The creature had once been a Dark Elderborn, its pale skin dried into cracked leather, wisps of white hair fringing its skull. Green flames burned in empty eye sockets, and its hands had withered into sharp claws. Its robe was patterned in silver and gold, shining and radiant.
“One of the serpents,” hissed the robed undead. “Yes. Our allies. Or were you foes? I do not remember…it has been so long, and the centuries have worn the memories into mist.”
“So I see,” said Skalatan. “Might I ask who you are?”
“I am the Lord of Urdbaen Tor,” said the creature.
“And I am an archpriest of the San-keth nation,” said Skalatan. His mind calculated the possibilities. The most powerful of the high lords of Old Dracaryl had transformed themselves into undead revenants, but the high lords had gleaned that spell from the lost lore of the Dark Elderborn. This creature, this Dark Elderborn revenant, would wield tremendous power.
“Have you come to celebrate our victory?” said the revenant. “For the foe has been destroyed, the humans slaughtered, and the fools who call themselves the High Elderborn butchered. The promise has been fulfilled, and the demon god freed from its prison. All the world shall be ours forever!”
Three thousand years had not been good for the revenant’s sanity.
Though its delusions explained why the undead thing had not destroyed Castle Rutagne or the nearby human villages.
“My task is simple,” said Skalatan. “I simply wish to borrow your scepter.”
The burning green eyes fixed upon him. “Why?”
“One last pocket of resistance remains before the final triumph of the demon god,” said Skalatan. “The scepter’s power shall crush them utterly.”
“No!” rasped the revenant. “Urdbaen Tor is mine! And those who come here are my subjects, my slaves forevermore.” The creature tottered forward, cackling. “And you, serpent, are now my slave! Bow before me!”
“A ridiculous request,” said Skalatan. “I will not kneel to you.”
The revenant’s withered lips peeled back from its yellowing teeth. “You will kneel to me!”
“As I do not possess knees,” Skalatan said, “I fail to see how I shall accomplish this.”
The revenant titled its head and stared at him.
“The San-keth do not have limbs,” said Skalatan. “Surely a wizard of your wisdom knows this.”
Skalatan did not possess much of a sense of humor, but he nonetheless enjoyed the twitch of irritation that went through the revenant’s frame.
“Then perish!” it shrieked at last, casting a spell.
Skalatan cast a warding spell of his own, and an instant latter a volley of purple flame blasted from the Dark Elderborn’s fingers. The blast slammed into Skalatan’s wards, the chamber resounding with a howling scream as the spells strained against each other.
But Skalatan’s defenses held, and he flung a spell of his own, a shaft of emerald fire designed to shatter the spells upon undead flesh. The Lord of Urdbaen Tor’s withered hands moved an intricate gesture, and a ward of his own flashed around him. Skalatan’s blast rebounded from the spell, the green flame splashing across the stone floor.
“You dare to strike me?” screamed the revenant, the flames in its eye sockets brightening. “You crawling worm! Perish! Perish!”
The air crackled with power as the revenant unleashed its full strength at Skalatan. Blasts of invisible force shot towards him, powerful enough to reduce flesh and bone to bloody pulp. Waves of purple flame washed over him, a single touch enough to rend the spirit from his body. The revenant conjured up packs of spirit creatures, misshapen beasts that flung themselves at Skalatan, attacking with fang and talon.
But he answered every spell with one of his own. He deflected the blasts of psychokinetic force, redirecting them to slam into the walls with enough power to make the hall ring. His wards resisted the blasts of purple fire, and he responded with volleys of green flame, hammering at the revenant’s defenses. He broke the spells upon the spirit creatures, banishing them back to the spirit realm. The hill groaned and shuddered around them, the air flashing with light as powerful magic blazed through the hall. The light and noise would be visible even from Castle Rutagne, and Skalatan supposed the villagers would have more dark tales about the ruin after tonight.
Assuming the entire hill did not come crashing down.
“Aid me!” screamed the revenant, flinging out its hands. “Your master commands you! Aid me!”
