Soul of Swords (Book 7) (40 page)

“Bah,” said Mazael. “Molly would just walk the shadows to get loose of the ropes.” He smiled. “So be it.” He turned back to the Door of Souls, his smile fading. “Then let us put an end to this at last.”

He took a deep breath, and then he strode through the Door, the others following.

###

The Old Demon stopped, the sky overhead writhing with black clouds, crimson lightning leaping through the darkness. 

He titled his head for a moment, as if listening, the Glamdaigyr shivering with eagerness in his hand. The bloody glow ahead threw his shadow behind him, long and black against the black stones of the ancient temple.

“Ah,” he said, smiling. “So they’ve chosen to begin their suffering early.” 

Chapter 30 - Cythraul Urdvul

Chaos swallowed Mazael.

The Door of Souls vanished, and he felt himself hurtling through an endless dark void. Scattered visions flashed before his eyes, faces of men and women, some screaming in torment, others howling in fury. 

The Demonsouled. 

All of them, a hundred generations of the Old Demon’s children, all tainted by the demon magic of their patriarch’s blood. He saw them live and die and love and fight, spreading violence and chaos through generation after generation.

And he saw them perish, their power flowing into Cythraul Urdvul.

A crimson light appeared in the void, and Mazael fell towards it. He felt the power of the light, the awful might, and he struggled against it. 

But it pulled him towards it, and the light swallowed him whole.

###

Mazael Cravenlock found himself standing in Castle Cravenlock’s chapel, clad in steel mail and plate, Lion’s blade burning with crimson fire in his hand.

No, not Lion.

He lifted the sword, saw that it had been wrought from red gold, the pommel shaped like a snarling demon’s head.

The sword of the Destroyer.

He turned his head and flinched.

Rachel lay dead upon the steps to the altar, her torso opened from throat to groin by a single massive blow. Her green eyes gazed at the ceiling in frozen horror, her blood drying around her. Romaria lay slumped next to her, her body twisted and bent, caught halfway between wolf and human forms.

“No,” said Mazael, “no, this isn’t…”

“You killed them.”

Mazael looked up and saw the Old Demon standing atop the chapel’s altar.

“Don’t you remember?” His father grinned. “You cut your traitorous sister down, just as I commanded. And Romaria tried to stop you, but…ah, her Elderborn soul ripped her apart from the inside out. So very, very tragic. But wasn’t it worth it? I gave you the sword of the Destroyer, just as I promised…and you will now go forth and destroy the kingdoms of men in my name.” 

“No,” said Mazael. This could not be happening.

“I’m afraid it is, my son,” said the Old Demon. “You are mine, now and forever.”

###

Romaria Greenshield Cravenlock turned in a shocked circle, her composite bow in hand.

The ruins of Deepforest Keep smoldered around her. The Champion’s Tower had been smashed and lay in broken wreckage across the city. The houses burned, flames dancing inside their stone shells. Everywhere the dead lay, ripped and torn by swords, their heads mounted on stakes and their bodies pinned to walls like macabre trophies.

“No,” said Romaria, “no, this can’t be…”

“You did this, my dear.”

She turned and saw the Old Demon staring at her, a gentle smile on his bearded face.

“What?” said Romaria. “No, I didn’t do this. I…”

“You allowed it to happen,” he said, still smiling. “You wed Mazael Cravenlock. You knew what he was, the darkness in his soul…and you wed him and took him into your bed nonetheless. You always yearned for a man stronger than yourself, and you found him at last…and he turned into a monster.”

“No,” whispered Romaria. 

“Yes,” said the Old Demon. “You were at his side as he butchered his way across the Grim Marches. As he raised pyramids of skulls in Knightcastle. As he burned Barellion to the ground with its people trapped within the walls. You are nothing but the Destroyer’s concubine…and you will follow him as he bathes the world in blood.”

“This…this can’t be happening,” said Romaria.

“I’m afraid it is, my dear,” said the Old Demon. “You are mine, now and forever.”

###

Molly Cravenlock stumbled backwards, unable to believe the horror before her eyes.

She stood in her bedroom in Castle Cravenlock, and Riothamus lay upon the bed.

Or what was left of Riothamus. 

Blood soaked the blankets, dripped down the walls, squished in the carpet beneath her bare feet. 

“Oh, dear. What a mess you’ve made.”

She whirled, and saw her grandfather standing in the corner.

“You did this!” said Molly.

