Soul of Swords (Book 7)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  “One more crime to lay at Malaric’s feet,” said Hugh, “that he lost half of Greycoast to the Aegonar.”

  “He was not your equal as a commander,” said Ryntald. “But I will speak plainly. If he had not murdered your father and brothers, if he had not lost the great battle at Castle Bridge, we would not have conquered as much land as we did. Your father might have been able to keep us bottled up near Castle Stormsea, perhaps even driven us into the sea entirely.”

  “And you fear that happening now?” said Hugh.

  Ryntald shrugged. “Do not all rulers fear defeat?”

  “You have been speaking in hints and riddles, Ryntald,” said Hugh. “When I was your prisoner, you asked me for simple answers. Well, it’s time to return the favor. What do you want?”

  “A truce,” said Ryntald. “After the battle, if we are victorious against Lucan Mandragon. We shall allow you to return to Barellion in peace…and in exchange you will allow us to return to northern Greycoast in peace.”

  Hugh scowled. “You expect me to simply surrender half my lands?”

  Ryntald laughed. “Certainly not. In fact, I expect you to spend the rest of your life fighting us…however long that happens to be. But we already hold half of your lands, Prince of Barellion.”

  “So I noticed,” said Hugh.

  “You could spurn my offer,” said Ryntald. “The Great Herald commanded that we fight by your side, and we are obedient servants of Sepharivaim. But after, my lord Prince, after…who can say what will happen?” His eyes glinted in his hard face. “You are only one man, and you have no heir as yet. If you were to fall immediately after the battle…to a calibah’s blade, perhaps…your vassals would turn on each other. Then it would be so easy for us to conquer all of Greycoast.”

  “Or,” said Hugh, “I could ask Mazael’s aid, and the combined armies of the Grim Marches and Greycoast will utterly destroy the Aegonar.”

  “Or the Justiciar runedead could return and sweep both of us from the field,” said Ryntald. “All of these things could come to pass. Or we could allow each other to return home in peace to rest before renewing our conflicts.” He leaned forward. “I suspect you need a time of peace, Prince of Barellion. Your armies are bloodied, your people hungry, your lands ravaged. Unceasing war is to no one’s advantage.”

  “So that’s what this is about,” said Hugh. “You want to return to Greycoast and recover. Your warriors are as exhausted as mine.”

  Ryntald stared at him for a moment, and then shrugged. “It is useless to conceal an obvious truth. The Aegonar are hardly exhausted…but, yes, we are weakened. Our homeland is harsh, and parts of it are ruled by the Dark Elderborn and worse things. The Great Herald’s call found many willing volunteers due to our devotion to Sepharivaim, but the chance of finding a new homeland was an additional lure.”

  “Then you want a homeland,” said Hugh. “Like Mazael’s Tervingi vassals.”

  “Indeed,” said Ryntald. “So, Prince of Barellion. What say you?”

  Hugh considered. If Mazael arrived at Knightcastle with the assembled armies of the Grim Marches and the Tervingi, together they could crush the Aegonar and reclaim Greycoast. But that assumed they defeated Lucan. For that matter, Caldarus might well defeat Mazael and arrive with another horde of runedead. If the Aegonar and the lords of Greycoast were fighting each other when the runedead arrived, it would be utterly disastrous.

  And Hugh’s men needed a respite. The lords of Greycoast had held together, so far, save for Karlam Ganelon. But the strains of war had stretched the bonds. And Hugh had survived the Skulls’ assassination attempt, but he was not sure he could elude the knives of Skalatan’s calibah. If Ryntald had him assassinated in the aftermath of the battle, Greycoast would fall apart, and the Aegonar could conquer the remaining lords one by one.

  Once again, it seemed that he had little choice.

  But what if Skalatan was victorious? Hugh had only been able to divine a little of the San-keth archpriest’s plan, but it seemed Skalatan intended to loose Sepharivaim into the mortal world once more. That would be a disaster as dire as whatever Lucan planned, worse than the Great Rising.

  But whatever Lucan planned was likely worse than whatever Skalatan intended…and once again, Hugh found himself left with no choice.

  “Very well,” said Hugh. “You shall have your truce.”