For a moment Skalatan wondered if the revenant had awakened the misshapen creature from the outer hall, but then he heard the clattering noise.
Bones tapping against each other.
When the revenant had said that all who fell in Urdbaen Tor rose against as its servants, the creature had not been lying.
Dozens of animated skeletons charged down the stairs, green fire shining in their empty eye sockets, rusted swords and axes in their bony hands. They rushed at him, and Skalatan’s carrier thrust out his hands at the direction of his will. Psychokinetic force erupted from the carrier’s hands and tore the skeletons apart, their bones rattling across the stone floor.
But the skeletons reassembled themselves. Skalatan cast another spell, probing the necromantic enchantments upon their bones. He felt the potent spell binding the skeletons, and felt the controlling spell the revenant had placed upon them…
The simple, primitive controlling spell.
The spell was the sort any apprentice necromancer might use to control an animated corpse. The revenant was a wizard of great power and skill. Why use such a crude spell?
Because the creature didn’t know a more sophisticated spell. It had lurked in the ruins for three thousand years, undead and immortal…but learning nothing new. Both the high lords of Old Dracaryl and the San-keth had discovered new uses for necromantic magic, uses the revenant would never know.
Such as how to subvert the controlling spells upon undead creatures.
Skalatan summoned power and gestured. The skeletons froze, going motionless as Skalatan disrupted the binding spell upon them.
“Kill him!” shrieked the revenant.
Skalatan reknit the controlling spell, chaining the skeletons to his will, and commanded them to attack their master.
The undead rushed at the revenant, and the Lord of Urdbaen Tor responded at once, screaming with rage. The skeletons stood no chance against the undead Dark Elderborn, and blast after blast of green flame reduced the skeletons to piles of crumbling dust. In the space of three heartbeats the revenant had destroyed all of its rebellious servitors.
But that gave Skalatan the time he needed to work a spell of his own.
He thrust out his carrier’s hands, unleashing a column of emerald fire as thick as a grown human. It slammed into the revenant, drilled through its wards, and sank into the undead creature. The Lord of Urdbaen Tor screamed in fury, trying to cast a spell of its own. But it was too late. Skalatan’s spell plunged through it and sliced through the magic binding its spirit to the undead flesh.
The revenant collapsed in a pile of dust and bones.
Silence fell over the hall.
Skalatan crossed the floor, ascended the dais, and lifted the scepter of dragon bone from its pedestal. Even through his carrier’s undead grip, he felt the tremendous magical power within the thing. The Dark Elderborn had often used such weapons in their wars against the High Elderborn, though almost all of them had been destroyed over the centuries.
This one remained.
And with it Skalatan had the last piece he needed, the final tool he needed to crush the Old Demon and claim the power of the Demonsouled for himself.
Chapter 11 - The Prince of Barellion
Hugh rode south from the River of Lords, accompanied by Lord Bryce’s men. A day south from the river, Lord Karlam headed for his own lands further east, though he promised to return as soon as possible with fresh levies. Hugh did not trust the older man, not even a little, but the other lords had w
ithdrawn to their lands to resupply, and Hugh had no good reason to deny Karlam.
“He is working some mischief, I am sure of it,” said Hugh.
“Perhaps,” said Bryce, “but it is most likely a small mischief. The lords of Greycoast must unite beneath the Prince’s banner, or else the Aegonar shall destroy us one by one. Even Karlam is not so great a fool as to ignore that.”
Montigard snorted. “No, he is a not a large fool. He is a skinny one. More dangerous by far.”
The road turned southwest. The lands south of the River of Lords had been left untouched by the war, and Hugh saw peasants hard at work in their fields. Thankfully, it had been a good harvest. Keeping so many men under arms and in the field was draining his treasury dry, and he had already raised taxes on the city and extracted as much from the lords as he dared. More than one Prince of Barellion had met his end at an assassin’s dagger after demanding too much money from the city’s merchants.
