Soul of Swords (Book 7) (24 page)

A sphere of white light appeared before the altar, spinning and throbbing.

“One creature,” said Skalatan, “that you shall soon behold.”

The sphere of light grew larger.

And larger.

###

The Skulls rushed at Hugh, and he yanked his shield over his shoulder. 

They came at him in a blur of steel, short swords and daggers flying. Fortunately, the corridor was only wide enough to allow two of them to come at him at once. Otherwise they would have overwhelmed him. Hugh stumbled back, cursing, his shield raised. He lashed out with his sword, hoping to keep his foes off balance. The assassins jumped back, away from his sword’s longer reach, but attacked as soon as he drew back his sword for another strike. Hugh backed away, daggers and short swords rebounding from the thick wood of his shield.

“Kill him!” screeched Karlam, waving his sword over his head. “Stop playing and kill him!” 

The assassins lunged, and Hugh dodged again. He heard the sound of shouting from downstairs, of boots thumping against the floorboards. Mather drew a throwing knife and flung the weapon. At the last minute Hugh twisted aside, the blade missing him to bounce off the wall. 

As he dodged, his foot came down on empty air.

Too late he realized that he had reached the stairs.

Hugh fell, rolling and bouncing down the stairs to the Inn’s common room. 

###

A third siege tower reached the ramparts. 

Lucan flexed his gloved fingers, watching the carnage. The engineers manning the gate’s catapults had destroyed three more siege towers, but they had been unable to do anything about the towers already at battlements. The lines of spearmen still held, but Lucan saw them wavering.

“It won’t be long now,” said Malden. He pointed at the Outer Wall. “That company has already rotated twice now. With the assaults upon the other two gates, Prince Hugh cannot have much left in the way of reserves.”

“No,” said Lucan, looking north.

Still no sign of any interference from Skalatan. So many things had gone wrong since he had begun his quest to rid the world of the Demonsouled…but perhaps for once he had stolen a march upon his foes. 

A ripple went through the spearmen on the wall. The line shifted, starting to buckle beneath the weight of the attacking runedead, but still held.

But not, Lucan thought, for very much longer. 

###

The sphere of light before the altar grew larger, ten feet across, twenty feet across, thirty, forty, until it filled most of the space, blazing like a fallen star. 

Korvager backed away, his hands raised in the beginnings of a warding spell. Ryntald stood his ground, hand lifted to shield his eyes from the glare. 

“The ancient Dark Elderborn,” said Skalatan, “bound the spirit of a single creature within the drachweisyr. If a wizard of sufficient power and skill wields the scepter, the creature within can be called forth.”

The massive globe of light flattened and elongated, taking shape and form. The Aegonar warriors backed away, many of them lifting spears and swords. 

“And if the wizard is of sufficient skill,” said Skalatan, sweeping the dragonbone scepter before him, “then creature bound to the drachweisyr may be commanded.”

The image of light brightened…and then went dim.

In its place stood a colossal dragon with black and gold scales, two hundred and fifty feet long from the tip of its tail to the top of its horn-crowned head. Talons the length of a knight’s lance dug into the earth, and black fangs like greatswords lined its mouth. Its vast bat-like wings, folded across its back, could blot out the sun when unfurled. The dragon roared in fury, the ground trembling with its cry, and spat a blast of white-hot flame into the sky. 

Panic went through the Aegonar camp, and Ryntald shouted commands, preparing his men to assault the dragon.

“Be still!” said Skalatan, a spell amplifying his voice to tremendous volume. 

The Aegonar froze…but so did the dragon.

The great beast rotated its enormous head to face him, its black-slit golden eyes the size of a mortal man.

“Long I have slept,” said the dragon, its basso voice making the bones of Skalatan’s carrier vibrate, “and I have forgotten the waking world. But you are no wizard of the Dark Elderborn! Who are you to call me forth?” 

“I am Skalatan, an archpriest of the San-keth,” said Skalatan.

“One of the serpents?” said the dragon, its huge head swiveling back and forth as it took in the Aegonar. “And these are your servants?”

“They are no concern of yours,” said Skalatan. “I bear the drachweisyr to which you were bound, and you must therefore heed my commands.”

“Must I, serpent?” snarled the dragon.

