Soul of Skulls (Book 6) (10 page)

Riothamus laughed. “No, this will not cause a war. By custom, that would take a moot of the entire Tervingi nation. This is only a lesser moot, when headmen and thains assemble to present their petitions and grievances to their hrould.”

“Like a lord holding court,” said Molly.

“Precisely,” said Riothamus.

Mazael snorted. “Though it’s a rare court that has the power to depose a lord that displeases them.” 

“I think that unlikely,” said Romaria. “Earnachar dislikes you, true, but he fears you. Arnulf and Toric support you, and so do Ethringa and the other holdmistresses.”

“Aye,” said Riothamus, “and Ethringa is not the sort of woman to hold her tongue. If anyone makes too much trouble, she will hector them into silence.”

“And, of course,” said Romaria, “you have the support of the Guardian of the Tervingi.” 

Riothamus frowned. “I hardly think that significant.”

“You do not give yourself enough credit,” said Romaria. “The Tervingi heed you, and respect your word.”

“They respected Aegidia,” said Riothamus. “They merely tolerate me in memory of her name.”

“Aegidia,” said Mazael, “did not lead the Tervingi through the Great Rising. If you had not cast the spell to spread Lion's fire to the blades of the entire host, the runedead might have killed every man on the field outside Swordgrim that day." 

He had heard reports of other lands that had suffered that fate, where the runedead had killed every man, woman, and child, and now only the dead haunted empty streets and weed-choked farms. 

And because Mazael had not killed Lucan when he had the chance.

His hand closed into a fist around the reins. Romaria was right. He could not blame himself for what Lucan had done. But he would set it right. He would rid the Grim Marches of the runedead, and make sure the Tervingi and the folk of the Grim Marches lived in peace.

He suspected finishing off the runedead might prove to be the easier task.

"A pity you can't do that again," said Molly. "It would be useful if you could spread Lion's fire to every blade in the world."

Riothamus shook his head. "I could only do it because of the turbulence Lucan unleashed. Lucan's spell touched every part of the world. My spell was able to…follow in its wake, as it were. The only way it would work again is if someone cast another spell as potent the Great Rising."

"I hope not. Living through one," said Romaria, "was quite enough." 

Mazael looked at the sky, thinking. The Old Demon had gloated about Lucan's success. Had he arranged the Great Rising? But how would the Old Demon benefit from it? To devour the power of hundreds of minor Demonsouled in a single moment? Was that even possible?

Mazael pushed aside the thought. Right now, he needed to keep the Tervingi headmen and the lords of the Grim Marches from killing each other. 

They rode for the town's gates.

###

Malaric stood on the ramparts of Cravenlock Town's walls. 

A dozen horsemen made for the town's gates. Mazael himself rode at their head, a dark-haired woman at his side. Molly rode behind them, her usual smirk on her face, the Tervingi Guardian riding besides her. The man's poor horsemanship did not fool Malaric. He had faced the Guardian's wrath in battle.

Of all Mazael's allies and vassals, he was the only one with the power to kill Malaric. 

His hand strayed to the leather bag at his belt, the curve of Corvad's skull beneath his palm. 

All of Mazael's kin and friends were dangerous. If Malaric was to kill him, he would need to separate Mazael from his allies. 

And his plan, if it worked, would do just that.

The daggers Skalatan had given him waited at his belt. Three blades, all coated with Skalatan's venom. Just one would be enough to kill even a son of the Old Demon. 

Mazael's party rode through the gates, and Malaric climbed down from the ramparts, slipped into a narrow alley, and strode into the shadows. 

He reappeared in the room he had rented at the Three Swords Inn. The room was cramped, but it did have a fine view of the town's square. Malaric saw the crowds filling the square and the surrounding streets, most of them Tervingi thains. 

His calibah, disguised as mercenaries, waited throughout the crowds. 

And one other surprise lurked below the town's streets.

Malaric waited for Mazael to appear. 

###

Mazael climbed the dais, the assembled thains and townsmen looking up at him, and waited for Riothamus to call the moot.

