at Mazael's heavy cloak.

Osric snorted. “Hah! This is nothing, sir knight. A mild breeze, nothing more. Visit the mountains in the depths of winter. You'll see snowdrifts a dozen yards deep. Avalanches that can seal the pass under a hundred feet of snow and ice.” 

“Little wonder the lords of Old Dracaryl perished, if they thought to make their homes here,” said Gerald. “If we live through this, I am never leaving Knightcastle again.” 

Osric laughed and thumped his chest. “The cold gets your blood moving. Makes you feel alive.” 

Mazael turned his head, saw Romaria heading towards him. 

“And the snow makes it easier to track footprints,” said Romaria. “We're on Corvad's trail. I think he's no more than two days ahead of us. If that. Now that he's lost access to his mistgates, he can't move very fast. At least, he can't move any faster than his zuvembies or Malrags.” 

“And the mountains will slow anyone down,” said Kjalmir. The big Arminiar did not look the least discomforted by the icy air. No doubt it got rather cold in Northreach.

“Then let's keep moving,” said Mazael. “Corvad still has a lead. No sense in letting him increase it.”

They resumed their journey through the narrow pass. 

###

That night Mazael sat close with Romaria, wrapped in a cloak, huddled before a small campfire. 

Necessity dictated small fires. No trees grew in the Great Mountains, so they had to carry firewood with them. The wind blew out of the mountains, making the flames dance and flicker. 

“This isn't so bad,” said Romaria, pulling her cloak tighter. “At least it isn't raining.”

“Or snowing,” said Mazael, watching his breath puff in the air. 

“The Great Southern Forest is inhospitable in winter,” said Romaria. “Snow covers the ground, and you can't see the roots. Much easier to trip. Though it is easier to track...deer aren't clever enough to hide their prints.” 

“Or Malrags,” said Mazael.

She laughed. “All the easier to shoot them, Malrags and deer both. Though the deer certainly taste better.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“You were right,” said Mazael.

“About what?” said Romaria.

“Lucan,” said Mazael. “When we found him, in the Garden of the Temple. You said I should kill him, that if he woke up, he might not be sane. I thought his...condition was something Malavost had done to him, something he had suffered.”

Romaria said nothing.

“But you were right,” said Mazael. “He did it to himself. And because of that, Corvad could destroy the Grim Marches, could destroy half the world. Because I didn't kill Lucan when I should have.” 

Romaria hesitated. “Perhaps you should have killed Lucan, but I'm glad you didn't listen to me.”

Mazael snorted. “Had I slain Lucan, Corvad would not have kidnapped him, and we would not face our current peril.”

“I know,” said Romaria. “I was right to tell you to kill him...but I fear I did so for the wrong reasons.” She took a deep breath. “He was one of your men, under your protection. And you go to great lengths to defend the men and women under your protection. So killing Lucan might have been the wise thing to do. But it would not have been the right thing to do. Not for you. I should have just killed him myself.”

“It was one more mistake,” said Mazael. “No one else will pay for my mistakes. I'll stop Corvad and Molly. And when I find Lucan...I'll decide what to do then. Not before.”

Romaria nodded, resting her head against his shoulder.

Mazael gazed into the fire. People had paid for his mistakes. Rachel. Lucan. The men and women killed in Corvad's attacks.

Corvad and Molly themselves. His children.

What would they have been like, Mazael wondered, if he had never left Elizabeth? Romaria thought they would have been no different. But what if Mazael could have raised them? Would Corvad and Molly have become what they were?

Did the Old Demon know about them? It had been hard enough for Mazael to resist the Old Demon's manipulations. For two children to defy him would have been almost impossible. 

He let out a deep breath. The past was done. He would make up for his mistakes, would keep his children from hurting anyone else.

Even if it meant killing them.

###

At noon the next day, Corvad's trail left the High Pass and followed a razor-thin path clinging to the side of the mountains. 

“If our maps are accurate,” said Timothy, squinting at a scroll, “that path shall lead directly to Red Valley.”

“Maps!” said Osric, spitting upon the cold ground. “If a man knows the mountains, wizard, knows it in his bones, he has no need of maps.” 

“Is the map wrong?” said Timothy.

“Well, no,” said Osric. 

Mazael nodded. “Then we follow the path. It will slow us considerably, but Corvad won’t be able to travel very fast, either.” 

“There's a better way to reach Red Valley from here,” said Osric. “Faster, too. We might even be able to catch Corvad.” 

“How?” said Mazael. 

“A gully, going up the side of the mountain,” said Osric. “It's as narrow as the path, but with a gentler slope. We'll be able to go faster. It ends near the old road leading to Red Valley, five miles south of the Valley itself.”