Soul of Skulls (Book 6) (18 page)

But he had his suspicions. How had Malaric gained the powers of a Demonsouled? It seemed unlikely that they had been latent all his life and only manifested at the Battle of Swordgrim. He must have claimed them somehow. But where? Had Lucan given them to him? Or had he acquired them in another fashion? 

Riothamus didn't know...but he intended to find out.

"And Romaria has been very kind to me," said Molly, her voice quiet. "When I first came to Castle Cravenlock, after Arylkrad and Corvad...I almost came to blows with my father a dozen times." She offered a ragged smile. "Romaria smoothed things over. Father and I would probably have killed each other if not for her."

Riothamus nodded.

"And," said Molly, her voice so faint it was almost a whisper, "Riothamus, watching you ride off, not knowing if you would return...I could not bear it. I lost Nicholas that way. I left his rooms and returned and found him dying in his own blood." She rubbed her face, and for a moment Riothamus glimpsed tears in her gray eyes. "I'm not...that's not going to happen. Not again. I am going to go with you and Mazael, and if anyone tries to kill you...gods, I swear they will regret it."

They stood in silence for a moment, and Riothamus took her hands. 

"All right," he said. "Mazael and I should not go alone, anyway. And you know our enemy. You know how Malaric thinks, and you know the Skulls. Your aid would be invaluable." 

"Damned right," said Molly, "and I owed Malaric a debt, even before he came to the Grim Marches to kill me. I owe him all the more for what he has done since." 

"Then we will repay him together," said Riothamus, "and save Romaria."

###

That night Mazael stood alone before the tree in the courtyard, gazing down at Romaria. 

People had brought gifts – flowers and candles and the like. Mazael had ordered his seneschal Cramton to keep watch over the tree and note those who brought gifts. Someday he would repay them a hundred times over for their kindness.

After he had saved Romaria. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the constant pain in his head and arms and legs. 

And the rage that threatened to burn out of control. 

He had always known how much he relied upon Romaria, how she helped him to keep the Demonsouled fury in check. But now that she lay in this state between life and death, preserved only by the power of Riothamus's magic...the Demonsouled rage hit him harder than ever before.

Gods, but how he had wanted to kill them all, the lords and the headmen and the knights and the thains. If he killed them all he would have peace, if he killed and killed until his arm ran red with blood...

He opened his eyes and looked at Romaria, trying to keep the rage at bay.

She looked almost peaceful. As if she were asleep. 

But if she died...there would be no reason to keep himself in check, would there? No reason not to let the fury transform him into the monster he had always known himself to be?

He closed his eyes again, and when he opened them, Morebeth Galbraith stood next to the tree, a dark shadow in a black gown.

"Are you real?" said Mazael. "Or is Riothamus right, and you are only a vision induced by the poison?"

Morebeth shrugged. "Does it matter? Either way, I am dead." 

Mazael said nothing. 

"You truly love her," said Morebeth, "do you not?"

"What do you care?" said Mazael.

"Do you remember," said Morebeth, "why I hated Amalric? I was in love with a man, and Amalric arranged his death."

"I thought that another of your lies," said Mazael.

"No," said Morebeth. "It was the truth. I know what it is to have loved, and to have it stolen from you. I had hoped to wed him and forget my Demonsouled blood." She shook her head, her eyes hooded. "But that was not to be."

"Nicholas Tormaud," said Mazael.

"Who?"

He realized that she was not a hallucination, that he was in fact conversing with Morebeth’s spirit. If she was only a vision, a delusion created by his damaged mind, she would know everything he knew. 

But she didn't recognize the name.

"Molly loved him," said Mazael. 

"Your daughter," said Morebeth. 

"She hoped to leave an assassin’s life behind and wed him," said Mazael. "But Corvad slew him and laid the blame at my feet. And he almost twisted Molly into a monster."

"As happened to me," said Morebeth. "Amalric slew my love...and I twisted myself into a monster. And now Malaric of Barellion has left Romaria at death's door. Will you become a monster, Mazael?"

"I don't know," he said. 

Morebeth shrugged. "The choice is yours. But remember two things. If you become a monster, if you become the Destroyer...it will only aid our father in his great work."

"I know," said Mazael.

But, gods, the rage burned within him, and he wanted to kill and kill...

"And this," said Morebeth. "Our father seeks to steal the power of the gods. But there are others who would steal that power for themselves. Malaric might have attacked you...but the San-keth sent him. Why do you think that is?"

"Because I've killed San-keth clerics and calibah," said Mazael, "and cost them dearly. They have every motive for revenge."

