Soul of Skulls (Book 6) (30 page)

Riothamus smiled…and then his eyes went wide. 

“Riothamus!” said Molly, but a moment later she knew what had happened.

The Sight had come upon him. 

After a moment Riothamus shook his head, blinking sweat from his eyes.

Molly moved to his side, taking his hands. “What is it? What did you see?”

“Malaric,” said Riothamus. “He was…fighting someone, I think. But I saw the burning skull and the bladed wings again, and…”

He frowned for a moment, then nodded.

“I think,” he said, “I think I know what he has been trying to summon.” 

###

The footmen fled from the Aegonar, but they ran twice as fast to get away from the Lady of Blades. 

The great spirit’s bladed wings stretched behind her, the steel chiming and gleaming. The white flames of her burning eyes narrowed as she gazed at Malaric, her pale hair stirring in the wind. 

“Malaric,” hissed the Lady, contempt dripping from her voice. 

“So good to see you again,” said Malaric. “As much as I enjoy exchanging pleasantries, I have more urgent business.”

Her gaze turned to the river, to the fleeing knights and footmen. “Ah. You have lost the battle, I see.”

“Because of the cowardice of my miserable vassals,” said Malaric. “If…”

“Because of your own folly,” said the Lady. “You stole the Prince’s power…did I not tell you that stolen power turns upon its thief in the end?”

“Do not lecture me!” shouted Malaric. “That wretch Bryce planned this, I’m sure of it. Perhaps he even has an accord with the damned Aegonar…”

He blinked. Why was he bothering to justify himself to the Lady of Blades? He was the master here, not the spirit.

“Destroy that bridge,” he said, pointing the caethweisyr.

The Lady looked at the bridge. “Indeed? Your own men are still upon it. Does a lord not swear to defend…”

“Destroy the bridge!” said Malaric. “Damn you, destroy it now!” 

“As you will,” said the Lady.

She sprang into the air, her bladed wings remaining motionless. White fire crackled around her fingertips, sparks of lightning shooting up and down her wings as she rose higher. For a moment all motion on the bridge, and even on the northern bank, ceased as the men gaped at her.

Then the Lady of Blades shot downward, moving so fast she seemed like a bolt of silvery lightning. She plunged into the base of the bridge's tower, and her crackling wings sliced through the stone like knives cutting butter. Stone splinters flew in all directions, and the Lady shot out the far side of the tower.

The great structure crumbled into the water. Screams of terror rose from the men on the bridge, and they made a mad scramble for the river's banks. But they were too late. Castle Bridge's remaining supports shattered, and the entire thing fell into the River of Lords with a tremendous splash. 

Most of the armsmen and militia upon the bridge had been weighed down by their armor. Malaric doubted any would defeat the river's current to reach land. And all those on the northern bank were lost to the Aegonar. 

At least it would take the Aegonar a few extra days to get across the river. 

Perhaps Malaric could think of a way to stop them by then. 

The Lady of Blades glided back to the ground.

"The bridge is destroyed, as you commanded," said the Lady. "Curious, though. Not a single one of your foes was upon the bridge. All your own men."

"What does it matter to you?" Malaric said. "Have the lives of mortals suddenly become so precious to you?"

"They have not," said the Lady. "Yet we spirits have our own vassals and lords, just as mortals do. And for a lord to betray his vassals to destruction is...inconceivable to us."

"Be gone," said Malaric. "Return to the spirit world and await my call. My other commands to you stand. Guard the Study Tower and its contents." 

"Very well," said the Lady. "Remember what I have said to you about stolen power."

She dissolved in a swirl of gray mist.

Malaric looked around. Several thousand armsmen and militiamen had made it over the bridge, and many of them stared at him with a mixture of hatred and fear. For a moment he considered commanding them to follow him, but dismissed the idea. The lords and knights of Greycoast had followed him out of fear...and they had just seen him lose. 

They still feared him...but not enough to obey him.

If any of the lords had survived, Malaric suspected they would devote themselves to his destruction. 

He had best prepare to meet them...and find a way to stop the Aegonar before they took Barellion.

Malaric strode into the shadows, leaving his broken army to its fate. 

Chapter 28 - The Summoning

Riothamus strode through the darkened forest, picking his through the trees’ tangled roots. 

