Soul of Skulls (Book 6) (31 page)

As if summoned, he saw Riothamus walk into the light of the fire, Molly at his side.

Their expressions were grave.

“A moment, my lords,” said Mazael. Bryce and Hugh nodded and kept talking, and Mazael joined his daughter and the Guardian. 

“What is it?” said Mazael, once they were out of earshot. 

“Malaric has suffered a terrible defeat,” said Riothamus, “and fled to Barellion.”

“I know,” said Mazael. “One of the Prince’s most powerful vassals escaped the battle and turned up here. With his help, we might be able to pull together a host strong enough to handle Malaric and defeat the Aegonar.”

Molly laughed, her voice wild. “It will take more than an army to stop Malaric.”

“Why?” said Mazael. “What have you found?”

“Malaric has bound a mighty spirit creature to his service,” said Riothamus. “So mighty that my Sight sensed it whenever he summoned it. So I summoned the creature myself and gleaned some answers.” He took a deep breath. “It’s Corvad, my lord.”

“Corvad?” said Mazael, astonished. “Corvad’s dead. I slew him myself.” The guilt tugged at him. A father should not slay his own son. But Corvad had tried to claim the mantle of the Destroyer, tried to transform Molly into a Malrag Queen. 

“He is,” said Riothamus, “but Malaric found Corvad's skull and bound his soul into it. That act grants him access all of Corvad’s Demonsouled power – the strength, the speed, the rapid healing. Even some that Corvad did not possess in life, such as walking through the shadows.” 

Molly laughed, her eyes haunted. “Even in death, Corvad still tries to kill me.”

“I killed Corvad,” said Mazael, “and I am going to kill Malaric.”

“So long as his soul is bound to that skull,” said Riothamus, “I don’t think he can be killed. No matter how grievously you wound him, his injuries will heal. Cut him to bits and his flesh will reassemble itself. Burn him to ashes, and his body will rebuild itself piece by piece.”

“But if we find Corvad’s skull,” said Mazael, “we can kill him?”

Riothamus nodded. “Yes. Or I can unravel the spells upon it and return Malaric’s soul to his body.”

“And then I’ll kill him,” said Molly. 

“Did Malaric’s pet spirit happen to tell you where to find the skull?” said Mazael.

“Somewhere in the Prince’s castle,” said Riothamus. “She would not be more specific.”

“She?” said Mazael.

To his surprise, Riothamus shivered. The Guardian was as calm and placid as an immovable boulder. Yet something about that creature had unsettled him. “The spirit is called the Lady of Blades, and she possesses vast power. Had she not feared the Guardian’s staff, she would have killed me for having the temerity to summon her. For Malaric to control her is utter folly. One might as well try to tame a thunderstorm, or put a saddle on a rushing river.”

Mazael snorted. “If what you’ve said about that skull is true, Malaric is already riding one tiger. What’s one more?” He slipped the compass from his belt and looked at the needle. It still pointed southwest, but it had moved. The Aegonar were marching for Barellion.

And Skalatan was with them.

“What will we do now, Father?” said Molly.

“We will ride with Hugh as he builds his army,” said Mazael. “And then we shall take Barellion, settle with Malaric, and take Skalatan’s blood back to the Grim Marches to heal Romaria.” 

“And the gods have mercy,” said Riothamus, “on anyone who tries to stop us?”

“Yes,” said Mazael. “For I will not.”

###

The next day Hugh rode at the head of the host as they headed south.

Mazael was as good as his word. The peculiar barbarian wizard worked a spell, and a sheet of foot-thick ice covered the River of Lords for a half-mile in either direction. It took the entire army and all their wagons less than an hour to cross, and we they finished, the Guardian destroyed the ice bridge, keeping any foes from following.

They marched south for Barellion. 

Hugh rode between Mazael and Lord Bryce, going over plans for the coming siege. The Chalsain banner, the black tower on green, floated overhead, alongside the sigil of Spearshore and a Cravenlock banner the Guardian had provided. 

And very soon more banners flew alongside them.

Rumor spread like wildfire through the countryside, carrying word that a son of Everard Chalsain had survived Malaric’s treachery and now rode to smite the usurper and drive the Aegonar from Greycoast. Soon a dozen banners flew at the head of the host. Then a score, and still more.

And Hugh found himself leading twenty thousand men to Barellion. 