"True," said Morebeth, "but might they might play a larger game than mere vengeance?" 

Mazael opened his mouth to answer, but the spirit had vanished.  

He rubbed his forehead in irritation. Bad enough that his wife lay dying, that his Demonsouled nature threatened to burn out of control. Would he be haunted by the spirits of all the Demonsouled he had slain? 

Still. Her counsel was sound. 

Mazael stared at Romaria for a moment longer.

"I will return to you," he said. "I swear it."

He stooped, kissed her cold forehead, and walked away.

###

The next morning Mazael left Castle Cravenlock, clad in his dragon's scale armor, Lion at his belt. Riothamus and Molly rode at his side, Riothamus leading a string of pack horses with food and supplies. The compass rested on Mazael’s saddle, the gentle glow of its needle pointing to the northwest. 

Mazael rode past the town, set his face to the west, and did not look back.

Chapter 18 - Last Stand

Shortly after dawn, Hugh and his remaining men rode past another village that had resisted the Aegonar. 

It was not a pretty sight. 

A pyramid of heads rested outside the village, a mob of crows circling overhead. At least half of the village's houses had been burned. It was plain the villagers had made a fight of it, but the village’s men had been slaughtered, and the women and children claimed as slaves. The Aegonar had taken what supplies they could carry, and then put the village to the torch. 

Hugh had seen it happen again and again. 

"See if anyone is hiding in the ruins," said Hugh. "If they are, tell them to make for Barellion."

Montigard gave a curt nod and carried out the orders. 

Hugh rode to the center of the village and to another gruesome sight. A corpse with its heart cut out lay sprawled in the center of the square. Whenever the Aegonar took a village, they selected a victim from the populace, and a seidjar cut out the sacrifice's heart and burned it as an offering to Sepharivaim. Maurus claimed the seidjar used the resultant ashes to enhance their magical powers, but Hugh supposed it served just as well to terrorize the Aegonar's conquered subjects.

He rubbed a hand across his jaw. The Great Rising and the runedead had been bad enough. But the Aegonar were living, breathing men, and they embraced cruelty to an extent Hugh had never seen. 

Somehow that was worse than the runedead. 

A moment later Montigard and Sir Edgar rejoined him. 

"No survivors," said Montigard, voice grim. "Quite a few corpses. If anyone survived, the Aegonar carried them off."

"They might not be far," said Edgar. "This looks like it only happened yesterday." 

"We could ride after them, rescue anyone who can still be rescued," said Montigard.

"Perhaps," said Hugh. "How many were in the Aegonar war party?"

Edgar shrugged. "Judging by the tracks, about two hundred. Maybe three hundred." 

"We could overtake them," said Montigard.

"That might be unwise," said Maurus, riding to Hugh's side. A duel with a seidjar a few days past had burned away most of his gray hair, along with his eyebrows, which made him look even more irritable. "To judge from the sacrificial victim, they have a seidjar with them. Maybe two or three. My powers have been badly drained, and I might not be able to defeat them."

"But if we overtook the Aegonar, we could rescue the villagers," said Montigard.

"Or we could get ourselves killed," said Maurus. "Those of us who are left."

Hugh said nothing. They had fought fifteen skirmishes in the last seven days, and he had lost fifty-seven men, with thirty more wounded. He wasn't sure how many more fights his men could endure. 

"Sir Hugh," said Maurus, "I suggest we ride south at once. Lady Adelaide and the refugees must have reached Barellion by now. And your father will have called his vassals to gather the host of Greycoast for war against the Aegonar. We should join them." 

"Then we leave the villagers to the mercy of the Aegonar," said Montigard.

Maurus grunted. "Many peasants will be left to the mercy of the Aegonar until the Prince defeats them." 

"If the Prince can defeat them," said Montigard.

"You doubt my father?" said Hugh, lifting his eyebrows.

"Prince Everard is a capable warrior," said Montigard, "but you've seen the Aegonar, Sir Hugh. They are hard fighters, and have already seized much of Greycoast. Even if your father calls his vassals and gets aid from the Justiciars, it will still be a close fight."

"Then every Aegonar we kill now," said Hugh, "is one my father doesn't have to face when the battle comes. We pursue the Aegonar. Where are they headed?"

"North," said Edgar. "All the Aegonar war parties had been heading north of late. I think they are assembling their host to march on Barellion itself." 

"There's a village seven miles north of here," said Hugh. "A place called Prince's Rest, built around an inn where one of the Princes of Barellion stayed a few centuries ago."

"Aye, I know it," said Edgar. "The village's bailiff has sworn to worship Sepharivaim." 

