Soul of Skulls (Book 6) (19 page)

Chapter 19 - Ascension

One final stride through the shadows, and Malaric arrived at last.

Barellion stood before him. 

The journey had taken longer than expected. A great many people crowded the roads, and Malaric had no wish to be seen. From what Malaric had overhead, the Aegonar had launched a series of raids against the northwestern coast, terrifying the peasants. It was hardly important. Malaric would crush the Aegonar in short order.

Greycoast belonged to him, and he would suffer no challengers.

He pushed the Aegonar out of his thoughts and paused for a moment, taking in the sight of Barellion.

His city.

It was the greatest city in the realm, home to over fifty thousand men, women, and children, and twice that during the merchant fairs, when lords and ladies and merchants from across the world came to buy and sell in Barellion's grand markets. A strong wall of stone, the Outer Wall, encircled the city, thirty feet high and fortified with towers rising fifty feet high, their turrets crowned with catapults and ballistae. Inside the city stood the towers and turrets of the older Inner Wall, the battlements of the ancient Prince's Keep itself, and the spires of the city's cathedral. The Inner Wall divided the Old City and the New, the nobles and priests from the merchants and poorer commoners. Beyond the city lay its fortified harbor, guarded by twin castle-lighthouses, and the vast blue expanse of the western sea. A canal to the River of Lords flowed into the harbor, permitting barges of goods to travel inland to the High Plain and the Stormvales. 

Malaric strolled towards the Gate of Knights, the city's southernmost gate. Armsmen in the livery of the House of Chalsain stood guard, checking the long line of carts that wished to pass the gate and sell in the city's markets. Malaric walked past the guards, making no effort to conceal his appearance.

Sooner or later he would be recognized. Prince Everard had never forgiven Malaric for the death of his wife, and had banished him from the city under pain of death. Additionally, the Skulls had probably put a price on Malaric's head by now, since he had failed to kill Molly Cravenlock. With his attention focused on the runedead and the Aegonar pirates, it would take the Prince a few days to notice Malaric's presence. 

The Skulls would notice much sooner. 

Malaric counted on it.

He strode to the Knights' Inn, a impressive five-story edifice of stone and timber that dominated the plaza below the gates. Wealthy merchants, the emissaries of powerful nobles, and minor nobles themselves preferred to stay at the Knights' Inn when visiting Barellion. Few of them knew that the Skulls actually owned the Inn. Since most of the Skulls' targets were wealthy and powerful men, the Knights' Inn allowed the Skulls an easy way to gather their targets in one place. Of course, the targets were never killed in the Inn itself. 

No sense in spoiling the trap. 

Malaric strode into the Inn's common room. Twin hearths crackled at either end, reflecting upon the polished wooden paneling of the walls. The tables and benches held a variety of merchants speaking in hushed voices about the Aegonar raids. They paid him no attention. But the serving maids and the footmen spied for the Skulls, and every last one of them froze for just a moment when they saw him.

So the First Dagger of the Skulls had indeed put a death price on his head. That would make things easier. 

One of the serving maids hurried to him. She was a pretty, with bright blue eyes, a pert nose and curly blond hair. Her smile exposed gleaming teeth, but her eyes remained icy and focused.

The smile of a Skull.

"Lord Malaric," she said. "You do us too much honor. We did not expect to see you in Barellion so soon. Especially since you failed..."

"Stop talking," said Malaric with a smile. "I will take a cut of beef. Does the chef still prepare those marvelous spiced potatoes? If he does, I'll have some of those as well, and slices of cheese, too. And a pitcher of wine. Good wine, mind. Now run along."

He seated himself at a table, amused at her incredulous expression. But she recovered herself and disappeared into the Inn's kitchen. She returned a moment later with a tray bearing Malaric's food.

"Here you are, my lord," said the maid. "Though I have some business..."

"What's your name?" said Malaric.

"Rosala, my lord," said the maid.

"Very good," said Malaric. "Go away and let me eat in peace."

Rosala stared at him, her expression full of amused incredulity. Then she strode away. Malaric watched her go, admiring the movement of her hips beneath her skirt. Then he ate with a will. He had not eaten a decent meal since leaving Castle Cravenlock with Lucan all those months ago, and the Knights' Inn had a fine kitchen.

