Soul of Swords (Book 7) (13 page)

“Aye,” said Hugh. “Though there is still one dark spot in all that.”

“What is it?”

“I would have had to take commands from your father.”

Adelaide laughed. “Father means well. He is a handful to manage, but he truly means well.”

“Of course,” said Hugh, though he was certain Adelaide was the only person in all of Greycoast who thought that. 

“But these duties have fallen to us,” said Adelaide, “and we will not shirk from them.”

“Regrettably not,” said Hugh. “Though if you want to ride east with me, pretend to be a landless knight and his wife, it’s not too late. I can have my horse saddled, and we can be twenty miles from Barellion by dawn.”

“Do not tempt me,” said Adelaide with a laugh. “And if we ride all day, you will be too tired to get me with child tonight.” 

Hugh smiled. “I look forward to it.” He stood “I need to go to the great hall. The lords in the city will have gathered by now, and they’ll want to know what I have in mind for dealing with the Aegonar.”

He hoped they did not take it too badly. 

“I will join you as soon as I can,” said Adelaide. “Have one of the pages send up my maids when you go, will you?”

“Why?” said Hugh.

She smiled. “You left my hair a frightful mess. The Lady Consort must comport herself with dignity.”

###

An hour later Hugh sat at the high table in the great hall of the Prince’s Keep, his mind churning with memories. 

Adelaide had been bound to the chair here when he had cut his way into the hall with Mazael Cravenlock and Molly. Malaric had died there, a few yards away, ripped to shreds by the terrible winged spirit he had tried to enslave. 

He took a deep breath and shook aside the memories. 

The future had to concern him now, not the past. 

He squeezed Adelaide’s hand under the table, stood, and silence fell over the hall.

News of his return had spread through the city, and most of the prominent merchants and local knights and lords had arrived. The lords that had accompanied him from the River of Lords had arrived as well. Every eye turned to Hugh as he stood, and he stared at a sea of gleaming armor and fine coats and robes.  

“My lords,” said Hugh, raising his voice. “Thank you for coming. As you know, Greycoast has faced many dangers in the last year. First the runedead and the chaos of the Great Rising, and then the brutality of the Aegonar invasion. Even now the Aegonar hold the northern half of Greycoast.”

He stepped around the table, standing at the edge of the dais.

“We have just returned from our first campaign against the Aegonar,” said Hugh, “and we have stopped them from crossing the River and assailing the southern half of Greycoast. But we shall not have peace until the Aegonar are driven from our lands forever!”

Some of the lords cheered. Others remained silent, their faces grim. Those who had faced the Aegonar in battle knew how difficult it would be to dislodge them. 

“But reclaiming Greycoast will not be the work of a single battle,” said Hugh. “The Aegonar are too many, and have entrenched themselves too strongly in their stolen lands. Therefore our first task is to establish a strong point on the northern bank of the River of Lords, a castle we can use as a base for the reconquest.”

The lords rumbled agreement to that. Hugh took a deep breath and kept talking.

“But we need men, far more men,” said Hugh. “The Aegonar match our numbers, and may even exceed them. Mazael Cravenlock promised to aid us, but mischance and ill fortune may keep him from riding to battle alongside our banners. And if Greycoast is to be freed, better that we do it with our own hands. And welcome new hands to aid us.” 

One of the lords narrowed his eyes. “You mean to say…”

“I shall send a call to every corner of the realm,” said Hugh, “asking for knights and armsmen to join our fight against the Aegonar. Many lords of northern Greycoast fell in the fighting, along with all their heirs, and their lands are now held by the foe. Or some lords betrayed their oaths and swore allegiance to the High King of the Aegonar. Their lands are now forfeit…and shall instead go to those who serve loyally.”

Some of the lords, mostly those who had escaped from the north, shouted in outrage. Others nodded in approval. With northern Greycoast in chaos, lands and manors would go to whoever was bold enough to seize them, whether the Aegonar, the returning northern lords…or the southern lords. 

Hugh had just made himself some new friends and new enemies. Though every decision he had made since becoming Prince had done the same. 

“That is all,” he said. “Within one week, my vassals shall have gathered with their retainers, and we will launch the campaign to seize a strong spot on the northern bank of the River of Lords. My messengers shall carry word of my offer to every corner of the realm, and come next spring, we shall have a far larger force to oppose the Aegonar.” 