"The Aegonar war party may stop there for supplies," said Montigard, "before they head north to rejoin their main host." 

"A good place, perhaps," said Hugh, "to launch an ambush?" 

"I think so," said Edgar. "The Aegonar will take the road to Prince's Rest. But we can ride over the country. We can reach the village before the Aegonar if we hasten."

"Then we shall do it," said Hugh.

Maurus scowled. "It is a terrible risk." 

"It is," said Hugh, "but even if we move south, we face risk. The Aegonar control this land, and if we march south we may encounter war parties marching north. If we hit the Aegonar at Prince's Rest, we can do some damage, and slip south in the chaos." 

It made sense. Yet part of Hugh, most of Hugh, wanted to ride for Barellion. Adelaide must have reached the safety of the city's walls by now. Hugh wanted to see her again, more than anything. Yet he had his duty. 

And if he failed to weaken the Aegonar, even Barellion's walls might not be enough to save her. 

"We ride," said Hugh, and Montigard nodded.

###

By midday they reached Prince's Rest. 

The village was little different than many others Hugh had seen. A large inn stood in the center of the village, no doubt where Hugh's distant ancestor had spent the night. A stone church faced the inn from the other side of the square.

A red banner, adorned with a crude image of a black serpent, hung from the church's door. 

Prince's Rest had gone over to the Aegonar. 

"I cannot blame them," said Hugh, looking over the village. "Given what the Aegonar do to those who resist them...well, what choice would they have?"

"My scouts have returned," said Sir Edgar. "There's no sign of the Aegonar, and the villagers are hiding in their houses."

"Might the Aegonar have headed north?" said Hugh.

"Possibly," said Edgar. "There are too many tracks to tell for certain. Many men have passed here recently."

Hugh nodded. "Montigard, Maurus, with me. We're going to speak to the village's bailiff."

"Is that wise, Sir Hugh?" said Maurus. "These villagers have sworn to the Aegonar."

"Out of fear," said Hugh. "We won't be long. We'll stay long enough to ask them a few questions, and then be on our way." 

"As you command," said Maurus. "But I suggest we take all the men into the village, lest the villagers seek to curry favor with their new masters by killing you."

"Very well," said Hugh, and he urged his horse forward. 

They rode unchallenged into the village. Neither a stone wall nor a wooden palisade surrounded Prince's Rest, which explained why the bailiff had not been willing to fight. The place seemed deserted. There were no men working in the fields, no women going about their chores. Hugh didn't even see any animals, not even a chicken or a cat. Had the Aegonar killed the people or carried them off into slavery? Yet the Aegonar had burned the villages they had plundered, and Prince's Rest looked untouched. 

Hugh reined up in the center of the square, his men around him. He looked over the inn and the church, at the empty windows in the houses. He stood up in his stirrups.

"Hail!" he shouted. "I come in peace, and wish no fighting. I seek to speak with the bailiff! "

No one answered.

"Sir Hugh," said Edgar, voice urgent, "I don't like this. We..."

The door to the inn opened, and a gaunt man in ragged clothing staggered out. A bloodstained bandage encircled his head, and his eyes were wild and frightened. He stopped before Hugh's horse, looking back and forth at the knights and armsmen.

"Please don't kill me," he whispered.

"You are the bailiff of Prince's Rest?" said Hugh.

"Aye," said the peasant. "I...I know you."

"I fear we've never met," said Hugh. 

"But I've seen you, when I visited the city in better times," said the bailiff. "You're Prince Everard's youngest son."

Hugh nodded. "I am Sir Hugh Chalsain."

The bailiff swallowed. "I am sorry, sir." 

He turned and sprinted away.

"Wait!" said Hugh. "We..."

The inn’s door burst open. As did the door to the church, the houses ringing the village square, and every other door Hugh could see.

Aegonar warriors poured into the streets, mingled with ulfhednar in their bronze serpent helms. 

Prince’s Rest had been a trap all along.

"Ride!" shouted Hugh. "Ride through them, now!" 

"Sir Hugh!" said Montigard. "We..."

"Ride now!" said Hugh, drawing his Aegonar war axe. "If they surround us we're finished!"

Montigard raised his war horn to his lips and drew a long blast, and Hugh put spurs to his horse. The beast surged forward with an angry whinny, and behind him the knights and armsmen started forward. 

A heartbeat later he crashed into the Aegonar. 

Hugh's axe caught an Aegonar on the helmet, sending the warrior sprawling to the ground with a ghastly crunch. His horse crashed into another warrior, stunning the man, and Hugh killed him with a blow from the axe. His horse trampled the dead man, and Hugh killed another Aegonar. 