The terror of it filled him. He did not want to be Prince. Gods, he was not ready to be Prince. He had never commanded more than five hundred men in battle at once. How was he to lead over twenty thousand? 

But Adelaide was behind Barellion’s walls. 

If she was still alive.

If Malaric had killed her, Hugh vowed he would kill the murderous dog with his own hands. 

But Malaric had cost Hugh his brothers and his father. The Aegonar, for all their brutality, came as simple conquerors, and fought in the open. Malaric had murdered Hugh’s family and cast the blame upon the San-keth, usurping the throne of Barellion for himself. And with that stolen authority he had brought Greycoast to the edge of utter ruin.

Hugh had to stop him.

The Prince of Barellion rode on, his army following. 

Chapter 29 – The Battle of the Riversteel

Gerald sat on his horse and watched the runedead.

The assembled host of Knightreach waited on the Riversteel’s northern bank, hundreds of banners flying in the breeze, the sun glinting off helmets and cuirasses and spears. Gerald remembered the battle at the River Abelinus, driving back the runedead as they tried to cross the water.

But that had only been four thousand runedead. 

Now more runedead than he could count filled the southern bank of the Riversteel, thousands upon thousands of undead, the sigils upon their forehead shining like an endless field of ghostly candles. Gerald had been enraged when his father and the Grand Master had sent the Justiciars on their fools’ quest to purge evil from the villages of Knightreach, but now he realized the Justiciars’ numbers would have made no difference. 

The scouts claimed that one hundred and fifty thousand runedead marched north, but they had underestimated the numbers.

Severely.

“Quite a few of them,” said Gerald at last.

Tobias snorted. 

“Tut, tut, brother,” he said, his tone light. “That will simply make it harder to miss.” 

But his grim expression belied his bantering words. 

“We can hold the fords easily enough,” said Gerald, “but that hardly matters. The water will not trouble the runedead. Caraster can simply send a force to pin us in place, while the rest of his undead cross the river to seize Castle Town and assail Knightcastle.” 

“A simple strategy, but Caraster need not even bother with that,” said Tobias. “He outnumbers us twenty to one. Maybe even twenty-five to one. He can throw wave after wave of runedead at us until we’re all dead, and then take Castle Town and Knightcastle at his leisure.” 

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Come,” said Tobias at last, turning his horse. “Let’s consult with the others.” He scowled. “Perhaps Ataranur will pull a miracle out of his cloak.”

Gerald followed his brother to the center of the host, where the Roland banner, silver on blue, flew from its staff. The chief lords and knights of Knightreach waited there, Lord Agravain, Lord Tancred, Lord Adalar, Lord Nicholas, and all the others. Ataranur stood in their midst, and the lords and knights kept well away from him. 

“My lords,” said Tobias, “as you have no doubt observed, the foe has arrived.” 

An uneasy chuckle went through the lords.

“Our task is clear,” said Tobias. “We will hold the fords and keep the runedead from gaining the northern bank. The men shall fight in shifts to conserve their strength.” He nodded at Circan, who stood not far from Ataranur. “The wizards will hold their powers in reserve, ready to unleash fire if necessary. Siege engines have been arrayed behind our lines, and…”

“To what avail?” said Lord Nicholas. He was the youngest man there, younger than even Gerald, but he sounded as exhausted as Gerald felt. “We cannot repel such a horde. Lord Malden has sent us to die.” 

Lord Agravain scowled. “You will not speak ill of our liege lord!”

A glimmer of silver light flashed in the heart of the runedead host.

“Why not?” said Nicholas. “Is it ill to speak the truth?” The young lord took a deep breath and glared at Ataranur. “That wizard has bewitched him, and led us to destruction.”

Ataranur made no response, motionless in his black cloak and steel mask. Gerald saw Nicholas’s hand move close to his sword hilt, and he realized the Lord of Knightport was going to attack Ataranur. Gerald opened his mouth to speak, hoping to defuse the confrontation.

But the brightening silver light drew his attention.

“This is an ill position,” said Tancred. “Better that we withdraw to Knightcastle, or even Sword Town. Their walls have been warded against runedead. We might have a chance there.”

“Better than dying,” said Nicholas, still glaring at Ataranur, “as part of some wizard’s schemes.”

“I agree,” said Adalar. “I have seen firsthand what happens when a wise lord is seduced by the honeyed words of a dark wizard. And I know what must be done to stop wielders of dark magic.”