“Me?” said the Old Demon, smiling. “Not at all. You did this to him, Molly. You’re a killer, a monster, and you always have been. You knew what you would do to Riothamus, but you let him betrothe you anyway. And now look at what you’ve done.” He clicked his tongue. “The poor servants will have to burn those blankets.”

“I didn’t hurt him!” shouted Molly. “You did.”

“You’re lying to yourself,” said the Old Demon.

She snarled and reached for her sword, and realized that she was naked.

And the skin of her left hip felt leathery and thick and gnarled beneath the fingers of her right hand. 

“You are a monster, you know,” said the Old Demon. “Look at yourself.”

He pointed to a mirror against the wall, and Molly turned.

A misshapen hulk stared back at her, with leathery, gray skin, blank white eyes, and limbs swollen with muscle and fat. Tumors bulged on her torso, the creatures growing with the tumors writhing and twitching, ready to tear free of her corrupted flesh and kill.

Corvad had turned her into a Malrag Queen. 

The scream ripped out of her like a living thing. 

“Granddaughter,” said the Old Demon. “You are mine, now and forever.”

###

Riothamus son of Rigotharic tried to lean upon the staff of the Guardian for balance.

But the staff splintered to pieces in his right hand, and he fell to one knee.

He was in the village of Stone Tower, the houses burning around him. Athanaric lay slumped against the stairs to the keep. Aegidia lay nearby, facedown in her own blood. The corpses of slaughtered Tervingi were strewn everywhere.

Riothamus staggered to his feet and froze in horror. 

Beyond the ruined village the Grim Marches had been burned to ashes, glowing embers and smoke blowing in the wind. The sky overhead was the color of blood, and Riothamus saw more corpses scattered across the charred plains.

The entire Tervingi nation, butchered and slain. 

“Oh, dear,” said a voice. “It looks like you failed.”

Riothamus whirled, and saw a man in a black robe standing near Aegidia’s corpse. 

The Urdmoloch.

“What did you do?” said Riothamus, his hands curling into fists.

“What did I do?” said the Urdmoloch, putting one hand upon his chest. “Why, I did nothing! This was your failure, Riothamus. You were the Guardian of the Tervingi. You were supposed to defend them from dark magic! And look what happened.” He shook his head in dismay. “You failed them…and the Tervingi nation is ashes upon the wind.”

Riothamus stared at the burnt plains, unable to take his eyes from the carnage.

“And you, too, are mine,” said Urdmoloch. “Now and forever.” 

###

“I’m sorry,” whispered Mazael, gazing at the corpses of his sister and wife. 

“It’s your fault,” said the Old Demon, his voice a murmur. “You gave into the darkness within yourself. You let it conquer you…and it destroyed everyone you love.” He laughed. “Their blood is on your hands, your…”

“Shut up.”

The Old Demon frowned, and Mazael turned.

A woman in a black dress stood next to the dais, her hair the color of blood, her eyes like gray steel. She seemed familiar, so familiar, yet Mazael could not place her. 

“You?” said the Old Demon, and there was a hint of surprise in his voice. 

“Mazael,” said the woman. “You know me.”

Mazael frowned. He had never seen the woman before, yet he was sure he knew her. 

“Knightcastle,” said the woman in black. “I seduced you at Knightcastle. I offered to aid you in fighting against my father, and tried to kill you when you refused to be corrupted. You killed me instead.”

“How can I be talking to a dead woman?” said Mazael.

“Yes,” said the Old Demon, the crimson haze in his eyes brightening. “Yes, how can you be?”

“Because,” said the woman, “none of this is real.”

The recollection bloomed in Mazael’s thoughts, and his mind snapped back into focus, like grime wiped from a mirror.

“Morebeth,” said Mazael. “Your name is Morebeth Galbraith.” 

The Old Demon snarled and lifted his hands, darkness swirling around him.

“You are Morebeth Galbraith,” said Mazael, whirling to face his father, “and you, ever and always, are a liar!”

The sword of the Destroyer shivered in his hand, and changed, the red gold becoming blue-tinged steel, and Lion blazed to life in his hand. Mazael lunged up the stairs and plunged the sword into the Old Demon’s chest. 

The Old Demon shattered into a thousand shards of sliver light, and the world vanished into nothingness.

###

Mazael jerked awake, his eyes shooting open. 

A cold hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Hold still,” said a woman’s voice, low and urgent. “If you roll off that cliff, you’ll never stop falling.”

Mazael caught his breath. He sat on a floor of smooth, icy black stone, the rock trembling and thrumming beneath him. The air here was cold, and the black clouds overhead moved with uncanny speed, red lightning flickering between the writhing bands.