He saw the plotting and the scheming break out among the nobles and the merchants at once, and kept the annoyed contempt from his face. Already they plotted to divide the lands between them, without first attending to the minor detail of defeating the Aegonar. Skalatan claimed that he wanted to take Knightcastle, but to get to Knightcastle, the Aegonar had to go through Barellion and southern Greycoast.

And once Ryntald had Barellion, Hugh doubted the Aegonar would give it back. 

He sat back down with a quiet sigh.

“You did well, my lord Prince,” said Lord Bryce on his left, his voice quiet. “For now, they’ll all be too busy bickering and claiming the lost lands rather than uniting against you.”

“For now,” said Hugh, glancing at Adelaide, who sat speaking with some of the lords’ wives. He had seen many corpses since the Great Rising and the Aegonar invasion, and for a horrid instant he saw Adelaide’s face among them, her chest torn by a dagger. 

Or her corpse lying motionless and pale, slain by the poison of the Skulls.

“Lord Prince?”

Hugh shook away the grisly thoughts. “And soon enough, the lords won’t have time to scheme. We are moving against the Aegonar, and I doubt Skalatan and the Aegonar have been idle.”

“Where do you hope to force a crossing?” said Bryce.

“Perhaps the Castle Bridge,” said Hugh. “The piers are still there, and the Aegonar might not expect that after we burned their bridge. Or perhaps where the canal enters the River of Lords. If we raise a stronghold at the river’s mouth, we can keep the Aegonar from sailing warships up the river, and perhaps even harry the northern coasts with ships of our own.”

Bryce nodded. “I fear that you are right. It will be the work of generations to dislodge the Aegonar, or even to come to terms with them, much as Lord Mazael did with his barbarians.”

“Aye,” said Hugh. “The work of generations. Well, we had best get started then, hadn’t we?”

###

Lord Karlam Ganelon rode through the Gate of Knights, Barellion’s southern gate, surrounded by his knights and armsmen.

And by a dozen assassins of the Skulls disguised as his armsmen. The fat First Dagger rode in their midst, a placid smile on his calm face. 

“When will you take action?” said Karlam.

“Oh, soon, my lord, very soon,” said Souther. “My brethren in the city report that the new Prince has made himself unpopular with some of the surviving northern lords.” He smiled. “I fear one of them will soon lift his finger against our lawful Prince, alas.”

“Which one?” said Karlam, curious which lord would take the blame for Hugh’s murder.

“Why, Lord Alberon Stormsea, of course,” said Souther. 

Karlam blinked. “But the old fool is one of the brat’s strongest supporters. He…”

Souther’s gentle smile did not waver, but he raised a hand. Karlam fell silent, cursing himself for his cowardice. He was the Lord of Castle Rutagne, not some peasant cowering in fear of the Skulls.

Yet the light in Souther’s eyes chilled him. 

“Lord Alberon is notoriously prickly,” said Souther, “and the blacker the lie, the more likely men are to believe it. You shall need to prepare yourself to seize the diadem quickly. Once the Prince and the Lady Consort have fallen, chaos will reign…and my patron and your master will not brook any delay.”

Karlam lifted his chin. “I am no man’s servant.”

The look Souther gave him was almost pitying. “Indeed, my lord.”

But that wasn’t true, was it? He had sworn himself to the San-keth, had sold his soul to the serpent god, though he had received great power and wealth in return. He looked at the mansions and towers of Barellion, the greatest city in the realm, and smiled. 

In exchange for his obedience, the city would be his.

###

Someone hammered at the door.

Hugh opened one eye, lifting his head from the pillow. Adelaide lay sleeping at his side, snoring softly. Only a few faint rays of sunlight leaked through the closed shutters over the windows. 

“My lord Prince!” came the voice of his squire Roger through the door. “My lord Prince!”

Adelaide blinked. “Hugh? What’s happening?”

“Nothing good, I fear,” said Hugh, pushing aside the blankets and getting to his feet. Had the Aegonar launched an attack? Had one of the lords risen in rebellion? He pulled on a robe, picking up the sword he always kept by his bed. 

He had not forgotten how the Skulls had tried to kill him in the Aegonar camp.

Hand on sword hilt, he opened the door. Roger Spearshore stood there, fear on his face.

“What is it, lad?” said Hugh.

“Lord Bryce requests your presence in the great hall at once,” said Roger. “The foe…”

“The Aegonar,” said Hugh. “They come from the north.”

“No, my lord Prince,” said Roger. “The south.”

“The south?” said Hugh, surprised. “How did the Aegonar get to the south?”

