“Nor is it surprising that you look younger,” said Mazael, “given that you carry a dagger designed to reave stolen life force from innocent victims.”
Caldarus’s eyes narrowed. “They were guilty. Our realm has been torn by runedead and war and strife. The Justiciar Order shall launch a great war to cleanse the realm of the wicked, to hunt down every last evildoer.” His eyes glittered. “Beginning with the traitorous Sir Gerald Roland and Sir Commander Aidan Tormaud. Yes, I see you there, cringing behind Mazael Cravenlock as if he could save you.”
“I have no need to cringe behind anyone, Grand Master,” said Gerald. “You have murdered innocent men and women of Knightreach, men and women guilty of no crime. I will see you brought to account for that.”
“You have been corrupted by that necromancer,” said Aidan. “You have forsaken your oaths and become a madman and a monster. You would not be out of place among the high lords of Old Dracaryl.”
“Silence, dog,” said Caldarus. “You will pay for your treason soon enough.” His gaze turned back to Gerald. “But you, Sir Gerald. You betrayed your own father. Your brother and mother perished for your folly. You…”
“Be silent,” said Gerald. “My mother and brother turned against my father because he had fallen into wickedness and folly, just as you have. They died because my father has become a tyrant and embraced dark magic. You both have sold your souls for eternal youth.”
“Fool,” said Caldarus. “Our vigor is a gift of the gods, for we are doing that gods’ work.”
“That is unlikely,” said Riothamus.
“And who is this?” said Caldarus. “Some barbarian wizard and his yapping followers?”
Earnachar sneered. “Take your shiny armor and stuff…”
“I am Riothamus son of Rigotharic, Guardian of the Tervingi nation,” said Riothamus.
“In other words,” said Caldarus, “a barbarian sorcerer with a few petty spells and a stick.”
“Essentially,” said Riothamus, unruffled, “though I fear you overlooked a few details. Such as that dagger on your belt, for on example. Yes, it does bestow stolen life force upon you. But only a portion from every victim. The rest travels on a link back to Knightcastle, where Lucan Mandragon is using it to construct a necromantic spell of fell power.”
Caldarus laughed. “A fine tale. Most likely you are…”
“Did you ever wonder,” said Riothamus, “why Lucan is helping you?”
“He recognizes the evil that infests this realm,” said Caldarus, “and…”
“He came to my father’s court disguised as a High Elderborn wizard,” said Gerald, “because he knew my father would never accept his aid without deception.”
“Lucan is a man of vision,” said Caldarus, “and he…”
“Lucan?” said Riothamus. “You mean the man who worked the Great Rising? The man who was willing to raise hordes of runedead to slaughter his father’s lords and vassals and peasants? The man who has the blood of thousands upon his hands? That man, Grand Master? You truly believe that he wants to rid the world of evil? Or is it more likely that he is using you to further goals of his own?”
“Be silent!” said Caldarus. “I…”
“And that once he has reached that goal,” said Riothamus, “he will discard you.”
“Enough!” said Caldarus, and for a moment Mazael saw a flicker of fear on the unnaturally youthful face.
“Give this up,” said Mazael. “You are the Grand Master of the Justiciar Order, and I always thought you were a grasping miser. But you were not the sort of man to lead an army of undead on a rampage across the realm. Do you truly believe Lucan has good intentions in mind? Give this up before it is too late.”
“I have heard enough of this nonsense,” said Caldarus, drawing himself up. “You will tell any lies, any lies at all, to disguise your wickedness.”
“Perhaps you ought to heed your own counsel,” said Romaria.
“Silence, woman,” said Caldarus. “This is not a negotiation, but a surrender.”
“Very well,” said Mazael. “I accept your surrender.”
Earnachar and Rhodemar snickered.
“Do not think to mock the wrath of the Justiciar Order,” said Caldarus. “I will make this offer once, Mazael Cravenlock. Disband your army, command your lords and knights to return to their castles, and surrender yourself to my custody. Then my armies shall move from village to village through the Grim Marches, hunting down the worshippers of Sepharivaim and the Old Demon and the followers of Caraster.”