“You have all taken oaths!” said Tobias, voice hard, “and…”

“Tobias,” said Gerald, “look.”

“Not now,” said Tobias. “My lords, we…”

“Damn it, Tobias,” said Gerald, pointing. “Look.”

Tobias looked, as did the other lords, and fell silent as the huge image of shadow and silver light rose over the runedead lines.

###

Lucan considered killing both Adalar Greatheart and Nicholas Randerly with a single spell, and then Gerald’s shouts drew his attention.

Along with the surge of magic coming from Caraster’s undead host. 

He watched as the colossal shape of shadow and silver light formed, creating the image of a hooded specter. Lucan cast a spell, probing the magic empowering the apparition. It was a variation of the spell Caraster had used to project his image before the battle at Tumblestone. Except now it was much stronger, and Lucan felt the presence of dozens of additional wizards empowering the spell. 

Caraster’s disciples, he realized. From what he had learned, all of Caraster’s disciples had some degree of magical power or another, and it seemed Caraster had brought them all for his invasion.

“Hear me!” 

Caraster’s deep voice, buzzing and distorted through the spell, boomed across the armies of living and dead men. 

“I am Caraster, and the hour of liberation is at hand!” thundered the towering image. “Today you shall be free! There will be no more lords, no more knights, no more merchants, no more lying priests! All shall be free! All shall be equal! Never again shall any man go hungry when there are no more rich and no more poor!” 

An uneasy ripple went through the knights and armsmen.

“Circan,” said Lord Tobias. “Can you amplify my voice?”

“Of course, my lord,” said the wizard, casting a spell. 

“I am Tobias Roland!” said Tobias, his voice booming from the sky. “By the authority of my father, Malden, Lord of Knightcastle, I command the rebel Caraster to surrender himself at once!”

“Fool!” said Caraster. “Your father’s authority is false! Soon all the lordly swine shall perish, and the world shall be rid of your stench!”

“If you persist,” said Tobias, “we shall defeat you at arms.”

Caraster’s laughter rang off the distant mountains. “You will, little man?” The towering image thrust out its arm. “Behold my host! History itself is on my side. The runedead have risen to cleanse the world of the wicked and corrupt, to slay every last grasping lord and every last lying priest! I shall fashion a new world, one glorious and pure, and…”

“That,” said Lucan, “is quite enough.”

He cast a spell and gestured with a gloved hand. The great image of Caraster flickered, his voice becoming an indistinct crackle, and the illusion vanished. 

“Just as well,” said Tobias. “I doubt anything productive would have come from a parley.”

“No,” said Lucan. “He intends to kill you all.”

And Caraster’s victory would disrupt Lucan’s plans. Caldarus and his Justiciars had proven themselves most enthusiastic at harvesting stolen life energy. A few more weeks, and Lucan could open the Door of Souls and travel to Cythraul Urdvul. 

Which he could not do if Caraster took Knightcastle.

“Listen to me,” said Lucan. “It is within my power to defeat Caraster. But you must do exactly as I say.” 

Gerald and Tobias gave him a suspicious look. 

“What do you intend?” said Tobias.

“First,” said Lucan, “this.” 

He cast a spell, green fire flaring and dancing around his fingertips. The knowledge he had stolen from Randur Maendrag shaped the spell. Lucan drew power into himself, more and more, magic that would have killed a living wizard in an instant. 

And still more.

Fortunately, Lucan no longer felt pain or fatigue. 

Green flames snarled around his fingers, and Lucan thrust out his hands.  

Emerald light exploded from him in a wave and shot through the assembled host of Knightreach. Both Gerald and Tobias stepped back in alarm, and as they did, their drawn swords caught fire. Green flames flickered up and down the blades, and throughout the army, every bladed weapon and every arrow shimmered with its own halo of ghostly fire.

“What did you do?” said Tobias, squinting at his sword. 

Circan stared at Lucan, eyes wide with alarm.

“The spell,” said Lucan, turning to face the runedead, “will only last until sundown, but that will be long enough. The flames will disrupt the spells binding the runedead, both in their physical and immaterial forms.”

“You mean our swords will harm them,” said Gerald, “even if they are wraiths.”

“Precisely,” said Lucan. “I suggest you do not touch your blades. If living flesh comes into contact with those flames, the effects would be…deleterious.” He stared at Tobias. “With this spell, you can stand against the runedead. And I shall deal with Caraster.”