  A hint of relief passed over Ryntald’s face. “Your wisdom does you credit,” said Ryntald. “I…”

  “It does,” said a hissing voice. “As does yours, High King of the Aegonar.”

  Hugh whirled as a figure cloaked in ragged gray robes stepped from the shadows, green light flaring around its skeletal hands. Hugh saw a flicker of surprise cross Ryntald’s expression. The High King had been trying to make this deal behind the archpriest’s back.

  “Great Herald,” said Ryntald. “You knew of this meeting?”

  “Of course,” said Skalatan, and Hugh glimpsed the yellow eyes in the depths of the cowl.

  “And you approve?” said Ryntald. “Korvager would have us pursue endless war.”

  Skalatan hissed. “Korvager is overeager. He fails to see that war is simply a tool, useful for some tasks, and ill-suited for others. Should our plans go awry, it is wise to prepare for contingencies.” His head rotated to look at Hugh. “My divinations have uncovered news that should interest you both. Mazael Cravenlock has been victorious.”

  “He has?” said Hugh with sudden hope.

  “The Justiciar Order has been destroyed and Caldarus slain,” said Skalatan. “Of the ninety thousand runedead that marched to the Grim Marches, perhaps ten thousand will return to reinforce Lord Malden.”

  “Gods,” said Hugh, his mind racing. “That changes things.” That meant Lord Malden would have only thirty or forty thousand runedead left to defend Knightcastle. A large number, but with wizard’s oil and the dark spells of the seidjar, Hugh’s men could face them. Of course, Lucan would throw his magical might into the fray. But Skalatan could counter that, and once Mazael arrived with Lion’s fire and the power of the Guardian …

  “We have to coordinate with Lord Mazael,” said Hugh. “If we try to defeat Lucan and Malden on our own, they could destroy us in detail.”

  “I agree,” said Ryntald. “The necromancer and his runedead are a dangerous foe, and we dare not underestimate him.”

  “I will send word to him at once,” said Hugh. “The fastest messenger can ride for…”

  “No need,” said Skalatan. “I possess more efficient means of communication.”

  Chapter 25 - The Opening of the Way

  “There are more of them, my lord,” said Adalar Greatheart.

  Gerald nodded. “Lead the way.”

  He left his tent, the dawn throwing a long shadow before him. Around him the camp woke to prepare for another day’s march. They had passed Tristgard yesterday, entering into Knightreach proper. No foes, living or dead, had arrived to stop them, and within a few days they would reach Knightcastle itself.

  And then Gerald would have to face his father.

  He pushed aside the thought for now.

  They came to the edge of the camp, where militia horse archers patrolled. Beyond them Gerald saw the low, rocky hills of eastern Knightreach, their slopes mantled in boulders, moss, and small trees. Lord Tancred’s castle of Stillwater stood a few miles away, and Tancred had already sent to his castle for fresh supplies and levies of men. Stillwater had greeted its lord with joyous relief, the surrounding villages declaring for Gerald in short order.

  He only hoped that taking Knightcastle would be as easy.

  But he knew it would not.

  He spotted Lord Agravain Rainier standing near a ragged group of seventy armsmen in the colors of Tumblestone. Their leader was a knight in chain mail, his hair cut at an odd angle. Moving closer, Gerald saw that the knight’s hair hadn’t been cut oddly.

  It had been burned away.

  His eyebrows were missing, too, and his face w
as bright red.

  “Why should we accept you now, Sir Rocard?” said Agravain. “You turned your back on me when Lord Gerald confronted Lord Malden for his crimes. You did nothing as we were sentenced to death. And now you come and wish to join our host?”

  “Aye, my lord, I do,” said Rocard. “I should have stood with you. You and Lord Gerald were right. Lord Malden had gone too far. But I wanted those damned runedead to serve the Lord of Knightcastle. And then…”

  “And then Lord Malden suffered a defeat,” said Agravain.

  “A grievous defeat,” said Rocard. “The dragon burned most of the runedead to ashes. No great loss. But then the Prince of Barellion struck us. I doubt one man in three escaped back to Knightcastle. We fled to the southeast, and when we heard rumor of your coming, we hastened to join you.”

  “Why?” said Agravain.