"Hear me!" said Riothamus, his magic amplifying his voice to echo off the walls. "Hear me, headmen steeped in renown! Hear me, holdmistresses wise and prudent. Hear me, valiant thains of sword and spear and sky! Hear me, sons of Tervingar! I am Riothamus son of Rigotharic, the Guardian of the Tervingi nation, the bearer of the bronze staff, a trust bestowed at the dawn of ages!" He lifted the staff and thumped it against the boards. "By my office, by my rights as Guardian, I call the headmen and thains now assembled to moot!" 

The final echoes died away.

"Mazael, hrould of the Tervingi nation," said Riothamus. "Earnachar son of Balnachar has business to lay before the moot."

"I will hear him," said Mazael, unsurprised.

"Mazael, son of Adalon of the House of Cravenlock," said Earnachar, his chest puffing as he addressed the moot. Idly Mazael wondered how Earnachar would react if he knew Mazael was really the son of the Old Demon. "I, Earnachar son of Balnachar, come before the moot today to..."

Mazael made himself look attentive.

###

Malaric swept his eyes over the assemblage. Most of the people looked bored, even listless, and the only one who seemed interested in the Tervingi headman's speech was the Tervingi headman himself. 

The perfect time to strike.

Malaric touched the hilt of his caethweisyr and sent a silent command to the waiting runedead.

###

"And so," said Earnachar, "the mills along the Northwater would make an ideal home for my bondsmen. From there, they could labor diligently, and support themselves through the sweat of their brows, rather than relying upon the charity of others. Would that not be better?"

"I thank you for your wisdom, Earnachar son of Balnachar," said Mazael, "and truly, the lords of the Grim Marches posses enough unused land to support the Tervingi. We suffered grievously, both from the Malrags and from the runedead. Yet there are richer lands to the east, in the foothills of the Grim Marches. Those lands must be peopled. For though the lords of the Grim Marches defeated the Malrags, and the headmen of the Tervingi escaped them, they may come over the mountains again. The Tervingi are a nation of warriors. Who better to hold those lands than the valiant headmen and thains of Earnachar son of Balnachar?"

A sour look went over Earnachar's broad face, but a rumble of agreement went up from his thains and bondsmen. Earnachar shot a quick look at them, saw which way the wind was blowing, and wiped the scowl from his face. 

"Thank you for your wisdom, hrould," said Earnachar. "Truly, you are a strong hrould for the Tervingi nation, and my folk shall prosper in their new homes."

Earnachar was a snake...but a predictable one, at least. 

"Together," said Earnachar, "we shall..."

A pool of green mist swirled behind Earnachar. 

Mazael blinked in surprise. 

Earnachar continued his oration, heedless. "A new flowering for both our peoples, and..."

A dozen more pools of mist appeared in the crowds, and a ripple of alarm went through the Tervingi. Earnachar sputtered and fell silent, his brow furrowing.

Pale wraiths of ghostly light rose from the pools of mist, dozens of them.

Mazael yanked Lion from its scabbard, and the sword jerked in his hand, the blade crackling with azure flames. Timothy and Riothamus and the other wizards had laid wards upon the walls of Cravenlock Town, preventing the runedead from becoming immaterial and striding through the stone. 

But would those wards keep the runedead from walking beneath the walls?

"Lord Mazael!" shouted Riothamus, raising his staff. "The runedead!"

The wraiths hardened into gray-skinned corpses, and the killing began.

Chapter 10 - Dripping Blades

Malaric watched the fighting.

It had caused less chaos than he had hoped. Most of the Tervingi were veteran fighters, and knew how to handle themselves. Tervingi thains and militiamen formed themselves into squares, and those who had wizard's oil set their blades ablaze. Mazael struck Lion against the blades of his companions and charged into the fray, striking every runedead he could reach, Romaria at his side. Molly flickered in and out of the darkness, while the Guardian flung blasts of golden fire that crumbled the undead to dust. 

The runedead would not last for long.

Just long enough for the calibah to strike.

###

Molly jumped into the shadows, her sword and dragon's tooth dagger crackling with Lion's fire. 