Or by crossing the Skulls, for that matter. They had supported Malaric, though the assassins had faded away even before Malaric had been killed. Would they try to take vengeance upon Hugh? Or would one of his enemies hire them to arrange his death? The gods knew that if Skalatan wanted him dead, the Skulls were the easiest way to accomplish it.
The prospect of his own death did not daunt Hugh.
But what would happen to Adelaide if he died? Princes had been assassinated before…and a Prince’s Lady Consort rarely survived her husband’s fall.
He would survive, and he would defeat the Aegonar, if only to keep Adelaide safe.
Now he just had to figure out a way to do it.
Four days after the battle at the Castle Bridge, Hugh and his men came within sight of Barellion’s walls.
The Prince’s city was the greatest in the realm, home to over fifty thousand men, women, and children, its population now swollen by refugees fleeing the Aegonar. A strong wall of stone, the Outer Wall, encircled the city, thirty feet high and fortified with towers, their turrets crowned with war engines. Inside the city stood the towers and battlements of the older Inner Wall, the spires of the Prince’s Keep itself, and the steeples of the city’s cathedral. The Inner Wall divided the New City from the Old City, the merchants and poorer commoners from the nobles. Beyond the city lay its fortified harbor, guarded by twin castle-lighthouses, and the vast blue expanse of the western sea. A canal flowed from the harbor to the River of Lords, allowing goods to travel inland to the High Plain and the Stormvales.
Though the canal would permit the Aegonar to assail the harbor. Teams of peasants labored alongside the canal, raising fresh earthwork forts to guard the city. It would help defend Barellion if the Aegonar put warships upon the River of Lords…and it gave the hordes of refugees surrounding the city something to do.
Barellion was Hugh’s home, though he had never thought to live there. Hugh had six older brothers, and he had assumed that one of them would become Prince, while Hugh took service at the court of some lord or another. But Malaric had butchered the Prince of Barellion and his sons, and Hugh had been left to take the throne.
His hand clenched into a fist, the leather of his glove squealing against his reins.
He would save Barellion. He would save Adelaide.
If he could. And even then the work of reclaiming Greycoast and driving back the Aegonar might take a lifetime, if not longer.
“Well,” murmured Hugh, “best to get on with it, then.”
“Lord Prince?” said Maurus. “Is something amiss?”
Hugh laughed. “Amiss? Save for the war, would could possibly amiss? Come, my friends. Let us go home…and prepare to defend that home.”
He rode towards the city, his lords, knights, and armsmen following.
###
“I expected,” said Bryce, frowning, “old Alberon to make a bigger mess of things.” He blinked. “Though I mean no disrespect to the Lady Consort’s father, of course.”
“I confess,” said Hugh, “that I share your surprise.”
He rode through the streets of the New City, trailed by his men. Cheers rose up from the townsmen and the peasants as he passed, and Hugh wondered if they were feigned. Yet Barellion was in less disorder than he had expected. While no looked well-fed, no one was starving, either. The various churches were filled to overflowing, yet Hugh did not see anyone sleeping on the street.
Someone had taken the city well in hand.
“Lord Alberon is a…surprisingly effective administrator,” said Maurus.
Montigard laughed. “You mean Lord Alberon is wise enough to listen to his daughter.”
Lord Bryce grunted. “It is…difficult to resist the Lady Consort Adelaide’s charms.”
“As you ought to know, my lord Prince,” said Montigard.
Both Maurus and Bryce looked offended, but Hugh only laughed.
He did, indeed, know that well.
Hugh and his party rode through the New City, though the gate in the Inner Wall, past the mansions and stately churches of the Inner City, and at last reined up in the courtyard of the Prince’s Keep. It was his castle now, though it seemed odd to think of it. A group of men and women waited to greet him, armsmen wearing Chalsain tabards, the chief seneschal of the Prince’s Keep, the archbishop of the city, and other dignitaries.
Two figures waited at the head of the crowd. One was a skinny older man in a fur-lined robe, his bald head and overlarge nose giving him the look of a plucked vulture. The second was a slender young woman in her early twenties, her long brown hair bound with a golden circlet, and brown eyes that sparkled as they looked at Hugh.