  Rocard sighed. “Lord Malden is finished, that is plain.” He hesitated. “And…I should not have sided with him. The runedead were monstrous, but I hoped they could bring us victory.”

  “I am not certain,” said Agravain, “that…”

  “At least,” said Gerald, stepping forward, “you did not take any of those black daggers.”

  “No, my lord,” said Rocard, his eyes going wide as he bowed. “My mother said wizards only bring misfortune.”

  “Wise counsel,” said Gerald. “And if you will swear to me as the liege lord of Knightreach, and vow to fight with me against my father and Lucan Mandragon, then you will be welcome here. Lucan turned my father into a puppet, and is using his magic to work something terrible within the walls of Knightcastle. It is the duty of all men of good will to unite and stop him.”

  “We will follow you, my lord,” said Rocard, “if you’ll have us.”

  “I will,” said Gerald, and he led them through the oath of fealty and allegiance. “Go speak with Sir Hagen Bridgebane, Lord Mazael Cravenlock’s armsmaster. He’ll find you a place in the march. We will break camp soon, so I suggest you hurry.”

  Rocard bowed, and led his men into the camp.

  “You are more merciful, my lord,” said Agravain, “than I would be in your position.”

  “Mercy is a virtue,” said Gerald, “but it is also necessary. We need every man we can find for the battle to come.” Given the dark magic that Lucan could unleash, it might have been kinder to send Rocard and his men away. “If we win, Agravain, if we win…the task of rebuilding Knightreach will fall to us.”

  “We can begin by punishing the wicked,” said Agravain.

  “No. None of that,” said Gerald. “That was the first step Caldarus and my father took on the path Lucan laid out for them. We must start anew. I will offer amnesty to anyone who will join me. Even the bearers of the black daggers, if they throw down their weapons and vow never to use them again. We shall have a new beginning. Knightreach must be strong and united again.”

  And to achieve that unity, Gerald would have to kill his father.

  His hand closed into a fist. Why had this burden fallen to him? He was the youngest of Lord Malden’s five sons, and he had never expected to become the new Lord of Knightcastle. But his brothers were dead, and Gerald was the only one left.

  He sighed.

  Yes, the burden had fallen to him…and he would not shirk from it.

  The sound of Tervingi war horns echoed over the camp, and Gerald turned, reaching for his sword. But the thains were sounding the signal to break camp and resume their westward march.

  “Come, my lords,” he said to Adalar and Agravain. “We are one day closer to ending this. Let us rejoin our men.”

  He strode into the camp, the others following.

  ###

  “Some of my skythains have returned,” said Toric, walking alongside Mazael’s horse. Earnachar’s horsethains fought from horseback, but the skythains refused to have anything to do with horses, claiming that true warriors rode griffins into battle. There had been more than one brawl on the topic. “They have spied out Knightcastle.”

  “What did they find?” said Mazael.

  The army stretched along the road, hills rising on either side. Knightreach’s narrow valleys made ideal terrain for ambushes, but the skythains circling overhead would spot any attackers. Assuming the enemy bothered with any ambushes. The road had been deserted of armed men and runedead, and the villages and castles had quickly sworn to Gerald’s cause.

  Given that the Justiciars had passed this way, using any excuse to kill with their black daggers, Mazael was not surprised.

  “There are about forty thousand runedead outside the castle,” said Toric. “Perhaps another five to ten thousand scattered along the road.”

  “Those would be the ones that escaped us at the Northwater,” said Mazael. “And the rest, I suspect, would be the runedead that eluded the dragon at Barellion. If that is what really happened.”

  “It would seem to be, hrould,” said Toric with a shrug. “My men have spoken with several deserters. All of them claimed that a dragon attacked at Barellion.”

  “A dragon,” muttered Mazael. There had not been a dragon seen west of the Great Mountains in centuries. Lucan had the Banurdem, and with it he could command dragons.

  So why had the dragon attacked his runedead?

  Perhaps he had summoned the beast only to lose control over it. Or Skalatan had summoned the creature and wielded it against the runedead? That seemed more likely. It also seemed likely that Skalatan had then reduced Barellion to ashes, and now marched south with the Aegonar to seize Knightcastle.