“Morebeth,” said Mazael.

She knelt next to him, one hand on his shoulder. He reached up and grabbed her arms, and felt flesh and cloth beneath his grasp. “You’re…not a spirit.”

“I am still a spirit,” said Morebeth, “but we are in the spirit world. Here, there is no difference between the material and the spiritual.”

“The spirit world?” said Mazael, and the memory came back. “We’re in Cythraul Urdvul.”

He got to his feet. The huge, ruined black temple rose before him, the great pillar of blood-colored fire ascending from the shattered dome and stabbing into the clouds. A few feet behind Mazael the pavement of black marble came to a jagged end, the storm stretching endlessly away in all directions.

As Morebeth had said, if he fell here he would never stop falling. 

“What happened?” said Mazael. “Where are the others?”

“Our father left a trap for you,” said Morebeth. “He sensed your approach, and laid a spell that would imprison you within your own mind, haunted by your greatest fears and failures for all time.” 

“Thank you,” said Mazael. “I don’t think I would have been able to break free of that on my own.”

“You wouldn’t have,” said Morebeth, glancing at the pulsing column of flame. “But we must hurry. Our father didn’t know I have been aiding you, but he does now. We must free the others before he destroys us.” 

“Where are they?” said Mazael.

“This way,” said Morebeth, walking towards the black temple’s yawning entrance.

Mazael followed her through the massive stone arch and into a vast hypostyle hall. Once, he guessed, pillars thick as ancient oak trees had supported a high stone roof. Now half of the pillars lay in ruin, and great sections of the ceiling had collapsed in heaps of broken wreckage. The vibration of the floor grew sharper beneath his boots, and sometimes pieces of stone clattered down the piled debris.

Romaria, Molly, and Riothamus lay motionless in a clear space, their eyes closed. 

“They’re still alive,” said Mazael as he looked over them, relief spreading through him.

“Aye,” said Morebeth, the bloody light throwing stark shadows over her pale face. “But we must wake them.”

“How?” said Mazael.

“I can take you into their dreams,” said Morebeth, “but you shall have to wake them. I was only able to wake you because of the bond between us.”

“Bond?” said Mazael. “What bond?”

“That we are both children of the Old Demon,” said Morebeth. “Come. We must wake the others. Take my hand.”

Mazael took her right hand with his left, and Morebeth stooped and put her free hand upon Romaria’s forehead. 

Cythraul Urdvul blurred around him, and he fell back into darkness.

###

“This isn’t happening,” said Romaria over and over, stumbling through the broken streets of Deepforest Keep. “This…isn’t happening, it can’t be happening.”

She had left Deepforest Keep years ago and had only returned every few years to visit her father. Yet part of her had always thought of it as home, even after Athaelin Greenshield fell in battle against the Malrags. It had comforted her to know that her brother ruled over the Keep.

But now Deepforest Keep was rubble. 

And it was her fault.

“You could have stopped Mazael,” murmured the Old Demon, his voice low and mocking. “You could have turned him from this path of destruction. But you followed him instead, and he became a monster…and he butchered the folk of Deepforest Keep.” He gestured at the corpses, human and Elderborn, that choked the streets. “You could have saved them, Romaria, but you failed, you…”

“This is a lie.”

Romaria blinked, surprised, and looked up from the dead. 

Mazael stood nearby, clad in golden armor, a longsword burning with blue fire in his right hand. A woman in black stood at his side, her face tight with hatred as she stared at the Old Demon.

“Well,” said the Old Demon, looking at the black-clad woman. “This is irritating.”

“Romaria,” said Mazael, stepping towards her. “None of this is real.”

“But…but Deepforest Keep,” said Romaria. “All my kin. You…you killed them.” 

“I did not,” said Mazael. “We saved Deepforest Keep, remember? I slew Ultorin, and you woke the traigs and led them against the Malrags.”

“I…I can’t…” said Romaria.

“And you saved me, too,” said Mazael. “You stopped me from murdering my sister. And you kept my Demonsouled nature from devouring me. Every time I went too far, every time I wanted to kill…you stopped me. You kept me from becoming the Destroyer, you kept me from listening to his lies,” he pointed at the carnage in the streets, “and you kept me from doing things like this.”

Romaria smiled at him. “I love you, too.”

And she knew what she had to do.

She whirled, raised her bow, and loosed an arrow at the Old Demon.

The Old Demon shattered into a spray of silver light, and Deepforest Keep dissolved into nothingness around her.