Soul of Swords (Book 7) (37 page)

Adelaide would not have to live in such a world. 

Hugh took a deep breath, and waited for the moment to strike.

###

Gerald cut down another runedead, and the undead line collapsed. 

The creatures did not flee, but the sheer press of horsemen and the Aegonar infantry drove back the runedead. With their lines collapsed, the runedead could no longer fight effectively, and the living men made greater gains. Green lightning and golden fire flashed overhead, and Gerald realized that Lucan and Riothamus battled each other.

This would not be over until they found Lucan.

Gerald turned his horse, and saw the Roland banner lying upon the ground. A dead horse lay sprawled next to the banner, pinning a young knight in splendid steel armor, his face twisted with pain…

“Father,” said Gerald.

Lord Malden Roland looked up at him. 

“Gerald,” said Malden, his voice a thick rasp, blood dripping from his lips.

Gerald opened his mouth, closed it again. He wanted to scream at his father, to throw his brother’s and his mother’s deaths into his face. He wanted to demand answers, to know why Malden had used the black daggers, why he had unleashed the runedead in a war against his own people. 

“It’s over,” Gerald heard himself say.

“I know,” said Malden. “Gerald. I was a fool. I should have died in bed, not…not like this. I couldn’t stop myself. The black dagger…oh, but it was sweet. Made me an idiot. Such lies…and I listened to them all. This is my fault.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” said Gerald.

“No,” said Malden. “I have done great injustice, and here is one more injustice I have heaped upon you. You will have to make it better. You will have to be a better Lord of Knightcastle than I was.”

Gerald said nothing.

“Finish it,” said Malden. “I can’t…I can’t stop myself, not any more. If I get up, I’ll find my black dagger, kill people to heal myself.” He took a ragged breath. “I’d kill you to heal myself. I’ve ruined myself, Gerald.” He lifted his chin. “Finish it.”

Gerald dropped from the saddle, sword in hand.

“I’m sorry,” said Malden.

Gerald did what had to be done, wiped his sword clean, and climbed back into his saddle. He found the knights and lords of Knightreach staring at him.

“I suppose there is no question,” said Lord Tancred, “that you are the Lord of Knightcastle now.”

“I suppose not,” said Gerald, taking a deep breath and blinking the tears from his eyes. Gods, but he wanted to find a quiet place to lie down. Or get very drunk. Instead, he said, “Continue the charge, and push the runedead from the field, but make for the gates of Knightcastle. The sooner we can claim the castle, the better. I don’t want the Aegonar getting ideas about extending their control this far south.”

He was now truly the Lord of Knightcastle…which meant he had to start looking to the welfare of his lands and people.

“As you say, Lord Gerald,” said Tancred.

###

Lucan deflected another blast of golden fire and continued his attack, pouring destruction in the direction of the Guardian.

But the battle was over around him. 

The runedead began to collapse. Most of Lord Malden’s household knights still fought, laying about with sword and black dagger, but they could not last much longer. And Lord Malden himself was likely dead, his position overrun by the charging knights. 

Lucan had no chance of retrieving Malden’s black dagger now.

Which meant he would have to activate the remaining daggers himself. 

He extended his right hand and called the Glamdaigyr. 

Darkness swirled around his gloved fingers, and the massive black sword appeared in his hand, the sigils upon the blade flaring with emerald flame. 

He raised the sword and began casting spells as the horsemen closed on him.

Chapter 27 - A Harvest of Souls

Mazael reined up, Molly and Romaria at his side as the Aegonar drove against the runedead. Riothamus came up behind them, the staff of the Guardian shining with golden flame in his right hand.

Lucan Mandragon stood twenty yards away, the Glamdaigyr held before him. 

When Mazael had last seen him, Lucan had been dead atop the highest tower of Swordgrim, the Great Rising unravelling around them. He looked little different, his pale face hard and cold, his black eyes unblinking. 

He did not appear to be breathing.

“Lucan,” said Mazael.