  Which meant Mazael had to stop both the Old Demon and Skalatan from reaching the power in Cythraul Urdvul. To stop the Old Demon, Mazael would ally within anyone, even the likes of the San-keth. But he could not let the power of the Demonsouled fall into Skalatan’s possession. The Old Demon would be a tyrant beyond imagination, but Skalatan would be just as tyrannical.

  He could let neither one of them claim the power.

  “Hrould?” said Toric, shaking Mazael out of his dark thoughts.

  “Keep your skythains scouting,” said Mazael, “and speak to Sir Tanam. Have him screen our flanks. Lucan is waiting for us, I’m sure…but I don’t want any surprises.” Nor did he want the Aegonar to surprise him. He had fought the serpent-worshippers in Greycoast, and he knew just how dangerous they were.

  “It will be as you say, hrould,” said Toric, setting off in the direction of his waiting griffin.

  Mazael turned his horse and rode down the column, exchanging greetings with the lords and headmen. He found Riothamus, Romaria, and Molly riding together near a group of Lord Robert’s armsmen and Arnulf’s swordthains.

  “Well, father?” said Molly. “You look as if you took a bite out of a lemon”

  “Toric’s skythains say the runedead are gathering near Knightcastle,” said Mazael, “and they’ve interrogated a few deserters. It seems a dragon destroyed the runedead host outside the walls of Barellion.”

  “A dragon?” said Molly. “Where the hell did Skalatan get a dragon?”

  “I was wondering that myself,” said Mazael.

  Riothamus bowed his head, tapping the fingers of his right hand against the staff. “The Dark Elderborn.”

  “The Dark Elderborn?” said Romaria. “With Skalatan?”

  “No,” said Riothamus. “Malaric had a relic of the Dark Elderborn, one that let him command the Lady of Blades.” He blinked. “At least until the Lady of Blades destroyed him.”

  “Malaric wasn’t the sharpest dagger in the armory,” said Molly. “But what does that have to do with a dragon?”

  “The Dark Elderborn had relics that allowed them to command dragons,” said Riothamus. “Their magic is older and stronger than that of Old Dracaryl.”

  Mazael nodded in understanding. “Which was why Lucan couldn’t use the Banurdem to command the dragon.”

  “I agree,” said Riothamus. “Likely Malaric dug up the relic that commanded the dragon when he found the caethweisyr. Skalatan must have
found it and put it to use.”

  “Then it seems certain,” said Mazael, “that Skalatan will reach Knightcastle as soon as we do.”

  Molly frowned. “Won’t he get there before us?”

  “Not likely,” said Mazael. “It’s a longer march from Tristgard to Knightcastle than it is from Barellion to Knightcastle, but we had a head start.” He wondered what Hugh had done about the Aegonar, if the Prince of Barellion was even still alive, and felt a pang. He had promised to aid Hugh against the Aegonar, but Caldarus and Lucan had delayed him. Still, if Mazael defeated the Aegonar outside of Knightcastle, at least he could avenge the Aegonar invasion of Greycoast. “No, we’ll likely arrive at the same time.”

  “Three armies,” said Romaria. “The runedead, the Aegonar, and ours.”

  “Aye,” said Mazael. “And the Old Demon, laughing all the while. Three armies, dancing to his strings.” He shook his head. “I wish I knew how he planned to enter Cythraul Urdvul.”

  Molly shrugged. “Some great spell of necromancy, I suspect, something he can manipulate Lucan into casting for him. He did it before with the Great Rising.”

  “Aye,” said Riothamus. “And he did the same when he used Ragnachar to bring the Tervingi to the Grim Marches. He boasted of it when I confronted him through the Sight. Lucan was his tool, his doorway, to reaching Cythraul Urdvul.”

  Mazael blinked.

  A doorway. A doorway? Why did that sound significant?

  Romaria looked at Riothamus. “Lucan is the key. He made Lucan into his tool, and if we stop Lucan, we stop the Old Demon.”

  For a moment, something in her profile reminded Mazael of Ardanna. Romaria had inherited her black hair and blue eyes from Athaelin Greenshield, but there was a hint of Ardanna in the lines of her face. But why should he think about Ardanna now? She was the High Druid of the Elderborn, one of the guardians of the temple atop Mount Tyngais…