The force of the great beast’s will poured through the drachweisyr and into Skalatan’s mind like the blow from a blacksmith’s hammer. But Skalatan had endured many such assaults during his long life, and he had the drachweisyr’s power to back him up. He turned aside the mighty force of the dragon’s mind, and the dragon growled and raked at the earth. Again came the assault, and again Skalatan turned it aside.

At last the dragon roared in frustration and looked away. “Your mind is strong, serpent. Stronger than I expected in one of your race. The Dark Elderborn were hindered by their madness. More than once I overpowered my wielders and devoured them.”

That explained how the drachweisyr had ended up in the depths of Urdbaen Tor.

“You may attempt to overcome me, if you wish,” said Skalatan. “But it would be more profitable to serve me willingly.”

The dragon tilted its head to the side. “A curious statement, serpent. Why?”

“I require your aid against my foes,” said Skalatan. “Once they are dispatched, there is no reason why I should not free you.” And he meant it. Men and Elderborn would have places as honored servants of the San-keth in the new order that Skalatan would build. Why should not dragons have a similar role?

He felt the dragon’s will push against his own. “You…are sincere. Curious indeed. What do you require?”

Skalatan had the dragon’s cooperation, at least for now. Just as well. Willing servants were so much more effective than cowed slaves. 

“High King,” he said. “The host will break camp and march at once. Make for Barellion with all speed. The situation outside the city’s walls will soon become…chaotic, and your warriors shall be needed.”

“It will be done, great Herald,” said Ryntald, a slight quaver in his voice as he looked at the dragon. 

“High Priest,” said Skalatan, “speak to the seidjar, and prepare your spells to ward the warriors’ weapons against the runedead.”

“Great Herald,” said Korvager with a hasty bow. 

“Come,” said Skalatan, beckoning to the dragon. “Even if you find your service chafing, consider this. We shall soon bring fire and destruction to mortal men. Always an enjoyable prospect to a dragon, I believe.”

The dragon growled…but the beast lowered its head, and Skalatan’s carrier climbed onto the dragon’s back, settling between its massive wings. A quick spell ensured that neither he nor his carrier would fall from the dragon’s shoulders. He had not spent centuries opposing the Old Demon and preparing to attain godhood only to fall to an ignominious death. 

“Take to the air,” said Skalatan, “and fly southwest.”

The dragon roared, breathed a blast of flame, and leapt skyward. The great wings unfurled like vast sheets of black leather, and the dragon rose. The ground fell away beneath Skalatan, and he looked down and saw the Aegonar host, so small that they looked like ants. 

Then the dragon banked and hurtled to the southwest, the ground blurring beneath them.

###

Hugh rolled down the stairs and slammed hard against the wall. He did not land on his sword, thank the gods, but the jolt made every bone in his body ring with pain, and for a moment he could not move, could not even breathe. 

Karlam half-ran, half-fell down the stairs, his eyes wide and crazed, his sword drawn back for a killing blow. The Skulls hurried behind him, Mather’s face drawn with exasperation. Karlam must have made for a vexing client. 

With annoyed chagrin, Hugh realized that would likely be his last thought.

Then something shiny blurred over his head and hit Karlam in the temple. Hugh heard shattering glass, and the smell of alcohol filled his nostrils. Karlam jerked back with a cry of pain, his hand flying to his head, and the Skulls skidded to a stop behind him.

Hugh staggered back to his feet, sword raised, and saw Adelaide standing near a cot, another bottle in hand.

“Adelaide, damn it!” shouted Hugh. “Run! Go!” 

“Aid him!” shouted Adelaide. “Assassins come for your Prince! Lord Karlam is a traitor! Aid your Prince!” 

Several of the wounded men heaved themselves to their feet. Hugh cursed and flung himself at Karlam, hoping to land a killing blow while the traitorous lord was dazed. Yet Karlam snarled, his sword snapping up in a block, and Hugh’s blade rebounded. Mather flung another throwing knife, and it scraped across Hugh’s jaw, drawing blood. He stumbled into the common room, and two of the wounded militiamen grabbed him and pulled him back. 

“No!” said Hugh. He could not allow these men to sacrifice themselves for him, and he certainly could not allow Adelaide to do so.

“Kill him!” bellowed Karlam. “Cut down anyone you have to, but kill the Prince and his bitch!” 

“Run, lord Prince!” said one of the wounded men, and then the Skulls crashed down the stairs in a black-armored tide. Both of the wounded men fell in seconds, and then the assassins were on Hugh. 