He found himself smiling back.
“My lord Prince,” said the old man, stepping forward. “I, Lord Alberon Stormsea, the Lord Lieutenant of Barellion, welcome you to your Keep and city.”
Hugh nodded. “Thank you, Lord Alberon.” He looked at his wife and smiled. “I must say, the city is more orderly than I expected.”
Alberon puffed up like a rooster preparing to crow. “Thank you, lord Prince. I have been working night and day in your behalf, laboring without rest…”
“Father,” said Adelaide Chalsain, once the bastard daughter of Lord Alberon, now the Lady Consort of Barellion. “Our Prince and his men have journeyed far and have returned from battle, and need food and rest.”
“Eh?” said Alberon, losing his train of thought. “What? Oh, yes. Food and rest. Of course.”
“If you will forgive me,” said Adelaide, lowering her eyes, “I have taken the liberty of preparing a meal for the men in the great hall, and refreshment for the Prince in the new solar.”
“Of course,” said Alberon. “My lord Prince, refreshment has been prepared for you.”
He saw Adelaide look away to hide her smile.
“Thank you, Lord Lieutenant,” said Hugh. “Your diligence does you credit.”
To his surprise, Alberon beamed. Once the Lord of Castle Stormsea had regarded him as an annoyance, or as a potential suitor to take his bastard daughter off his hands.
But then the Aegonar had taken Castle Stormsea.
Squires and pages hurried forward to take the horses, and Hugh dropped from the saddle.
“Sir Philip,” said Hugh to Montigard. “See that the horses are stabled, and that men get some hot food. I will join you in the great hall shortly.”
Montigard’s grin was just short of leering, but he nodded and began shouting orders. The knights and armsmen went about their tasks, and Lord Alberon stood in their midst, attempting to look solemn and dignified while doing absolutely no work at all. Hugh walked to Adelaide and took her hand, and one of the pages led them across the courtyard and around the great stone mass of the keep. A shiver went through Hugh as he remembered his desperate fight with Malaric in the great hall, remembered the bloody fighting through the streets of Barellion.
Adelaide squeezed his hand, and the shivers went away.
The page led them to a new solar constructed behind the great hall. The Princes of
Barellion had once kept a study atop a slender tower, but Malaric had transformed the study a sanctuary for his Demonsouled relic, and Hugh had ordered the tower torn down and the new solar constructed. It had wiped away some dark memories.
And it had kept at least some of the refugees busy.
The page led them up a flight of stairs to the new solar. It only had a view of the curtain wall, but the windows admitted sunlight, and a long table held food and drink. The page bowed and departed, closing the door behind him.
“I…” said Adelaide.
Hugh caught her in his arms and kissed her long and hard. Her arms wrapped around him, her fingers sinking into his back.
At last they broke apart, breathing hard.
Adelaide gave a little laugh, running her fingers over his chest. “You missed me.”
“I did,” said Hugh.
Adelaide grinned. “I noticed.”
Hugh had intended to only spend a few moments with her before returning to the great hall, but the sight and feel of her drove all other thoughts from his mind. A moment later they were undressed, and then on the floor together. Vaguely Hugh hoped no one on the curtain wall could see them, and then he had no thoughts left at all.
After they finished he rolled onto his back, breathing hard, the sweat cooling on his skin. Adelaide curled against him, her head nestled on his chest.
“The next time,” she said, “in the bed.”
Hugh managed to laugh. “Aye. I spend weeks sleeping upon the ground, and the first thing I do back in the city is sleep on the floor.”
“You weren’t sleeping,” said Adelaide.
“I suppose I wasn’t,” said Hugh. He took a moment to enjoy the feel of her against his skin, and then looked up at skylight and sighed. “We really ought to get dressed.”
“Regrettably,” said Adelaide.
He stood and pulled on his trousers and tunic, and helped Adelaide into her more elaborate clothing.
“You’ve done well,” said Hugh. “The city is in much better shape than I thought.”
Soul of Swords (Book 7) Page 14