“Not the Aegonar,” said Roger. “The runedead.”

A chill went down Hugh’s spine. “Runedead?”

“Yes, my lord Prince,” said Roger. “Tens upon tens of thousands of runedead march north from Knightreach, flying the banners of Lord Malden Roland.” 

Chapter 12 - Warmoot

The fighting men of the Tervingi nation filled the plain below Castle Cravenlock.

Mazael waited atop the boulder that had once concealed the secret passage leading to the San-keth temple beneath the castle. Thousands upon thousands of spearthains and swordthains stood with their headmen and holdmistresses, holding their weapons with the easy grip of long experience. Earnachar stood with his proud new horsethains, the beasts groomed and brushed. Nearby the skythains waited with their griffins. 

The last time the entire Tervingi nation had assembled for war, Athanaric’s followers had faced Ragnachar’s men in the bloody battle outside the walls of Swordgrim. Mazael had cut down Ragnachar in the chaos, and Toraine Mandragon had planned to come forth and butcher the Tervingi and his disloyal vassals alike.

Only the Great Rising had united the Tervingi headmen and the lords of the Grim Marches. The House of Mandragon had been destroyed, and Mazael had become both the liege lord of the Grim Marches and the new hrould of the Tervingi nation. 

But Lucan had returned, and Mazael hoped that threat would keep the Tervingi united.

He climbed down from the boulder to where Romaria awaited him.

“They’ve all come,” she said. 

“Aye,” said Mazael. “They saw what Lucan did the first time at Swordgrim. They know what he’ll do unless he is stopped.”

“They will follow you.”

Mazael looked to the side, and he saw Morebeth’s spirit standing in the shadows of the boulder. 

“The lords and the Tervingi hate each other,” said Morebeth, voice quiet, “but they will follow you, and no one else. It is in your blood.”

“Is this what you do?” said Romaria. “Appear to Mazael and whisper words of power and glory into his ear?”

Morebeth scowled. “I only speak the truth. Mazael is ever at war with himself. That is necessary to keep him from falling to the blandishments of our father…or being consumed by his own power, as I was. But they will follow you, Mazael, if you lead them. But beware. Lucan may move against you before you can move against him. Our father will see to it.”

She vanished.

Romaria snorted. “If she appeared and said such nonsense to you, I can see why you thought you were going mad.”

“But she is telling the truth,” said Mazael. “The lords of the Grim Marches, the lords of Knightreach, the Justiciars, the Tervingi headmen…they will follow me, and no one else.” He took a deep breath. “And I may lead to them to their deaths. But you and Riothamus and Morebeth are right. It is me against the Old Demon. It always has been.”

She took his hand. “Perhaps. But you will not go alone.”

Mazael smiled, but wondered about Morebeth’s warning.

Would Lucan act first?

The others approached. 

Riothamus came at their head, carrying the staff of the Guardian, Molly at his side, a shadow in her dark clothing. Gerald and Rachel came after, Gerald’s face grave beneath his blond mustache. Arnulf and Toric and Earnachar and the other chief headmen of the Tervingi followed, stern and proud in their chain mail. Ardanna the High Druid and Rhodemar the Champion of Deepforest Keep walked after them, along with most of Mazael’s vassals and knights.  

“Hrould,” said Riothamus. “We are ready.”

Mazael nodded. “Begin.”

Riothamus climbed atop the boulder and lifted his staff, the sigils flickering with golden light. He struck the staff against the boulder once, twice, three times, and the sound of a thunderclap rolled over the plain. 

Silence fell over the Tervingi. 

“Hear me!” said Riothamus, his magic carrying his voice. “Hear me, headmen steeped in renown! Hear me, holdmistresses wise and prudent! Hear me, ye valiant thains of sword and spear! Hear me, swift thains of the horse! Hear me, ye daring thains of the sky! Hear me, freeborn warriors bold and freeborn women valiant! Hear me, sons of Tervingar! I am Riothamus, the Guardian of the Tervingi nation, the bearer of the bronze staff, a trust that extends back to the dawn of ages! By my office, by my rights as Guardian, I call the Tervingi nation to moot!”

The echoes died away, and Mazael felt the weight of thousands of eyes turned in his direction. 

“Mazael of the House of Cravenlock has called for this moot of the Tervingi nation,” said Riothamus, “and wishes to address the assembled thains and headmen.”

He beckoned, and Mazael climbed atop the boulder. 