He parried, caught a blow on his shield and dodged another. He ought to run, he knew, but he could not abandon the men who had fought and suffered under his command. 

And he certainly could not abandon Adelaide.

“Run!” he yelled, intending to fling himself at the Skulls. If he could slow them long enough for Adelaide to get away…

The door to the Inn burst open, and Montigard ran inside, flanked by a pair of armsmen. 

“Lord Prince!” he shouted. “The runedead come in great numbers, and the gates are…”

His eyes widened as he saw the melee. 

“To me!” said Hugh as the Skulls lunged at him. He backed away, almost losing his footing as he stumbled over a cot. A sword struck his shoulder with enough force to dent the steel plate, and a dagger opened a cut between the armor plates on his left arm. Hugh parried another blow, the force driving him to one knee, and the Skulls loomed over him for the kill…

Then Montigard crashed into the assassins, bellowing as he stabbed his sword and swung his shield. One of the Skulls fell dead, the leather armor across his chest gashed, and a second staggered back, blood pouring from his nose. Hugh lunged, and his blade took another Skull in the belly. The man bent over, clutching his stomach, and Hugh’s blade came down onto the back of the Skull’s neck.

The man fell dead to the floor. 

More armsmen sprinted through the Inn’s door, and Hugh saw Mather whirl and dash up the Inn’s stairs. Montigard’s men cut down the remaining Skulls, and Hugh cursed, spinning. Had Karlam escaped? Had…

“Hold!”

Hugh froze.

Karlam stood in the center of the common room, one arm tight about Adelaide’s arms and shoulders.

The other held his sword at her throat. 

A horrible stillness filled the common room, even as the sounds of battle came from the rest of the city. 

Dread filled Hugh, but with it a peculiar sort of cold clarity, the certainty that what happened in the next few moments would shape the rest of his life, even if he died in a few hours atop the Outer Wall.

“Karlam,” he said. “Let her go.”

“I said back!” shrieked Karlam, his face and collar and surcoat still dripping with alcohol. “You think I won’t do it? You think I won’t gut old Alberon’s bastard bitch?”

“Do you have any idea,” said Hugh, surprised at the calm in his voice, “what I’ll do to you if you hurt her? It’s over, Karlam. Too many witnesses heard you declare yourself a San-keth proselyte.” First Malaric and now Karlam. Skalatan had a knack for choosing unreliable minions. “The Skulls have abandoned you. Kill Adelaide and you’ll be dead before you take two steps. Instead…”

“What?” sneered Karlam, his eyes wild with terror. “You’ll let me go?”

“Yes,” said Hugh. “I will let you go. You want to serve the San-keth and the Aegonar High King? I’ll take you to the gates and let you leave unharmed.”

Karlam barked a wild laugh. “And then the runedead will kill me for you.” Adelaide strained against him, and Karlam snarled and tugged her closer. “Hold still!”

“Fine,” said Hugh, taking one step closer. A table stood at his left, covered with bandages, spools of thread, and a small basket of needles. A pair of candles burned next to the bandages. The women must have been using the candle flames to sterilize the needles. “Let her go, and I’ll take you into custody and leave you in a cell at the Prince’s Keep. If we defeat the runedead, I will permit you to join the Aegonar.” Or, as was more likely, the city would fall and Malden would execute Karlam. 

“Lies,” said Karlam.

“The word of a San-keth proselyte might mean nothing,” said Hugh, “but I swear to you, as Prince of Barellion, that if you let her go I will allow you to leave the city, unharmed, to join the Aegonar. This I swear.”

For a long and awful moment Karlam wavered, licking his lips as he looked back and forth. 

Then his expression hardened, his lips spreading in a rictus grin. 

Hugh reached for the table. 

“I should be Prince!” said Karlam. “Not you.” Hugh saw Karlam’s muscles tense, saw him start to draw his sword across Adelaide’s throat. “But I will turn your joy to ashes in …”

Hugh snatched a candle and threw it. His aim was true, and it hit Karlam on the right shoulder.

And the alcohol soaking Karlam’s surcoat, collar, hair, and face went up in pale blue fire. Karlam loosed a horrid shriek, jerking back in agony, and Adelaide’s foot hammered into his knee. His grip loosened, and she from his grasp and ran for Hugh.