Both the wine and the potatoes had been poisoned, but the Demonsouled power of Corvad's skull was more than sufficient to deal with it, and Malaric thought the poison rather enhanced the taste of the wine. From the corner of his eye he saw Rosala standing near the kitchen door, watching him. Two footmen, both burly young men, joined her.

Malaric finished his meal, wiped his mouth, left a suitable number of coins on the table, and departed the Inn. He walked into the plaza and circled to the back of the Inn, listening to the familiar noise of the city, the rumble of carts and the cries of the hawkers. 

Gods, but it was good to be home.

He slipped into the alley behind the Inn, and found Rosala and the footmen waiting for him. 

They had discarded their servants' livery for the dark leather and lightweight black chain mail favored by the Skulls. Rosala carried a sword and a dagger, and both of the footmen carried swords as well.

"Malaric of Barellion," said Rosala, her cold voice a contrast with her gleeful smile. "The bastard son of the Prince, come home at last. You shouldn't have done that. You received a task from the First Dagger, and you failed."

Malaric shrugged. "Molly Cravenlock proved a slippery foe with powerful allies. Besides, I had more important things to do than the First Dagger's little errands." 

The footmen appeared shocked at his impertinence. One did not speak ill of the First Dagger and live. At least not for very long. 

“You failed,” said Rosala, “and you know the penalty for failure.”

“Yes, death and all that,” said Malaric. He grinned and spread his arms. “As amusing as this is, you cannot kill me. No one need die today. Escort me to the presence of the First Dagger, and…”

“Kill him,” said Rosala.

The footmen charged, swords raised.

Malaric laughed, waited until the footmen were only a few steps away, and then strode into the shadows. He reappeared a dozen paces behind Rosala. The footmen spun, their expressions comical. 

“Come,” Malaric said. “Surely you can do better than that. I would hate to think that the First Dagger had let standards slip since my departure.” 

Rosala sneered. “So you’ve learned one of Molly Cravenlock’s little tricks? Pathetic. But appropriate, since you're both traitors. Take him!” 

The footmen sprinted forward, and Malaric drew on the Demonsouled power of Corvad’s skull. The footmen reached him, and Malaric made no effort to block. They plunged their swords into his chest and belly, blood welling over his shirt and coat.

That…rather hurt.

But the skull's dark fire filled Malaric with strength, and he seized the throats of the footmen. He caught a brief glimpse of their astonished expressions, and then he picked them up and flung them. They sailed across the alley to smash against the dirty ground. Malaric ripped their swords from his chest, grimacing at the pain.

The wounds began to heal as his stolen Demonsouled power went to work.

Rosala’s blue eyes grew wide. “What kind of demon are you?”

“Demon,” said Malaric, grinning. The wounds on his chest sealed themselves shut. “Quite right.” 

The footmen wavered, their eyes wide with fear.

“Take him!” said Rosala, pointing with her sword and dagger. “Do you want to tell the First Dagger that we failed? Kill him and cut out his heart! Demon or not, he won’t survive that!”

The footmen drew daggers and attacked again, Rosala a half-step behind them. Malaric drew his sword and met them, his limbs filled with Demonsouled power. The first footman stabbed him in the shoulder, but he ignored the pain and opened the assassin’s throat. As the dead man fell, he wheeled, the wound in his shoulder closing, and killed the second footman with a quick slash.

Rosala came at him, her sword and dagger a blur. His sword snapped back and forth as he blocked and deflected her blows. He had fought and faced Molly Cravenlock, and if not for the Tervingi wizard, he would have overpowered her.

Rosala was no match for Molly. 

She stabbed with sword and dagger, and Malaric blocked, sweeping her blades to the side. He slammed her against the wall of the Inn, and the breath exploded from her lungs. Rosala gasped, and Malaric’s free hand caught her by the throat, and he slammed her against the wall once more. The sword and dagger tumbled from her fingers, and Malaric lifted her into the air, her boots dangling. 

Her face turned purple in short order.

“Please,” she rasped, eyes bulging, “please…”

Malaric threw her to the ground. She landed hard, coughing and wheezing. 

“Go tell the First Dagger,” said Malaric, “that I have returned, and wish to come to a…mutually profitable arrangement.”

Rosala pulled herself to her feet, rubbing her throat. “What?”

“Run along and deliver the message like a good girl,” said Malaric. “Or else I’ll change my mind and cut that pretty throat of yours.”

She ran without another word. 