“And the Tervingi?” said Mazael.
“I will not suffer the barbarian dogs to live,” said Caldarus, glaring at Riothamus and Earnachar. “Our realm already has too many…impurities. They must be cleansed, as well.”
Earnachar spat. “The Dark Elderborn and the San-keth and the Malrags have all tried to defeat us, and yet the sons of Tervingar still stand! Try, tomb-wight, and we shall cast you into the dust of history.”
“Such generous terms, Grand Master,” said Mazael. “I will offer terms of my own. Leave, now, and return to your Order's lands at Swordor. I have business with Lucan Mandragon, not with you. You may go, while you still can…but if you do not, I will destroy you utterly.”
He hoped.
Caldarus laughed, long and loud. “Truly? Such madness! Do you not see my runedead?” He flung an arm back at the undead host. “My runedead alone outnumber your men three to one. Do you think you can face them?”
“We shall find out, won’t we?” said Mazael.
Caldarus’s lips pulled back in a snarl. “Would you throw away the lives of your men so thoughtlessly?”
“Considering that you plan to kill them anyway,” said Mazael, “it hardly seems thoughtless.”
“So be it,” said Caldarus, turning his horse. “I will not be so merciful when next we meet, Mazael Cravenlock.”
He rode back to the lines of the runedead, his escorts following.
“That was a waste of time,” said Lord Robert, glaring at Caldarus’s retreating party.
“Perhaps,” said Mazael. “Or perhaps not.”
“I suppose bluster before battle is traditional,” said Rhodemar.
“Aye,” said Mazael, turning Gauntlet around, “and now the time for bluster has passed.”
He rode to the waiting men of the Grim Marches, the Tervingi nation, and Deepforest Keep, the knights and armsmen and thains and archers waiting in orderly ranks. Sir Hagen waited before the curved shield wall, his face grim behind his black beard.
“My lord,” he said, “the host is arrayed as you commanded. Did the parley go well?”
“Not particularly,” said Mazael. “It…”
A blast of trumpets rang out. A cheer rose from the Justiciar knights and infantry, and a ripple went through the ranks of the runedead. They began to move forward, a vast wave of rotting flesh and crimson flame.
The battle had begun.
Mazael stared at the advancing foe and drew Lion, the blade snarling to life with azure fire. And in the next hour either they would prevail…or he would fail, and Caldarus would unleash an orgy of slaughter and carnage upon the Grim Marches.
“To your commands!” said Mazael. “Men of the Grim Marches and sons of Tervingar, ready yourselves!”
Chapter 20 - Cloaks of Flame
Lucan Mandragon stood next to Malden Roland’s horse and gazed at Barellion’s Outer Wall.
The ramparts seethed with militiamen, armsmen, and archers. Ballistas dotted the battlements, and catapults waited atop the towers of the Gate of Merchants, the city’s eastern gate. Between the fortifications, the war engines, and the veteran defenders, Barellion was nearly impregnable, and any army would have quailed at the thought of seizing the city.
Any army of living men.
The first wave of runedead marched towards the Outer Wall. Some of them carried wide ladders, while others pushed massive siege towers. The ladders would reach the wall first, allowing the runedead to ass
ail the ramparts. Then the towers would reach the wall, permitting the second wave of runedead to strike. After that it was only a matter of time. The defenders would destroy thousands of runedead, but sooner or later the undead would overwhelm them. Then Malden’s men would seize the gates and storm the Outer City…and the harvest of stolen life force could begin.
“Taking the Inner City and the Prince’s Keep,” said Malden, “is still a concern.”
“Indeed,” said Lucan. Though he did not care what happened to the Inner City or to Lord Malden after the Outer City fell. If his calculations were correct, the slaughter in the Outer City would generate more than enough life force to open the Door of Souls. Once the Door opened, Lucan would return to Knightcastle with all haste…and leave Malden, Hugh Chalsain, and the Aegonar to fight for control of Greycoast.
“Your magic would be useful,” said Malden.