She reappeared on the steps of the church, where a trio of Tervingi spearthains tried to keep a pair of runedead at bay. They had no wizard's oil, and had not been close enough to Mazael to touch their weapons to Lion's fire, and so tried to keep the runedead at bay with their spears.

Molly stepped behind the nearest runedead and plunged her sword at its back. The creature staggered, and Molly drove her dagger into its neck, the blue fire quenching the green sigil on its forehead. The second runedead reached for her, but the Tervingi spears slammed into it. Normal steel could not harm the creature, but the blows staggered it, giving Molly enough time to finish it off. 

She spun, seeking more foes, her mind racing. This was not an attack by a random band of runedead. Someone or something with the ability to plan had taken commanded of these runedead. But who? A renegade wizard? Or...

"Die! Die in the name of great Sepharivaim!"

Molly blinked in surprise. 

A man in the leather armor and chain mail of a mercenary ran at her. Mercenary companies had grown more and more common in the Grim Marches since the Great Rising, guarding caravans to and from Sword Town and Cravenlock Town. The mercenary charging at her looked no different than hundreds of others.

Save for his yellow eyes and the fangs curving over his lips. 

The man was a calibah, a San-keth changeling.

"Die for Sepharivaim!" shrieked the calibah, stabbing with a dagger. Dull yellow grease smeared the blade. Poison, made from the venom of the calibah's fangs. Calibah poison could not kill Molly, not with her Demonsouled nature, but it would slow her down, and then the calibah need only cut her throat. 

Molly twisted past the calibah's thrust and plunged her dagger into the changeling's side. The man staggered with a grunt of pain, ripping free from her dagger. Molly parried the calibah's next thrust and drove her sword between his ribs. The calibah slumped, and Molly finished him off with a slash from her dagger.

She turned, and saw chaos raging through the square.

Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of calibah ran in all directions, attacking everyone in sight. They screamed prayers to the serpent god as they struck, and Molly saw dozens of men lying dead upon the ground.

Her lips thinned, the Demonsouled rage rising up in her. Mazael had killed several San-keth clerics, and he had expected their revenge for years. Perhaps the serpents thought the runedead would give them the perfect opportunity. 

Instead, the San-keth would find they had made a fatal mistake. 

Molly stepped into the shadows, reappeared on the far side of the square, and started killing calibah.

###

Malaric gripped the windowsill, watching the melee. 

The calibah assault had thrown the defenders into disarray. Tervingi thains died as poisoned daggers plunged into their backs, and militiamen fell as the changelings swarmed over them. But for all the lethality of their venom, the calibah were not warriors. Whenever the Tervingi and the militiamen stood and fought, the calibah died. Malaric supposed they were used to lurking in the shadows, not fighting in a battle line. 

No matter. Skalatan might honor their devotion to Sepharivaim, but Malaric did not. They were expendable tools and nothing more. 

And useless tools, if they could not separate Mazael from his allies.

Malaric snarled in frustration. Mazael and Romaria fought side-by-side, cutting their way through the remaining runedead and the calibah. Any fool could see that they had spent a great deal of time fighting alongside each other, their movements and blows harmonized. Malaric doubted he could take Mazael Cravenlock in a straight fight.

He knew he could not defeat both Mazael and his wife.

Malaric touched the hilt of the caethweisyr and sent a command to the remaining runedead.

As one, they flowed into their wraith forms, gliding towards Mazael. 

###

A calibah stabbed at Mazael, shrieking curses, and he made no effort to dodge. The blow bounced off his chest, deflected by the golden dragon scales of his armor. Mazael brought Lion around and took the head from the changeling with a single blow. 

Besides him Romaria ducked, both hands wrapped around the hilt of her bastard sword. Mazael twisted, his blade blurring over the top of Romaria's head, and Lion tore through a changeling's throat. The creature fell with a gurgled scream. Still another calibah lunged at Mazael, and Romaria caught it with a quick slash, taking the creature's dagger hand. The calibah staggered with a shriek, and Mazael killed it with a thrust.