“Lord Mazael,” said Lucan. “You look older.”

“You look like a dead man,” said Mazael.

“Appropriate, given that I am one,” said Lucan. “And you should know.” 

“End this,” said Mazael. “This is all the Old Demon’s doing, not yours. He has you dancing on…”

“Enough,” said Lucan. “None of this would have happened if not for the Demonsouled.” Something like emotion passed over his dead face. “Tymaen would not have died, if not for the Demonsouled.”

“Now you are lying to yourself,” said Romaria. “You told me as much. Tymaen’s death was your fault. And I saw the Old Demon, Lucan. I saw his shadow wrapped around you, and I see it on you now. You’ve done nothing but advance his work. Put down the Glamdaigyr, and this can end.”

Again the rage flashed over his features. “I will end the Demonsouled, I…”

Molly sighed, rolled her eyes, and disappeared from the back of her horse in a swirl of darkness.

###

Shadows swallowed the world, and when they cleared Molly Cravenlock found herself standing behind Lucan Mandragon. 

She did not hesitate, but drove her sword and dagger through his cloak and into his back, the tip of her sword bursting from his chest. Lucan staggered as the blue fire sank into his undead flesh.

But he did not fall. 

Molly ripped her blades free as Lucan spun to face her, the Glamdaigyr swinging for her head. She had felt the icy, malevolent touch of that sword before, when she had faced Corvad in the throne chamber of Arylkrad, and she had no desire to feel it again. 

She stepped back into the shadows, disappearing before the blade found her head.

###

Romaria raised her bow and loosed an arrow, the blue-blazing tip sinking into Lucan’s chest.

Through the Sight she saw the necromantic force binding Lucan, saw the blue fire from her arrow and Molly’s blade attack the dark magic. But it wasn’t enough. The dark magic flickered, like a shield struck by a thrown rock, but did not break. 

It would take the Guardian’s magic or the blade of Lion itself to destroy Lucan.

Mazael spurred Gauntlet to a charge, and Lucan summoned power.

###

Lucan could not face them all and win. Romaria and Molly were irritants, but the Guardian’s fire could destroy him, as could Mazael’s sword.

And if they cut him down, Tymaen’s death would have been in vain.

He flung out his hands as they charged, and a field of gray mist appeared around him, swirling like a storm.

Shapes formed in the mist.

###

Riothamus felt the surge of magic and began to disrupt it, but Lucan moved too quickly. The gray mist swirled, and four huge, translucent shapes appeared, creatures called up from the spirit world to fight at Lucan’s command. 

The beasts looked like huge, misshapen scorpions the size of small mammoths, their bodies covered in a gleaming carapace like polished black iron. Great leathery wings rested upon their backs, and barbed tails rose from their thoraxes, dripping with poison. Their pincers were as long as a knight’s lance, and they had the heads of human women, eyes alight with glee, mouths distorted by jagged black fangs. 

“Kill them!” shouted Lucan, and the spirit-beasts surged forward with terrible speed.

###

Lucan didn’t hesitate, but cast another spell, his body shimmering with green light.

His spell forced his undead flesh partway into the spirit world, transforming his physical body into a wraith of green light and smoke. In this form, he was far more vulnerable to magical attack, but he suspected the scorpions would keep Mazael and the Guardian busy for at least a few moments. 

He turned to the north and saw the field of crimson light shining upon the foreheads of the runedead, the magic visible to his altered eyes. 

And he saw the concentrations of necromancy within the black daggers as the household knights fought in a desperate last stand.

Lucan sped towards them, walking through the runedead.

###

Gauntlet reared in terror as the scorpions charged. The warhorse had faced both Malrag warbands and roving runedead without flinching, but the giant spirit creatures were beyond the beast’s experience. Mazael dropped from the saddle as Gauntlet’s hooves slashed at the air, raised his shield, and charged to meet the attack of the scorpions. 

