Soul of Swords (Book 7) (15 page)

He left without another word, not bothering to see if Lord Malden and his knights followed. They would, eventually, he knew. They were addicted to the stolen life energies drained through the daggers, and they needed him.

But at the moment he was too shaken to care. 

The shadows’ visions of death did not trouble him, though he knew that they should. He had been responsible for those deaths, and they ought to weight upon his conscience. Yet he felt nothing, nothing at all.

Save for a growing, uneasy fear. He had failed to foresee the accidental creation of the shadows. They were a minor problem, and could not threaten Lucan or his plans.

But what other things had he failed to foresee? What other consequences?

The unforeseen consequences, his father had often said, were the deadliest. And since he had been murdered by the Tervingi barbarians he had permitted to settle in Grim Marches, Lord Richard Mandragon had proven the truthfulness of that particular proverb. 

Could Lucan’s entire plan to destroy the Demonsouled have been flawed from the beginning? 

Lucan stopped at the ruined gate, gazing at the thousands of runedead waiting outside the walls. Behind him Lord Malden shouted commands, preparing to leave the village, but Lucan ignored them.

He needed to think.

Yes, there had been complications. He had not foreseen the interference of the Tervingi Guardian, or Caraster’s ability to control the runedead. He had not anticipated the danger that Skalatan and the Aegonar posed. 

His hand curled into a fist.

He had not intended for Tymaen to die.

For that matter, he had certainly not planned for Mazael to kill him atop Swordgrim.

Yet his plan was sound. The runedead had destroyed most of the Demonsouled, their power gathered in Cythraul Urdvul. Lucan could destroy that power, using it to kill the remaining Demonsouled in the process. Yes, he had experienced…setbacks. Complications.

Losses.

But his father had also said that every battle unfolded as it willed, regardless of the opposing commanders’ wishes. 

Lucan recalled the visions he had seen, the echoes of those who had perished upon the black daggers. Their deaths were his responsibility…and only by destroying the Demonsouled forever could he make sure their deaths had not been in vain. 

He would not fail them.

He would not fail Tymaen.

And as he made the promise to himself, an idea occurred to him. Lord Malden and Grand Master Caldarus believed they had launched a war to rid the world of the wicked, but Lucan knew better. He only needed enough stolen life force to open the Door of Souls. Once the Door was ready, Lucan had no further interest in Lord Malden and Grand Master Caldarus. 

The sooner he gathered the necessary power, the better. 

And perhaps there was a way to gather the power and deal with Skalatan simultaneously.

###

That night, Lord Malden returned to his tent, surrounded by his household knights. Sentries stood outside the tent, but they were hardly necessary. Tens of thousands of runedead surrounded the camp, and only a mad foe would launch an attack upon such a force. 

“My lord,” said Lucan, “I have finished my spells, and discovered the source of the gray shadows that attacked this morning.”

Malden frowned, putting down his goblet of wine. He sat in a camp chair at a wooden table, flanked by his knights. Only a few of his minor vassals remained. Most of his vassals had fled east to join Gerald Roland and Mazael Cravenlock. Lucan knew that Mazael would march for Knightcastle, only to find Caldarus and his advancing runedead. 

Caldarus might destroy Mazael. Or he might not. The outcome of the battle did not matter. But Caldarus would delay Mazael long enough for Lucan to activate the Door.

Especially if Malden agreed to Lucan’s plan.

“Where?” said Malden, his youthful face grim. “Where did they come from? Who has the temerity to assail the Lord of Knightcastle? The Aegonar and Skalatan, I assume?”

“Neither, my lord,” said Lucan. “Barellion.”

“Barellion?” said Malden, surprised. “Then the Aegonar have already taken the city? The scouts reported that Hugh Chalsain still held it.”

“He does,” said Lucan, “but Hugh Chalsain has turned to wickedness.”

“How so?” said Malden. “I met him once at a tournament. A pleasant enough young knight, if not overly clever.” 

“You have heard the stories,” said Lucan. “Hugh took the throne after his bastard half-brother Malaric murdered Prince Everard and his sons. I know how Malaric gained the power for such a feat. A talisman of Demonsouled power, dug from a ruin of Old Dracaryl in the Great Mountains.” 

Of course, Malaric had found that skull when Lucan had gone in search of Morvyrkrad, but Malden didn’t need to know that.

Vaguely, he wondered what had happened to the skull after Malaric’s death. Mazael must have destroyed the thing. 

“And now this talisman,” said Malden, “is in the hands of Prince Hugh?” 

“Aye,” said Lucan. “And with it, he created the shadows and set them upon us.”