He risked a look around the square, the Demonsouled rage burning in his veins. Everywhere he saw men fighting and dying and screaming. Still, both the calibah and the runedead were confined to the square. That was good - if the calibah fled into the town and hid, the gods only knew what mischief they could work. 

A wall of green light flared before Mazael's eyes. 

A dozen runedead stepped through the struggling militiamen and calibah and lunged at Mazael, driving him back. He cut the head from one, the hand from another, and sliced the legs from beneath a third, but still they drove at him.

As if they had been ordered to kill him, and kill him alone.

###

Malaric tensed.

The runedead drove Mazael back, cutting him off from Romaria. Mazael swung that blazing sword of his in great arcs, destroying a runedead with every blow. A dozen animated corpses were no threat for a son of the Old Demon. 

But they would distract him. 

Malaric yanked the first of the poisoned daggers from his belt and stepped into the shadows.

The world dissolved into darkness, and Malaric reappeared in the midst of the raging melee, less than three paces from Mazael Cravenlock himself. The lord of the Grim Marches wore armor fashioned from golden dragon scales, and Malaric knew his poisoned dagger could not penetrate that armor. 

Instead he ducked under the hanging skirt of golden scales and buried his poisoned dagger in Mazael's right leg. 

###

Riothamus worked another spell, flinging a blast of golden fire at the runedead. The flame washed over the undead, quenching the emerald fire of their sigils. When the light cleared, the runedead collapsed to the cobblestones, crumbling into dust as they fell. 

Darkness flickered, and a man appeared next to Mazael and stabbed him in the leg. 

It was Malaric, the Skull assassin who had tried to kill Molly at Swordgrim during the Great Rising. Somehow, he had gained the supernatural strength and speed of a Demonsouled, along with Molly's ability to travel through the shadows. 

Yet for all his power, he had fled from Riothamus.

More precisely, he had fled from the staff of the Guardian. 

Riothamus leveled his staff, gathering power to shatter the unusual necromantic spells upon Malaric.

But Malaric seized Mazael's shoulder, and both men vanished in a swirl of darkness. 

###

The shadows cleared, and Mazael found himself outside of Cravenlock Town, the ramparts rising over him. He stumbled forward several steps, his right leg a pillar of agony. Already he felt the dagger's wound closing as his Demonsouled blood stitched together the torn flesh. But the burning pain of the wound did not fade, and he felt its fiery numbness spreading up his leg and into his torso. 

Poison. It might kill him. More likely, it would cause him a great deal of pain as his Demonsouled nature fought it.

Mazael forced his right leg to remain upright, Lion raised, and confronted his attacker.

The man stood a dozen paces away, sword in right hand, bloody dagger in left. He looked like a common mercenary, but his beard and mustache were styled and trimmed, and his bright green eyes watched Mazael with amused wariness. 

"I know you," rasped Mazael, taking a step closer. 

"Do you?" said the blond man. "We've never met, I fear. I’ve heard a great deal about you, though, from quite a few different people. You've made an astonishing range of enemies."

"Malaric," said Mazael, taking another step closer. "The Skull that tried to kill Molly at Swordgrim."

"And I would have, too," said Malaric, "if your pet Tervingi wizard hadn't interfered."

"I thought the Skulls didn't give second chances," said Mazael. The wound on his leg closed, but the burning sensation of the poison worsened. 

"They don't," said Malaric. "I'm afraid the Skulls are displeased with me. But that doesn't matter. I'm going to deal with them, you see. Right after I kill you." 

He stepped forward. Mazael raised his shield, but Malaric vanished in a swirl of darkness. Mazael whirled, recalling the tactic when he had fought Molly within Arylkrad. Another swirl of shadow, and Malaric reappeared, his sword and dagger blurring. Mazael caught the blows on his shield, shoved, and struck back with Lion. The burning blade gashed Malaric on his forearm, and the assassin stumbled back with a cry of pain. Mazael drew back Lion for the kill, but Malaric stepped into the shadows, reappearing a dozen feet away. 

“Gods,” said Malaric, rubbing his forearm. Mazael saw the wound shrinking as it healed. “That thing stings.” 