“How?” said Gerald.

“By killing him,” said Lucan. 

"You seem certain of that," said Tobias.

"I am," said Lucan. "He fled after our last encounter. This time he will not. He has brought all his disciples with him, and I suspect almost all the runedead under his control. He believes that he is the chosen of history, and that he shall therefore be victorious. I will prove him wrong."

At least, Lucan thought he could. He could defeat Caraster in a confrontation. But Caraster could call upon the aid of his disciples and tens of thousands of runedead. Lucan, for all his power, was neither omniscient or omnipotent. If Caraster was clever, if he struck boldly, he might destroy Lucan.

But that did not matter. Lucan would rid the world of the Demonsouled. And if he had to kill Caraster to stop the Demonsouled...then so be it. 

Very well," said Tobias. "If you..."

A rustling noise filled the air, the sound of thousands of rotting legs moving at once. The great mass of runedead started forward, a vast front almost a mile wide. They would not bother storming the fords, or holding Tobias's army pinned in place while attacking Castle Town. No, Caraster's runedead would cross the entire river at once, envelop the men of Knightreach, and destroy them utterly. 

 "I suggest, Lord Tobias," said Lucan, "that you prepare to defend yourself."

He turned and strode towards the advancing runedead, the waters of the ford lapping at his boots. 

###

Gerald stared at Ataranur's retreating back, anger and fear warring in his mind.

It was rank madness to entrust the fate of Knightreach to this masked wizard. Perhaps Nicholas and Adalar were right, and they should withdraw back to Knightcastle before it was too late. 

But it was already too late. The runedead had reached the edge of the river. The water would not slow them, and in a matter of moments they would reach the men. 

And then they would be surrounded. 

Tobias lifted his sword. "We'll have to make a fight of it." He turned to his standardbearer. "The men are to dismount and form a square."

"The corners will be vulnerable," said Gerald.

"We have no choice," said Tobias. "If those runedead get behind the lines, we're finished. So we have to fight back to back." 

The trumpets rang out, the men shifting their formation to a square. 

Gerald held his sword before him, ghostly flames dancing around the blade, and waited for the runedead.

###

Lucan reached the south bank of the Riversteel. The runedead rushed at him, a solid wall of undead flesh and green flame. He drew on his magic, summoning power enough to blast the runedead to smoldering ash. 

Lucan lifted his hands...and then the runedead ignored him, flowing around him like water around a stone. Soon he stood in a clear space a dozen yards across, the runedead rushing past him. 

That was curious. 

Caraster must have commanded them to ignore him. But why? They were useless against Lucan, certainly, but all Caraster's command had accomplished was to leave a large empty space around him...

"Oh," said Lucan.

The first fireball came howling out of the sky an instant after he cast his wards. The force of the blast knocked him back, the grass around him going up in flames, the ground hardening to charcoal. Lucan shook his head, waving the smoke away from his face. Caraster had hit much harder than he had expected. The rebel possessed Demonsouled strength, and augmented with the aid of his disciples...

A second fireball hammered against Lucan's wards, driving him back another step.

###

Gerald squinted into the glare. When it cleared, he saw that Ataranur had disappeared into the heart of the inferno. 

"Why aren't the runedead attacking him?" said Tobias.

"I think," said Gerald, "Caraster has decided to deal with him personally, while his runedead kill us all." 

The first of the runedead struggled up the bank. Those that carried weapons raised them, while others extended their hands. Gerald had no more time to worry about Ataranur, no more time think about strategy or tactics.

It was time to fight or die. 

The runedead crashed into the line, and Gerald slashed with his sword. The burning blade took off a runedead's head, and he twisted and cut the hand from another. Tobias bellowed, wielding his sword with two hands, and finished off the runedead with a powerful blow. Gerald destroyed another, and still another. 

But an endless ocean of them kept coming.

###

Another blast of howling flame fell out of the sky, and Lucan recast his ward. The blue light pulsed and flickered, the ground around Lucan's boots turning to smoldering coals for a dozen yards in every direction. 

But the flames did not touch Lucan.

Caraster and his disciples struck with tremendous force, and the amount of energy required to turn aside their spells would have killed any mortal wizard. But Lucan had already died, and therefore had no need to worry about his stamina. He could protect himself from Caraster's blows indefinitely. 

He just could not move forward.