Malden’s frown deepened. “Then Prince Hugh and the lords of Greycoast have become our enemies.”

“I fear so,” said Lucan. “Worse, they have spread their corruption to the people of Barellion.”

A distant smile came over Malden’s face. “When I was a boy, the priests of Knightcastle’s chapel used to say that Barellion was a den of wickedness, a cistern into which all the vileness of the realm drained.” His smile vanished. “Caldarus says the same. Presumably because the Princes would never grant the Justiciars wide estates in Greycoast.” 

“But I fear that both Caldarus and the priests spoke truly,” said Lucan. “Barellion has become a place of evil. I suspect Hugh has converted the people to the worship of the Demonsouled, perhaps even of the Old Demon himself.”

“They shall have to be cleansed,” said Malden, his hand straying to his black dagger.

And Lucan knew that he had won the argument.

Fifty thousand people lived within Barellion’s walls. Malden and his knights would go berserk once the city fell, gorging themselves on stolen life force.

And once they did, Lucan would have the power to open the Door of Souls and rid the world of the Demonsouled forever. 

Chapter 14 - Black Daggers

Mazael rode to the west, pushing the army as hard as he dared. 

The sooner they found the Justiciars, the better. Gerald and Aidan and the others had told him what the Justiciars had done in Knightreach, how they had murdered innocent peasants with false accusations of rebellion and serpent worship. 

He vowed they would not do the same in the Grim Marches.

He also wanted to reach the Northwater before Caldarus. The Northwater lay three days’ march west of Castle Cravenlock and three days’ march east of the outer boundaries of the Grim Marches. If Mazael reached the river before the foe, he could hold Caldarus and his runedead trapped on the other side of the river. And even if the Justiciars crossed the river first, Mazael could force Caldarus to fight with his back against the river. 

Though that might not hinder the runedead. But not even the undead could not fight while submerged in water. If Mazael’s army was to defeat the runedead and Justiciar force, he needed every advantage, and favorable terrain was chief among them. 

The skill of his scouts was another.

He had never commanded an army with such scouting abilities. Sir Tanam Crowley’s raiders rode ahead, watching the land and selecting the best route for the march. Toric and the skythains circled overhead, watching for any sign of the runedead and the Justiciars. The Elderborn moved with stealth and speed, and Romaria took the form of the wolf and ranged ahead, her sharp nose and ears detecting things no human would notice. And Riothamus worked the Sight, seeking for any trace of hostile magic. Mazael had often commanded armies in battle, but he had never enjoyed so much information.

He only hoped he could put it to good use.

###

“We’ve found them, my lord,” said Sir Tanam, two days after they left Castle Cravenlock. 

“Where?” said Mazael.

They marched through the hilly country west of Castle Cravenlock. Mazael was grateful for the presence of Toric and the other skythains. The watchful eyes of the griffin riders made it hard for the Justiciars to prepare an ambush in the hill country’s narrow roads and valleys.

“A day’s march west of the Northwater,” said Tanam. “I fear they shall reach the bridge before we do.” 

Mazael nodded. “Did you get a good look at their numbers?”

“Aye, hrould,” said Toric. “There are at least ninety thousand runedead and fifteen thousand heavy footmen and cavalry. The foe, living and undead, outnumber us by over three to one.”

“Well,” said Rhodemar, “that will make it all the harder for the archers to miss.”

“The Elderborn archers do not miss, whether the foe is few or many,” said Mazael. He rode in silence for a moment, thinking. “They’ll march only as fast as the heavy footmen, but a runedead can move as fast as a cantering horse. Have they sent out any raiding parties?”

“I fear so,” said Taman. “Mixed groups of Justiciar knights and runedead.” He scowled. “They are moving from village to village on the western side of the Northwater.”

“Seeking victims to murder with those black daggers Lucan gave them,” said Gerald, scowling. 

“But to what purpose, I wonder?” said Riothamus. The Guardian of the Tervingi had become a better rider since their journey to Greycoast, though he still looked ill at ease in a saddle. “The Justiciars might believe themselves to be cleansing the world of evil, but I doubt that is Lucan’s true purpose.”

Molly snorted, swaying in the saddle. Unlike Riothamus, her riding had not improved very much, and she still preferred to fight on foot. “Does Lucan need a reason? I suppose a revenant would kill simply for the joy of it”.

“No,” said Mazael. A Demonsouled would kill for the joy of it, as Mazael knew all too well…but Lucan was not Demonsouled. “Everything he did always had a purpose, one he believed justified. He claimed to work the Great Rising to destroy the Demonsouled, and he must have something similar in mind now. Did you see any sign of Lucan with them?”