He moved without sound. Prince Hugh's army marched through wooded hills, and they reminded him of the hills of the old Tervingi homeland. Aegidia had raised him in those hills, and she had taught him how to move with stealth and speed. 

He missed her.

Especially now that he had figured out what kind of creature Malaric had summoned. 

A hill rose out of the pine trees, and Riothamus climbed to its crest. From its top, he saw the surrounding hills illuminated in the moonlight. He also saw the campfires of Hugh's army, guarding the road a half-mile away. 

Though it was really Mazael’s army. The men followed Hugh as the Prince, but they feared and respected Mazael. His skill as a warrior, honed through years of experience, augmented by the vast power of his Demonsouled blood, had turned him in a commander without peer. He could bend an army to his will like a master sculptor molding clay. 

But even Mazael could be defeated. Malaric had almost killed him.

And Malaric might defeat him a second time, if Riothamus could not unravel the usurper's secret.

He gripped his staff in both hands and got to work. 

Golden flames outlined the staff, and Riothamus drew a circle of golden flame around the hill’s crest. Around the circle's diameter he scribed a series of warding and binding sigils, designed to enhance and amplify his magic. Once the circle was finished, Riothamus faced it, took a deep breath, and began casting a spell.

"I summon you!" he shouted. Magic flooded through him, and he drew both on his native power and the unyielding strength of the Guardian's staff. "By the power of my will, by the authority of my office, and by the strength of this talisman, I summon you!"

He pictured the creature he had seen in his visions, the mighty being Malaric had summoned up. 

"Lady of Blades!" said Riothamus, striking his staff against the hilltop. "I summon you!"

A blast of white lightning screamed out of the sky and struck the hill, the circle blazing with golden fire.

When the glare cleared, the spirit filled the circle. 

She was beautiful, perilously beautiful. She wore only a shirt of diamond-shaped steel scales that fell to her thighs, leaving her arms and shoulders bare. A diadem of daggers and steel wire encircled her white hair, and her eyes burned with harsh white flame. 

Her wings stretched from one end of the circle to the other. The wings had been fashioned from hundreds of sword blades instead of flesh and bone, their edges gleaming sharper than any mortal weapon. The Sight came upon Riothamus, and he glimpsed her power, vast and churning like a storm-driven sea, power to match the unyielding strength of the staff’s magic. 

Riothamus let out a long breath. 

"Lady of Blades," he said, voice quiet. 

"Another mortal with the temerity to summon me?" said the Lady, her voice carrying an eerie echo. "The race of mortals was ever afflicted with hubris. Release this binding, impudent fool, and my wings shall not rend your flesh from your bones."

Riothamus looked at her without blinking. "I will not."

He knew of her. Or, rather, past Guardians had known of her, and many of their memories resided within the staff. The Lady of Blades was a powerful sovereign of the spirit realm, with many lesser creatures at her command. Her power was vast, and only a foolish wizard summoned her.

Riothamus wondered how Malaric had managed to bind her. 

"You will not?" said the Lady of Blades. "Fool. You should fear me. Do you not know who I am?" 

"I do," said Riothamus. "But do you know who I am?"

"It matters not," said the Lady. "Mortals are like the grass. You bloom for a little while, and then become dust, swept away upon the withering wind." 

"This is so," said Riothamus. "And I am mortal. But, spirit, I think you should heed me."

The Lady's laughter echoed inside his head. "Why? Because of who you are?"

"No," said Riothamus. "Not because of who I am. Because of the office I hold."

He held out staff of the Guardian, the sigils in the wood glimmering with golden light. The Lady of Blades stared at the staff, her blazing eyes narrowed.

And then she recoiled, just a tiny bit.

"The Guardian," said the Lady.

"I have that burden," said Riothamus. 

"It was so long ago," murmured the Lady, "even by the reckoning of spirits. We felt it when the wizards of the High Elderborn wrought that staff and imbued it with their strength. They vowed that it would stand forever vigilant against the eldest of the Demonsouled."

"The Urdmoloch," said Riothamus. 

"Yes," said the Lady. "Why have you summoned me, Guardian? I have no quarrel with you, and no wish to cross your power."

"I have summoned you," said Riothamus, "to speak about Malaric."

The Lady's glowing eyes narrowed further. "Why?"