Malaric waited until she left the alley, and then stepped into the shadows.

He reappeared atop the Knights’ Inn, the roof's clay tiles gritting beneath his feet. He saw Rosala hurrying across the plaza. She had found a brown cloak, since a woman hurrying across the city in chain mail and leather would draw notice. Malaric strode through the shadows, moving from rooftop to rooftop as he followed Rosala. 

She came to one of the churches in the New City. Barellion’s cathedral was vast, but even it could not hold the entire population, and dozens of other churches stood throughout the city. This church looked like an overgrown country church, with thick stone walls and narrow windows. Rosala circled to the back of the church, to the graveyard, and then vanished down a set of stairs along the church’s back wall. 

The crypt.

Malaric walked the shadows to the graveyard, standing among the ancient tombstones.

“What the devil?” The graveyard’s caretaker, a middle-aged man in a dirty smock, hurried towards Malaric. Of course, he was a Skull, and Malaric saw the outline of a hidden weapon beneath his coat. “This is a sacred…”

Malaric killed the lookout and kept walking. He descended the stairs and pushed open the door to the crypt.

The crypt was broad and wide, its vaulted ceiling supported by a forest of stone pillars. Torchlight threw back the darkness, and a dozen men in dark clothing stood in a half-circle. Rosala stood before them, looking like a deer trapped by wolves. Of course, she was not helpless…but the men before her, the chief assassins of the Skulls, were more dangerous by far. 

The First Dagger, Souther of Barellion himself, stood in their midst, both hands resting upon the handle of a polished wooden cane.

Throughout the centuries, the leader of the Skulls had come from the nobility, from disgraced sons of lords, from renegade wizards, even from the Justiciars on a few occasions. Souther was the son of an illiterate fisherman from southern Greycoast, and had the broad belly and smiling, pleasant face of a successful innkeeper. Malaric had seen him wear that smile as he cut the fingers from a traitor one by one. 

“So, girl,” said Souther in his gentle voice. “Our wayward brother Malaric has returned, and you decided on your own authority to deal with him. Perhaps gain both the reward and the favor of the First Dagger, hmm? Instead two of our brothers lie dead at Malaric’s hand, and you have run here to spill your tale.”

“I could not have defeated him, master,” said Rosala. “We stabbed him through the lungs and chest, mortal wounds both! Yet somehow he healed them both in a matter of moments. He’s gained some magic we cannot defeat.”

“Magic,” said Souther. “Ever the sluggard’s excuse for failure.” The smile vanished from his face. “I think you are lying to me, sister. Perhaps we should put you to the question until you see fit to tell me the truth…”

“No, I swear!” said Rosala. “I am telling the truth! I…”

“She is,” said Malaric, stepping into the torchlight. “First Dagger. You’re looking plump as ever.” 

As one every man in the circle drew his weapons and wheeled to face Malaric. All save for Souther, who only smiled his kindly smile.

“Do forgive an old man, Rosala,” said Souther. “It seems I should have believed you after all. But such a preposterous story! Surely the Prince’s bastard would not be so stupid as to walk into the Knights’ Inn and parade himself before us? And he was not. Instead, he is stupid enough to walk into a sanctuary of the brotherhood he betrayed. I dispatched you to kill Molly Cravenlock, Malaric. Yet the latest reports from our spies in the Grim Marches indicate that she is still alive.”

Malaric shrugged. “I was busy.”

Souther gave a weary sigh. “Clearly, I should never hire the bastard children of nobility. For first Molly Cravenlock forsook us, and then you followed suit. If I want an honest day’s killing, I'll need to hire a peasant.”

“I have an arrangement,” said Malaric, “that would…”

“Silence,” said Souther. “Kill him.” 

The assassins charged Malaric, and he flew into motion.

He drew on the skull’s power and stepped into the shadows. He reappeared behind the charging men, and gutted one before the others could respond. Another leap through the shadows, and Malaric traveled to the far side of the crypt. The assassins whirled to face him, and Malaric began casting a spell. They almost reached him, and Malaric grinned and flung out his free hand. A wave of invisible force lashed from his hands with Demonsouled-driven power, and the blast knocked the assassins to the floor. Malaric jumped into the shadows and reappeared in their midst, his blade flying. He killed two more before they recovered, and he whirled back into the shadows. This time the master assassins anticipated his move and were ready for him.