“Come closer,” growled Mazael, “and you’ll see how much more it can sting.” 

The waves of throbbing pain in his veins grew worse, his vision swimming, sweat pouring down his face. 

“I’m surprised,” said Malaric, “that you’re still standing. That poison is potent enough to kill a grown man in the space between two heartbeats.” 

“It will take more than that to finish me,” said Mazael, walking towards Malaric, trying to ignore the pain in his leg. 

Malaric smiled. “Yes. Another one of these, perhaps?” 

He disappeared into the shadows.

Mazael spun, shield raised, waiting for Malaric’s attack. As he expected, a column of darkness swirled, and Malaric sprang out of it, sword in his right hand and a fresh dagger in his left. Mazael caught Malaric’s sword thrust on his shield and sidestepped, beating aside a slash of the dagger with Lion’s blade. 

Then Malaric stepped back, whispered a spell, and his sword erupted in snarling green flames. Even at a distance, Mazael felt the chill radiating from those flames. A necromantic spell, he suspected, designed to suck the life and warmth from its victims. 

Malaric went on the attack, hammering at Mazael’s shield with his sword. Mazael felt the chill from the sword soaking through the wood and into his left arm. Normally, he would have been able to shrug it off, but with the pain from the poison spreading, it was harder and harder to hold his shield steady. 

Then Malaric sidestepped and disappeared. Mazael turned, his leg throbbing, and tried to guess where Malaric would reappear.

He guessed correctly, and the assassin materialized out of shadow, sword and dagger reaching for Mazael’s head. He deflected the sword thrust on his shield, and raised Lion to catch the dagger.

But his throbbing arm moved a heartbeat too slow, and the poisoned dagger plunged into his neck.

###

Molly blinked and climbed to the dais alongside Riothamus and Romaria. “He took Mazael?”

The battle in the square had ended. The runedead had been destroyed, and the calibah hunted down. But, gods, the calibah had slain so many. They had killed at least sixty thains and townsmen in their initial attack, and wounded dozens more in the fighting that followed. 

“Aye,” said Riothamus, stooping over a wounded thain. The sigils upon his staff pulsed with golden light, and the man sat up with a cry. The thain doubled over and vomited upon himself, purging the calibah poison from his body. “Malaric appeared, and stabbed Lord Mazael in the leg with a dagger. Then he seized Mazael’s shoulder and vanished in a swirl of darkness, much as you do.”

“Just like he did at Swordgrim,” said Molly. “How the devil did he learn to do that?”

“How far could he have traveled?” said Romaria. “A few miles, perhaps?”

Molly shook her head. “No more than two or three hundred yards. Perhaps a little less. Mazael is heavy, and traveling through the shadows is harder with greater weight. They have to be somewhere inside the town. Maybe outside the walls, but not far.”

“We must find him,” said Romaria. Molly saw the alarm on the older woman’s face. The gods only knew why Malaric had taken Mazael, or what the renegade might do to him. “I’ll take wolf form, and smell…”

“No,” said Molly. “If he walked through the shadows, he wouldn’t have left a trail for you to follow. Stay here. I’ll find Mazael and Malaric, and come for you when I do.”

And then she would finally kill Malaric. 

Molly had many regrets from her years as a Skull of Barellion, but not killing the Prince of Barellion’s bastard son when she had the chance was high among them. Malaric had been working with Lucan, and Molly was sure Lucan could not have cast the Great Rising without Malaric’s help. 

She turned and strode into the shadows, reappearing atop the domed roof of the church. A quick scan of the nearby streets showed no sign of either Mazael or Malaric. Another hop through the shadows took her to the roof of a prosperous merchant’s house, and again Molly saw no sign of either man.

She jumped from rooftop to rooftop, seeking for her enemy and her father. Malaric would want no witnesses when he dealt with Mazael, lest allies come to the Lord of Castle Cravenlock’s aid. He would have taken Mazael someplace isolated, then. A prepared warehouse or room, then? Molly doubted it. Accurate travel through the shadows grew harder with increased distance, and even more difficult when carrying a great deal of weight…