"Because the Sight has shown it to me," said Riothamus. "The burden of the Guardian is to defend against the Demonsouled. And somehow Malaric has stolen Demonsouled power, strength he has neither the experience nor the wisdom to control. He is like a mad dog broken loose from its chain, and he will continue to rampage until he is stopped."

For a long moment the Lady said nothing.

"I am bound," said the Lady, "and I cannot answer."

"Ah," said Riothamus. He thought it over. "I assume Malaric bound you so that you cannot harm him, you cannot take any action that could harm him, and that you cannot conspire against him?"

"Your insight is worthy of a Guardian," said the Lady.

"Thank you," said Riothamus. "But you may answer my questions freely."

The Lady laughed. "You mock me. Plainly you intend Malaric harm."

"I do not," said Riothamus. "I am the Guardian. I cannot use my power to kill a mortal man. Malaric has stolen Demonsouled magic, but he is still mortal." He sighed. "And I would save him from himself, if I could."

But he suspected it was far too late for that. 

"You are sincere," said the Lady.

"Yes," said Riothamus. "There has been too much death already."

"You are sincere," repeated the Lady of Blades with a small smile, "but there is cunning in your sincerity. For if you seek to save Malaric from the power he has stolen, then you are not his foe...and I may speak to you freely." 

Riothamus shrugged. "If you choose to interpret my words in that way, I cannot blame you."

He waited in silence, sweat trickling down his back. If the Lady chose to fight, he was not at all certain he could defeat her, Guardian or not.

"Ask what you will," said the Lady.

Riothamus kept the relief from his face. 

"Malaric has gained Demonsouled power," said Riothamus. "How?"

“In the same fashion he has gained all his power,” said the Lady. “By theft.”

“The burning skull,” said Riothamus. “I have seen it in my visions. The burning skull is the source of his power.”

“Yes,” said the Lady.

“What is it?” said Riothamus.

“The skull,” said Lady, “of your lord’s son.”

“Mazael’s son?” said Riothamus. “Mazael doesn’t have…wait.” Molly did not talk about her twin brother Corvad very often. From what he could gather, she had once loved him, but Corvad had grown crueler and harder as he embraced his Demonsouled nature. And, in the end, he tried to transform her into a Malrag Queen. “Corvad. You mean Corvad.”

“Correct,” said the Lady. 

“So Malaric went to Arylkrad,” said Riothamus, “found Corvad’s skull, and was able to draw on Corvad’s Demonsouled power?”

“Yes,” said the Lady.

“How?” said Riothamus. “That should not be possible. Corvad is dead, and his power died with him. Unless…” His eyes widened. “Malaric bound his soul to the skull?”

“You see clearly, Guardian,” said the Lady. “Even the bones of a grandson of the Old Demon bear power. Your lord should not have left them to molder within the black walls of Arylkrad.”

“But that is folly,” said Riothamus. “If he bound his soul to the skull, it would let him tap Demonsouled power. But it would make him absolutely vulnerable to anyone who held the skull. And if the skull was destroyed, it would probably kill him. Horribly.” 

“I told him,” murmured the Lady, “but he heeded me not.”

“Where is the skull?” said Riothamus. If Malaric knew enough necromantic magic to bind his soul to the skull, he would recognize the danger. He would have placed the skull someplace secure.

“Why?” said the Lady. “So you can destroy the skull?”

Riothamus saw the trap. “So I can break the spells upon it and return Malaric’s soul to him.”

“Ah,” said the Lady. “A wise answer. The skull is in the city mortals name Barellion, located within the Prince’s Keep. Malaric has placed wards of surpassing potency around it, and has commanded me to guard it with my full strength. I am to kill any intruders who enter the chamber housing the skull.” 

“I see,” said Riothamus. He thought for a moment. “Is Malaric allied with Skalatan and the San-keth?”

“Not at the moment,” said the Lady. “For no alliance is permanent to Malaric. He will betray anyone, if he thinks he can gain advantage. After the defeat he has suffered, he may try to ally himself with the San-keth once again…or in his desperation, he may turn to darker powers.”

“Malaric has suffered a defeat?” said Riothamus.

“You could use that knowledge to harm him,” said the Lady. “Therefore I am bound not to share it with you.” 