The nearest creature came at him, the woman’s face distorted with murderous glee, pincers snapping and tail cracking like a whip. Mazael caught the blow of the pincer on his shield, the blow numbing his left arm. The tail stabbed towards him, and he took a chance and caught the blow on his chest. The golden dragon scales of his armor held against the stinger, though the strike felt as if he had taken a hammer to the chest. But he kept his balance and lunged forward, Lion a fan of blue flame in his fist. He aimed for the creature’s head, but the scorpion jerked back, and Lion sliced through its right pincer.

The serrated pincer fell against the ground with a hollow clatter, and the scorpion screamed, eyes bulging with pain. Darkness swirled, and Molly appeared out of nothingness, her sword and dagger flashing. The scorpion’s head fell away, expression frozen in pain and fury. The hulking body went into a wild dance, the spindly legs drumming against the earth. 

Then the head and both dissolved into gray mist and vanished.

They were nothing but a distraction. Mazael knew it, and turned to seek Lucan.

“Father!” shouted Molly.

The other three scorpion-beasts rushed at them. 

###

Lucan ran through the battle, the combatants both living and dead blurring around him. In his immaterial state, unhindered by mass and inertia, he moved as fast as a running horse. He passed through the runedead and came to the front of the battle line, where one of Malden’s household knights struggled against the Aegonar, a few runedead remaining at his side. Even as Lucan approached, the last runedead fell to the Aegonar axes and swords, and the warriors encircled the knight. The knight spun in a circle, teeth bared in a snarl, sword and black dagger held out before him. 

Lucan shifted back into the material world, and for a moment the melee froze in surprise.

“Lord Mandragon!” shouted the knight. “Aid me!”

“I regret this necessity,” said Lucan, focusing his will upon the dagger in the knight’s hand.

The knight frowned. “I don’t understand…”

The dagger exploded, tearing the knight’s left forearm to bloody shreds. The knight fell to his knees with a horrified scream, his eyes fixed on the blood pouring from his ruined arm. 

His pain did not last long.

A pulse of green fire erupted in all directions, passing through the Aegonar and the nearby militiamen. At the touch of the flames the men fell dead, lying scattered upon the ground like a child’s discarded toys. The dagger’s eruption had killed three or four hundred men at a stroke, and Lucan felt their stolen life force pour through the Glamdaigyr and down the link to the Door of Souls. 

Almost there. A few more deaths, and the Door would open.

Lucan shifted his body back into immaterial form, seeking the next bearer of a black dagger.

###

Riothamus struck the staff of the Guardian against the earth, summoning fresh power. 

Two of the remaining scorpion-beasts circled around Molly and Mazael. Mazael held his ground, catching the creature’s strikes on his shield. Molly flickered around the scorpions, moving in and out of the shadows to slash at their legs. Romaria loosed shaft after shaft at the two scorpions, distracting the creatures as Mazael and Molly landed telling blows.

The third scorpion charged at Riothamus like a wall of fresh iron. 

For a moment he considered unravelling the summoning spell and banishing the creature back to the spirit world. But Lucan’s magic was too strong, and it would take Riothamus too long to banish the creature. It would tear him to bloody ribbons long before he broke the spell. 

So instead he lifted the staff, the magic of the earth and sky pulsing through him, and called lightning of his own. 

A blue-white bolt thundered out of the clear sky and struck the charging scorpion with enough force to flip the beast onto its back. Yet the creature regained its balance after a moment and continued its charge, pincers snapping and clacking.

A ring of green fire swept through the battle, and from the corner of his eye Riothamus saw hundreds of men fall dead. He had to hurry. Lucan was almost ready to open the Door of Souls…and he would kill as many people as necessary to open the way to Cythraul Urdvul.

The scorpion drew closer, its tail rearing back to strike. 

Riothamus swept the staff before him, calling the magic of the earth, and the firm ground beneath the scorpion’s legs turned to mud. The creature lost its balance and slipped, its armored belly splashing against wet earth. Yet the mud would not slow it for long, and it started to pull its bulk from the mud.