“Aye, my lord,” said Lucan. “But fear not. The Outer Wall will fall easily enough. I need to conserve my powers for the final assault upon the Inner Wall and the Prince’s Keep.”
But Lucan intended to conserve his strength not for the attack on the city, but in case Skalatan intervened. The Aegonar host was still at least a day away, maybe even two days. But Skalatan could open mistgates, and Lucan suspected the archpriest could still do so despite the magical turbulence the Door of Souls had generated. And Skalatan might well guess what Lucan intended to do with Barellion.
If he did, Lucan was ready. As a revenant, he could summon far more magical power than a living man…but even he had limits, and Skalatan might catch him off guard. Better instead to wait, and to let the runedead do the work of taking the city.
“So be it,” said Malden. He turned to his household knights. “Make sure the footmen are ready to charge. As soon as one of the gates is taken, I will send the runedead into the city…but I need living men to hold the gates.”
The knight grinned. “And then, my lord…we shall cull the city of the wicked?”
Malden touched the hilt of the black dagger at his belt. “Oh, yes.”
The catapults atop the gate flung balls of blazing pitch. The soldiers manning the war engines were skilled, and the fireballs each fell upon a ladder. Both ladders shattered in a spray of burning splinters, shredding dozens of runedead. The ballistas atop the ramparts creaked as they flung giant iron spears coated in burning tar. The spears tore through a half-dozen runedead with ease, setting them aflame.
But the losses were mere pinpricks.
The siege ladders reached the walls, the runedead raising them to the ramparts. The undead scaled the ladders, and Lucan watched the fighting begin. From here, it was simply a matter of attrition. No matter how skillfully and valiantly the defenders fought, the runedead would outlast them.
The city would fall within a day.
###
Hugh stared at Lord Karlam Ganelon.
Karlam looked surprised, even desperate. Not surprising, given that the runedead had just launched their final assault upon the city. Still, Hugh wondered what Karlam was doing in the Knights’ Inn. He wasn’t wounded, and he did not seem the sort of visit wounded men to lift their spirits…
Ah, of course. He had slipped off with a whore, no doubt, to calm his nerves. Hugh could hardly blame him for that, though it annoyed him that Karlam had used a bed intended for a wounded man.
But there were more important problems just now.
“Never mind why you’re here,” said Hugh. “Get to your men, and get them to the walls. Malden will attack all three gates at once, and if we do not…”
“No,” said Karlam, his hands curling into fists.
Hugh blinked. “No? Why not? Every man is needed at the Outer Wall, Karlam!”
“I mean,” said Karlam, stepping forward, “that I will not follow your orders, you weakling brat.”
Hugh scowled. “By all the gods, Karlam! Get to the walls, now! If the city falls, the runedead will butcher you alongside everyone else.”
“You led us to this ruin,” said Karlam, pointing at Hugh. “A stronger Prince, a better Prince, would have driven out the runedead and repulsed the Aegonar! Instead we cower behind the walls of the city, waiting for our enemies to take us! This is your fault!”
His words stung. A more rational part of Hugh's mind remembered that the dire situation was Malaric’s fault, that Prince Everard might well have defeated the Aegonar if not for Malaric’s treachery and stupidity.
But most of Hugh’s mind blazed with anger.
“Damn it!” said Hugh. “We do not have bloody time to listen to your damned whining, Karlam! Get to the Outer Wall, now, or by all the gods I swear I’ll have you hanged!”
Karlam sneered, stepped back, and drew his sword.
“Traitor!” roared Hugh. “You would draw steel against your Prince?”
He heard noise from downstairs. His shouting would draw alarm. Well, let it! Hugh would cut down the traitorous Lord of Castle Rutagne…and then he could go to the walls and deal with his true foes.
“I will prove to Skalatan that I am the stronger!” hissed Karlam. “I will prove that I am the worthy instrument of Sepharivaim, not you!”
“Sepharivaim?” said Hugh. “Gods! You’re a San-keth proselyte!”
He drew his sword.
“Mather!” shouted Karlam.
The door behind him burst open, and a half-dozen men hurried into the hallway. They carried short swords and daggers and wore dark leather armor.