“I fear not, my lord,” said Sir Tanam. “We only saw the Justiciars, and no trace of Lucan or Lord Malden.”

“Perhaps he remains at Knightcastle with my father,” said Gerald. “He sent Caldarus and the runedead to delay us…and kept my father and his men at Knightcastle to guard whatever devilry he plans.” 

“That seems likely,” said Mazael. “Lucan must know about the Aegonar, and he has to realize that Skalatan is a threat to him. He…”

A thought occurred to him. 

“The Northwater bridge,” he said. “The main bulk of the foe is a day’s march from it…but horsemen and runedead could have crossed it by now. Did any of the raiding parties cross the river?”

“We saw at least one on the eastern side, hrould,” said Toric. 

“And the Northwater is not a formidable river, my lord,” said Tanam. “It’s deep enough to keep an army from crossing, aye…but a determined band can make their way across. And I suppose the runedead could simply turn themselves into wraiths and walk through the waters.”

Mazael nodded. “Then they could raid on this side of the river, all while scouting for the location of our host.” He looked northwest. “The nearest settlement is the inn by the Northwater bridge.”

“The people there have already fled,” said Tanam.

“Then the village of Lord’s Stump,” said Mazael. “Northeast of the inn, a short ride from the Northwater, and the obvious target for any raiders on this side of the river.” 

“You have something in mind?” said Gerald.

“Aye,” said Mazael. “We’re going to catch the raiders and teach them a stern lesson.” 

“If we deny the Grand Master his scouts,” said Sir Commander Aidan, “he will be more hesitant to make a move. Caldarus is a conservative commander, and will not make a decisive move unless he is certain of his enemy’s disposition. 

Arnulf grunted. “Wise of him.”

“Only to a point,” said Mazael. “I fear battles are not won through caution. Arnulf. Lord Gerald. Lord Robert. You will share command of the host until I return.” 

“You’re going yourself?” said Lord Astor Hawking. “Is that not too great a risk? If you are slain,” he glanced at the Tervingi headmen, “I fear we shall tear ourselves apart.”

Earnachar grinned. “You speak truly.” 

“If we do not defeat the runedead,” said Mazael, “then we are all dead anyway. And we shall not defeat the runedead without taking the fight to them. Sir Hagen! I want five hundred men ready to ride for Lord’s Stump within the hour. Knights and mounted armsmen, no archers. Romaria, Riothamus, Molly, come with me. We might have need of your particular gifts.”

“And if the Justiciars have brought more of those burning wizards with them,” said Riothamus, “you will indeed need my aid.” 

“Gerald, Arnulf, Robert,” said Mazael. “Take the army to the Northwater bridge and hold it against the foe. If you arrive to find them already on the eastern side of the river, position yourselves in battle array and await my return. If all goes well, I should rejoin you before then.”

“Why should things start going well now?” said Molly.

“No reason at all,” said Mazael. “Sir Tanam, with me. Choose some of your men to screen our approach.”

Mazael turned his horse, and his vassals and knights went about their tasks.

###

By noon Mazael and his men had left the hill country and rode hard for the village of Lord’s Stump. Sir Aulus Hirtan rode at Mazael’s side, carrying the black Cravenlock banner with its three crossed silver swords. Behind him came five hundred mounted knights and armsmen, the earth trembling beneath the rhythmic drumbeat of hooves. Romaria, Riothamus, and Molly rode near Mazael, their weapons close at hand. 

Sir Tanam and two of his scouts galloped over.

“You were right, my lord,” said Tanam. “They’ve taken Lord’s Stump.”

“They’ve burned it?” said Mazael. If they had, he vowed, the raiding party would not live to return to their Grand Master.

“No,” said Taman. “It looks as if they’re doing a…tribunal, of sorts, in the village square. The Justiciar knights are rounding up the villagers, questioning them, and then pronouncing the sentence.”

“Death by black dagger?” said Molly.

“Aye, my lady,” said Tanam. “We didn’t stay long enough to see more. We saw only a dozen Justiciar knights, but they have at least six hundred runedead with them, maybe more.”

Mazael nodded and drew Lion. “Then let us explain what happens to brigands in the Grim Marches.”

A short time later the village of Lord’s Stump came into sight. It stood at the base of a low, rounded hill, surrounded by a stout wall of earth and stone, but the village’s gate had been smashed and torn down. The village’s name came from the worn stump of a castle tower that crowned the hill, once the stronghold of some long-forgotten robber knight. 

And even from a distance, Mazael saw the dark shapes of the runedead. A ripple went through the runedead, and Mazael knew that they had been detected. 

“Hold!” shouted Mazael. “Form up! Prepare to charge.” He looked at Riothamus. “Are you ready?”