“But if he suffered a defeat at the hands of the Aegonar,” said Riothamus, “then Lord Mazael and Prince Hugh are waging war against the Aegonar. So that knowledge could be used to defeat the Aegonar, thereby aiding Malaric.”

“Clever,” said the Lady. “How refreshing to talk with a mortal who is not completely witless. Yes, Malaric has suffered a grievous defeat. Several days ago he gathered the combined host of Barellion and flung against the serpent-worshippers. He underestimated his foes and overestimated his wits, and the serpent-worshippers scattered his host like chaff upon the wind. Malaric fled back to Barellion, and seeks to find a way to overcome his foes before they overwhelm and destroy him.” 

“I understand,” said Riothamus. If Malaric had suffered such a defeat, there would be no force left to keep the Aegonar from claiming all of Greycoast. And, worse, Malaric would be desperate. He had done tremendous harm while certain of victory. What more might he do when he had nothing to lose?

Mazael had to know of this at once. 

“Thank you, spirit,” said Riothamus. “Your wisdom has been illuminating. I release you from my summoning.”

“A mortal with courtesy?” said the Lady. “Such a rare thing. Until we meet again, Guardian. You may not believe yourself Malaric’s foe…but he will make you unto his foe, before much longer.”

A flash of light, and she vanished into nothingness.

Riothamus’s circle of golden light faded away.

He shook himself and headed for the camp in search of Mazael.

And as he did, he noticed that the camp had grown much larger in his absence.

###

Mazael clapped a militiaman on the shoulder. “Rouse the cooks,” he said, “and have them prepare food for our guests.”

The militiaman ran for the quartermaster’s tent. 

“It was a slaughter,” said Lord Bryce Spearshore, his voice exhausted. His armsmaster and several of his chief knights stood around him. “We had the better position, and could have held Castle Bridge indefinitely. Yet that murderous fool Malaric threw it all away.” Bryce shook his head. “I should have insisted. I should have disobeyed, I…”

“Do not blame yourself, my lord,” said Hugh. “As far as you knew, Malaric was your lawful Prince. And had you disobeyed, he simply would have slain you.” 

“That bloody-handed fool!” said Bryce. “I suspected he murdered your family. But there was some doubt, and we needed someone to lead us against the Aegonar. I hoped Malaric would lead us to victory against the Aegonar, but he has only brought us ruin.”

“How many men do you have with you?” said Mazael.

“Just over five thousand,” said Bryce. “All those I could gather from the wreck of the battle. The Aegonar slew many and captured more…and many more died when Malaric worked his witchery and collapsed the bridge.”

“Will you follow me?” said Hugh. “I am your lawful Prince…but I cannot force you to do anything. You have more men than I do at the moment. But I mean to throw down Malaric and drive the Aegonar from our lands. Will you ride with me?”

“Aye!” said Bryce. “I thought all was lost. The surviving lords scattered to their own castles, to defend their lands or to make peace with the Aegonar however they could. But I want neither Malaric nor the Aegonar to hold sway over Greycoast. With a true Prince, with a true son of Everard Chalsain to lead us…aye, we will follow you.” He looked at Mazael. “And you have gained the aid of a commander of renown, my Prince.”

“My lord is too kind,” said Mazael. “I suggest, my lords, that our first task is to take Barellion. Malaric has been badly weakened, and cannot have many men left. If we force our way into the city, we can hold it against the Aegonar.” 

“We do not have enough men,” said Hugh.

“More will follow you, my Prince,” said Bryce. “A larger problem is that we are on the wrong side of the River of Lords. Malaric destroyed the Castle Bridge, and the nearest ford is seven days’ ride away.”

“That will not be a problem,” said Mazael. “I have a wizard of great power with me. He can use his spells to freeze the River of Lords long enough for us to cross to the southern bank. The Aegonar will have to build rafts and ferry their men and supplies across, and that will gain us a few days.” 

“Your wizard,” said Bryce. “Is he strong enough to contest Malaric’s magic? Or to handle the seidjar?”

Mazael remembered the terrible battle outside of Swordgrim. Lucan Mandragon had borne the Glamdaigyr and the Banurdem, had unleashed spells of staggering power at Riothamus. Yet Riothamus had held his own against Lucan.

“He is,” said Mazael.