“I am Mazael Cravenlock,” said Mazael, Riothamus’s magic making his voice boom over the moot, “and you chose me as your hrould after the Battle of Swordgrim and the Great Rising. You chose me as your hrould for my renown, for I had led the horsemen against your nation at the Battle of Stone Tower. I have slain a dragon in the icy peaks of the Great Mountains.” The golden scales of his armor flashed in the torchlight. “I have twice defeated the Dominiar Order in battle, and I broke the siege of the Malrags at Deepforest Keep. Yet I have always wished for peace and prosperity for my lands…and that is why you chose me as your hrould. For I wished you to live in peace upon my lands, that the Grim Marches might grow strong and prosperous again.”

No one spoke. 

“I was almost slain,” said Mazael, “at the hands of Malaric son of Everard of the House of Chalsain. My wife Romaria was almost slain, dying of a vile poison. For Malaric attacked us at the command of Skalatan, an archpriest of the San-keth. Skalatan provided the poison, and I went west in pursuit of him, aided by the magic of your Guardian.”

“For since the days of Tervingar,” said Riothamus, “the headmen and thains of a hrould have pledged to protect him with their lives. An attack upon him is an attack upon them.”

“I went west,” said Mazael, “and found that Skalatan has control of the Aegonar, a nation of fierce warriors from the western isles. With the Aegonar he has conquered most of Greycoast, and the Prince of that land, Hugh Chalsain, aided me against Malaric. I promised to return with aid, to bring the armies of the Grim Marches and the Tervingi with me to honor my debt and to avenge the insult Skalatan offered to the Tervingi nation.”

A murmur of approval went up from the Tervingi thains.

“I learned,” said Mazael, “that Skalatan desired to conquer Knightcastle for some nefarious purpose of his own, that Greycoast was simply in his way. He sent Malaric to kill me, lest I interfere with his plans. This concerned me, for my sister, her husband, and my nephews resided at Knightcastle. But if I joined Hugh and defeated the Aegonar, I thought, no harm would come to my kin. Then I received grave news from Knightcastle. Lucan Mandragon, the man who worked the Great Rising, the man who raised the corpses of Tervingi thains slain in battle as runedead, had come to Knightcastle. There he has corrupted the mind of the Lord of Knightcastle, and gathered a host of runedead to attack us.” 

The sound of alarm came from the Tervingi host. They all knew what had happened at the Battle of Swordgrim and the Great Rising. They knew how close the runedead had come to wiping out the Tervingi.

“How is Lucan Mandragon even still alive?” shouted a woman towards the front of the assembly. Mazael recognized Ethringa daughter of Jordanic, a holdmistress and a woman held in terror by half of the Tervingi. “You drove your sword through his heart, and his father’s castle burned around him. How does he still live?”

“He doesn’t,” said Mazael. “He rose as an undead creature, a revenant, as the high lords of Old Dracaryl once did.”

“A tomb-wight!” said Earnachar. “He has become a tomb-wight, the sort of horror our ancestors once faced! Even mighty Tervingar struggled to overcome a tomb-wight!” 

Gerald stepped forward. “I would address the moot, if I may, Guardian.”

Riothamus struck his staff against the boulder. “Gerald, the son of Malden of the House of Roland, and the wife of our hrould’s sister Rachel, wishes to address the moot.”

Gerald climbed atop the boulder and stood before Riothamus, gazing at the assembled Tervingi warriors. Once, Mazael knew, the prospect of addressing so many men at once would have daunted him, just as the prospective of becoming the new Lord of Knightcastle would have been overwhelming. 

But he had changed, had grown beyond the boy Mazael had first met outside the gates of Knightport. The wars with the Dominiars and the Malrags and the runedead had hardened him, and his wife and children had given him someone to protect. Mazael looked at Rachel, watching her husband from the boulder’s shadow, and was glad that she had wed Gerald.

“I am Gerald, son of Lord Malden of Knightcastle of the House of Roland,” said Gerald, Riothamus’s magic amplifying his voice. “When the Great Rising came, my brother Tobias and I led our father’s armies against the runedead. My father’s health failed, and we prepared for Tobias to become the new lord.” Gerald shook his head. “But Lucan Mandragon arrived, wearing a false face, and used black sorcery to heal my father. He twisted the minds of my father and the Grand Master of the Justiciars, bending their wills to his. He gave them black daggers that drain the lives of their victims, making their wielders stronger and younger.” 

Much like the Glamdaigyr. Mazael wished that cursed sword still lay in the black depths of Arylkrad, that Corvad had never found the damned thing. Then the Great Rising would never have happened, and Lucan would not have brought the darkness to Knightcastle.