Riothamus cast another spell, a sheet of white mist rolling across the ground. The touch of the white mist froze the water within the mud…and the scorpion went motionless, its legs trapped in the rock-hard ground. The woman’s head shrieked in fury, the creature’s tail snapping back and forth as it tried to tear itself free.

The staff of the Guardian blazed with golden light, and Riothamus sent fire hammering into the scorpion. The beast shrieked once more, and then dissolved into gray mist as the summoning spell shattered and sent it back into the spirit world. 

###

Molly stepped into the shadows, the darkness swallowing her whole. 

She reappeared on the scorpion’s back, the carapace as hard and as unyielding as iron beneath her boots. The scorpion started to draw back its poisoned tail, sensing her presence, but Molly was already in motion. Her sword plunged through the back of the scorpion’s head, the blade erupting from its mouth like a long steel tongue. The scorpion went into a crazed dance, its tail whipping back and forth, its legs drumming, and Molly slipped back into the shadows, reappearing at Romaria’s side.

Romaria lowered her bow with a grunt. “Just like Malavost’s pets.”

Molly opened her mouth to ask what that meant, and then the final scorpion charged towards Mazael. He caught the blow of its pincers on his shield and launched a slash at the reaching forearm. The scorpion danced to the side, avoiding the blow, and swung its tail at Mazael. The stinger bounced off the golden scales armoring his chest, but Molly saw the blow stagger him. The scorpion closed, reaching with its pincers, and Romaria sent an arrow humming at the creature. The shaft buried itself in the scorpion’s thick hide, and the creature reared back with a hiss.

“Go!” said Romaria. 

Molly slipped into the shadows and reappeared next to the scorpion’s legs, driving her sword and dagger at its belly. The scorpion tried to lash at her with its barbed legs. She rolled away and sprang back to her feet, and the scorpion pursued her, its female face spitting with rage and fury.

A blast of lightning fell from the sky and drilled into the scorpion’s flank. The bolt slammed the creature to the left, and Mazael charged. Before the scorpion could regain its balance, Mazael raised Lion and brought it hammering down.

The scorpion’s head rolled away, jetting black blood from the ragged stump of its neck. The huge body twitched once, and then dissolved into gray mist. 

Molly let out a ragged breath. “What were those things?” 

“Spirit creatures,” said Mazael. “Powerful wizards can sometimes call them up.” He turned to Romaria and Riothamus. “We have to find Lucan. If we don’t stop him, he’ll call up worse.”

He hurried towards the horses, and Molly followed him.

###

Lucan released the spell, letting his flesh harden into material form once more.

Another one of Lord Malden’s household knights battled before him, bleeding from a dozen minor wounds, teeth bared in a frantic snarl. His eyes lit up with hope as he saw Lucan. 

“Lord Mandragon!” he said. “The foe…”

Lucan focused his will upon the black dagger in the knight’s hand.

The resultant explosion drove the knight to his knees and rocked the nearby Aegonar warriors and armsmen. An instant later the ring of green flame erupted in all directions, tearing through the men and cutting them down like wheat beneath the harvester’s scythe. Four or five hundred men had died, Lucan guessed, and he felt the life force flow through the web of spells he had woven around the Glamdaigyr. Another few hundred, and then…

He felt a stirring in the magical currents around him, felt a sudden gust of wind blow over the battlefield. A tremendous amount of magical energy was moving, and Lucan turned, fearing that Skalatan or Riothamus had worked a mighty spell…

A slender column of silver light erupted from Knightcastle, stabbing into the sky, and Lucan’s hand tightened around the hilt of the Glamdaigyr.

He had done it at last. 

The Door of Souls had activated, and the path to Cythraul Urdvul was open. 

Which meant he had to get there first, before Skalatan or Mazael or any other fool that might try to claim the power of the Demonsouled rather than destroy it.

Lucan shifted his body back into immaterial form and sprinted for the walls of Knightcastle with all his undead stamina, the battlefield blurring around him.

###

Another pillar of emerald fire erupted from the battlefield.