The sort of leather armor favored by the Skulls.
###
“With respect, great Herald,” said Korvager, striding after Skalatan and Ryntald, “I must object to this plan.”
Skalatan ignored the seidjar’s objections.
Ryntald glanced over his shoulder. “Do you question the wisdom of the Herald of Sepharivaim, High Priest?”
“Of course not!” said Korvager, aghast. “But…but we are the chosen people of Sepharivaim, his instruments to spread his glory to every corner of the world. Why should we ally ourselves with these…these infidels, these fools who worship false gods and hunt the followers of great Sepharivaim?”
“Because,” said Ryntald, “it is a sound strategy.”
Korvager sneered. “And shall the strategy of mere men come before the laws of Sepharivaim? Prince Hugh and his rabble are infidels! We…”
“There are,” said Skalatan, and Korvager fell silent, “degrees of infidels. Hugh Chalsain does not know the glory of Sepharivaim, true. But Lucan Mandragon is a greater foe. Should he be allowed to complete his work, he will inflict a horror beyond anything in the history of mortal men upon the world. If he does, the people of Greycoast, the Aegonar nation, and even the San-keth shall suffer equally. For now, it is better that we set aside our differences and unite to destroy Lucan. Once he is defeated, we can turn our attention to our lesser foes.”
That was as much of the truth as they could handle. Both men believed that Sepharivaim still lived, that their mission was to bring him back to the physical world, though Skalatan suspected that Ryntald had puzzled out at least some of the truth.
Once Skalatan became the new god and both men took their place in the new order, they would understand.
“I would like to discuss more practical concerns, if I may,” said Ryntald as they reached the center of the camp. A large open space stood before an altar of Sepharivaim, where the earls and their chief warriors gathered every morning to offer a sacrificial victim to the serpent god. “Even if we set out at once, we are a day’s march away from Barellion. The city will fall before we arrive.”
“It shall not,” said Skalatan, his head rotating as he took in the surrounding camp. There was enough space for what he had in mind, and from here almost every warrior in the camp would see the magic. Today the Aegonar held him in awe and reverence. Tomorrow they would regard him as little short of Sepharivaim himself. “As I said, High King, I myself shall go to Barellion, and I will deliver the city from its foes.”
/> “By yourself?” said Ryntald. “Forgive my ignorance, great Herald, but while your magic is mighty, surely it is not mighty enough to destroy a host of runedead by yourself.”
“Do not question the Herald of Sepharivaim,” said Korvager, but there was doubt in his voice, too.
“It is only rational that you question,” said Skalatan. “But pay heed, High King and High Priest. The bards of the Aegonar will sing of the wonders you shall see today. Nizius!” The calibah stepped forward with a discreet bow. “Clear the area around the altar, but do not drive them away. I wish the warriors to see what happens next.”
“Great Herald?” said Ryntald, and there was unease in his voice. “If you wish the warriors to see your magic…why not have them gather?”
“Because,” said Skalatan, “I have no wish to see them trampled underfoot.”
He reached into his carrier’s ragged robe, the skeletal hands lifting the Dark Elderborn scepter of carved dragonbone.
###
The first siege tower slammed against the Outer Wall’s ramparts.
The wooden ramp fell with a groan, steel hooks digging into the battlements. A wave of runedead surged down the ramp and into the defenders. Lucan saw the white flare of wizard’s oil as the men ignited their weapons. He could not help but admire their discipline and courage. The men formed a solid wall of spears, stabbing and thrusting. Behind them reserves waited, and crossbowmen sent steady volleys of flaming quarrels at the runedead climbing the ladders. The defenders would have been able to repulse any living army.
But the runedead would not relent.
“They fight well,” said Malden, watching from atop his horse.
“Indeed,” said Lucan.
“Had I such an army as a young man,” said Malden, “I would have swept the realm of my foes. Everard Chalsain would have become a vassal of Knightcastle. I would have conquered the Grim Marches and killed your father in vengeance for my son’s death.” He snorted. “I would have killed you with your father, I suppose.”
Soul of Swords (Book 7) Page 26