Riothamus nodded.

“And you?” said Mazael to Molly.

His daughter smirked. “You know how good I am at killing, father.”  

Mazael pointed Lion, and his men formed themselves into a battle line. Lion trembled in his grasp, reacting to the dark magic within the runedead, and shimmered with blue flames. The runedead poured from the village like ants from the earth, arranging themselves before the ruined gate. A trio of armored men strode through the undead, clad in gleaming steel plate and the crisp blue surcoats of Justiciar knights. All three looked young and hale, and carried the black daggers Gerald had described. The man in the center had both the ornate armor and proud air of a Justiciar commander, though he looked no older than twenty.

For a moment Mazael wondered again why Lucan had bothered to create the daggers, and then the Justiciars held his attention. 

“Well,” said the commander with a sneer. “Mazael Cravenlock himself. I ought to feel honored.”

“You should,” said Mazael. “It is customary for the guest to name himself first, and you are on my land.”

“Kadarius,” said the Justiciar with a sneer, “a commander of the Order of the Knights Justiciar.”

“So I see,” said Mazael. “Why are you terrorizing my peasants with your pet corpses? I trust you have an answer for that. And I hope it is a good one, because my patience is very short.” 

Kadarius spat. “The runedead have risen to serve the Grand Master of the Order in his righteous task, his holy mission to rid the world of evil. You ought to thank us, my lord Mazael.” His hand stroked the black dagger at his belt. “The village was full of the wicked…and we cleansed them.”

“So you admit to murdering peasants under my protection?” said Mazael, pointing Lion at the Justiciar.

Kadarius flinched from the sword’s blue fire, but the commander’s contemptuous arrogance returned. “Do not claim the rights of a just man, Mazael Cravenlock. We know what you are. You gave shelter to Gerald Roland and his malcontents, traitors who spurned the lawful rule of Lord Malden. You took Aidan Tormaud and his traitors under your wing.” Kadarius’s voice rose with rage. “Your sister was a San-keth proselyte! And rumors claim that you, my lord Mazael, are a child of the Old Demon.”

Mazael said nothing. Only Romaria, Molly, and Riothamus knew the truth about his heritage. 

But Lucan had known. 

“Surrender yourself to us and face the justice of the Grand Master,” said Kadarius. “Surrender Gerald Roland and Aidan Tormaud and their rabble. Then, perhaps, your lands may be spared the horrors of war…”

“Shut up,” said Mazael.

“You dare to use that tone with me?” said Kadarius. 

“I know what you are,” said Mazael. “Lucan Mandragon’s puppet. Talk all you wish about justice, but I know that black dagger sucks away your victims’ lives. You are little better than a cannibal.” Kadarius’s youthful face turned crimson with rage. “I will give you once chance Run as fast and as far from the Grim Marches as you can, and tell your Grand Master to do the same. Otherwise I will kill you here and now…and I will break the Justiciars as I broke the Dominiars.”

Kadarius snarled, his hand wrapping around the hilt of his black dagger. For a moment no one spoke.

Then Molly snickered. “Do all Justiciars look so comical when enraged? If he falls to the ground and throws a tantrum, I shall not be surprised.”

Kadarius roared in rage and drew his sword and dagger. “Kill them! Kill them all!”

The runedead surged forward, and green light and mist swirled around the village’s wall as the runedead within turned immaterial. 

###

Riothamus gripped the Guardian’s staff, its power rising at his call.

“Riothamus! Molly!” said Mazael, standing up in his stirrups. “Now!”

Riothamus lifted his staff and tapped it against the flat of Mazael’s blade. A shudder of power went through Riothamus, and Lion’s fire sheathed his staff in a crackling azure halo. Both the Guardian’s staff and Lion had been forged by the High Elderborn, and their powers complemented each other.

Making it all the easier for Riothamus to magnify that power.

He raised the staff and slammed its butt against the earth.

There was a thunderclap, and a ring of blue light erupted in all directions. The light passed through man and horse without touching them, but when it touched the riders' weapons, their blades erupted into crackling blue flames. The knights and armsmen shouted, the horses whinnying, and met the runedead attack with vigor, blue-blazing swords tearing through undead flesh.

From the corner of his eye Riothamus saw a flicker of darkness as Molly disappeared into the shadows. 

###

Molly jumped from her horse.

She still preferred fighting on her feet. She had survived the great battles at Stone Tower and Swordgrim and Barellion, but she was not a soldier. She was an assassin, not a knight on a horse or a mailed armsman. Her Demonsouled blood made her stronger than most men, but stealth and speed were her chief weapons.

And one could hardly move unnoticed on a horse.