“My father has betrayed his oaths to his vassals and peasants,” said Gerald. “His men and the Justiciars rampage through villages, claiming to seek the wicked, but murdering to feed themselves with those black daggers. Lucan has gathered a vast host of runedead under his command, and my father and the Grand Master plan to lead those runedead on a war of conquest. You know, men of the Tervingi, you know better than most the power of the runedead. None will stand before them for long, and sooner or later my father and Lucan’s runedead will come to the Grim Marches.”

The Tervingi stared at him, rapt. Gerald, Mazael noted, had developed quite the flair for oratory. 

“They will come for you, one day, if you do not first smash them,” said Gerald. “Men of the Tervingi, sons of great Tervingar of old, I ask for you aid. I ask as the husband of your hrould’s sister. I ask to defend my people and my lands from the darkness that has swallowed them. But more, I ask for your sake. For if Lucan and the runedead are not defeated, they will come for you, come for your wives and children and homes the way they have come for those of my folk.” 

The moot shouted their approval of him, the spearthains and swordthains banging their weapons against their shields in a thunderous, rhythmic roar.

“Guardian!” said Molly when the sounds faded away. “I would address the moot.” 

Riothamus smiled at her. “Molly, the daughter of our hrould, will address the moot.”

Gerald and Mazael had climbed atop the boulder, but Molly simply walked through the shadows and reappeared next to Riothamus in a swirl of darkness. A ripple of surprise went through some of the Tervingi, but not very many. Most of them had seen Molly in battle against the runedead.

“You all know me!” said Molly, pointing at the moot. “You’ve seen me fight, whether against you or Lucan’s rotting corpses. I know you called me the Lady of Shadows when I led Arnulf’s and Toric’s men against Ragnachar and his lot!” She grinned. “And you know I lured your Guardian into betrothing himself to me.”

Many of the Tervingi laughed. 

“I have as much blood on my hands as any of you,” said Molly, “and I’ve seen my share of battle. So when I tell you that Lucan Mandragon is a monster, that I should have killed him the moment I first laid eyes on him, that turning into a...revenant or a tomb-wight has only made him worse, then you should believe me. I’ve seen the kind of man he is, and I’ve seen the power he wields. The Great Rising was dire, aye, but he’ll work worse unless we stop him.” She pointed at them. “Unless the men of the Tervingi stop him. I may not be one of you, but I will wed your Guardian…and he has told me about you. How the Tervingi stood against the Dark Elderborn, the Malrags, the San-keth, the princes of the east, and a host of other foes! You did not yield to any of them, and you will never yield to the runedead!”

Again the Tervingi roared their approval, drumming their weapons against their shields.

“Good speech,” murmured Mazael.

“Why, thank you, father,” said Molly. “Sometimes I surprise myself.”

“Men of the Tervingi!” said Mazael, once the clamor had died away. “Behold!” He gestured to the side, where Ardanna stood with Rhodemar and a guard of Elderborn hunters. She gazed at the Tervingi with aloof disdain. “The Elderborn of the Great Southern Forest have come to aid us. They, too, have seen the threat rising in the west, the dark power gathering in Knightcastle. In this hour the legends of the Tervingi come to war.”

“Thains and headmen,” said Riothamus, “headmistresses and freemen, as Guardian of the Tervingi I put this question before you. Will the Tervingi nation follow its hrould to war? Will we make war against Lucan Mandragon and his runedead, against Skalatan and his Aegonar?”

“Aye!” thundered the Tervingi. “Aye! Aye!” The cries thundered over the plains, so loud that Mazael wondered if they were audible in Knightcastle itself. He looked at the men and felt a pang. He would lead many of them to their deaths, he knew. 

“But if you do nothing,” Morebeth’s voice murmured in his ear, “then our father will destroy them anyway.”

“The moot has spoken,” said Riothamus. “So be it.” 

###

Mazael walked with the others to Castle Cravenlock.

“My lord!”

Rufus ran across the courtyard. The boy looked alarmed, and that put Mazael on his guard at once. Rufus had been his squire since the first Malrag attacks, and the boy’s arrogance had been tempered with steel. 

If he was alarmed, something must have truly gone amiss. 

“What is it?” said Mazael. “What’s wrong?” The lords and headmen behind him began to murmur.

“Sir Tanam says you must come at once, my lord,” said Rufus. “He says the runedead are here. They’ve come for us.” 

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