But there were too many Aegonar, and for every man he slew, two more came at him. Worse, too many Aegonar warriors clogged the streets, blocking any chance of escape. His men could not ride down the Aegonar, not in such enclosed spaces.

Hugh had led them into a trap. 

How had they known where to find his men? Had they been tracking him all along? Or perhaps his men had done enough damage that the Aegonar had sent a war party to hunt them down. 

An arrow hissed past Hugh's shoulder and plunged into the chest of the knight to his left, punching through the armor. The man fell from his horse with a choked scream and vanished beneath the trampling hooves. Hugh looked up and saw Aegonar warriors on the inn’s roof, short bows in their hands. They loosed a steady stream of arrows, and more of Hugh's men fell. He struck down another Aegonar, seeking an escape, a way his men could flee...

Then Maurus stood in his stirrups, a copper tube in one hand.

"Get back!" shouted Hugh, recognizing the war spell. "Get back! Get..."

Maurus finished his spell, and a raging blast of yellow-orange flame erupted from the tube and tore into the Aegonar ranks. Scores of Aegonar warriors fell, screaming, as Maurus's magical flames chewed at their flesh. A ripple went through the Aegonar, the warriors pulling away from the wizard.

And for a moment, Hugh saw a clear path through the main street. If his men rode out of Prince's Rest, they could escape the Aegonar in the open country...

"Ride!" roared Hugh at the top of his lungs. "Ride! Ride!"

His men surged forward, trampling the wounded Aegonar. Hugh killed another Aegonar with a blow from the axe, his heart pounding. Another few moments, just a few, and...

An arrow buried itself in the flank of Hugh's horse. 

The poor animal screamed and stumbled, blood pouring down its side, and Hugh lost his saddle. He crashed into a pair of Aegonar warriors and sent them stumbling. Hugh scrambled to his feet, his body aching with the impact, and swung his axe. The blade skidded off an Aegonar's shield, splinters flying everywhere. 

Then something slammed into the side of his head. White light filled his vision, and then everything went black.

###

Some time later, Hugh's eyes fluttered open.

He upon his side on stone stairs, his wrists and ankles bound with thick rope. His armor was gone, along with all his weapons. He tried to sit up, and a wave of nausea washed through him. 

He doubled over, threw up, and slumped against the stairs, panting. 

After a while his eyes swam into focus. 

He lay upon the stairs of the church. Aegonar warriors swarmed through the square, and Hugh saw them looting the slain knights and armsmen. There were fewer than he had expected, and Hugh felt a wave of hope. Perhaps his men had escaped?

"Ah," said a rough voice. "You are awake."

An Aegonar warrior towered over him. The man's armor was fashioned of steel scales edged with gilt, his helmet worked with elaborate spiraling designs of writhing serpents. A fine broadsword hung at his belt, and a pair of seidjar stood behind the warrior, awaiting his commands. The warrior pulled off his helmet, and Hugh saw a narrow, gaunt face, the cheeks shaded with red-gold stubble. 

"I had thought the blow to your head would prove fatal," said the Aegonar. "I am pleased I was wrong."

"Your solicitousness," said Hugh, his voice thick, "is most kind."

The Aegonar snorted. "It was not for your benefit. My task was to bring back a son of the Prince of Barellion, and I have done so."

"Who are you?" said Hugh.

The Aegonar inclined his head. "I am Ryntald, earl in service to Agantyr, the High King of the Aegonar and the Anointed of Sepharivaim. And you are Hugh, the youngest son of the Prince of Barellion, and you have led me on a merry chase." 

"How regrettable," said Hugh, "that the minor annoyances of my raids should waste the time of so august of a man."

"True," said Ryntald, "your raids were annoying. But that is hardly the point. One of the Heralds of Sepharivaim desired your presence, and I am a loyal servant of the High King and the Heralds."

Hugh frowned. "Why would you go to such effort to capture me? I am no one of importance."

Ryntald shrugged. "That is of no consequence. The Herald of Sepharivaim commanded your capture, and I obeyed. I suggest you embrace the worship of Sepharivaim at once."

"Never." Hugh lifted his chin, aware that his words might bring his death. "I have seen the worship of the serpent god, and it is monstrous and cruel beyond all measure."

"Pity for you," said Ryntald. "The Heralds are often...impatient with unbelievers. And I suspect you will crawl in the dust on your belly and beg for death before all is done. Take him."

Two of the Aegonar warriors seized Hugh, shoved a hood of rough cloth over his head, and dragged him along.