Soul of Swords (Book 7)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  The truth struck Mazael like an enemy’s blow.

  “Gods,” he whispered.

  The others stared at him.

  “What is it?” said Romaria.

  “Where’s your mother?” said Mazael.

  Romaria frowned. “With the druids, towards the rear of the column, I expect.”

  “You!” said Mazael, riding over to one of Lord Robert’s armsmen. The man blinked up in surprise. “Go to the Elderborn druids and ask High Druid Ardanna to join me at once. She’ll bite your head off, but she won’t hurt you. Go!”

  The armsman bowed and ran down the column.

  “You looked like you ate a lemon,” said Molly, “but now you look as if someone just kicked you.”

  “I think I know how he’s going to do it,” said Mazael. “If I’m right…gods, I should have seen it earlier.”

  A moment later the flustered-looking armsman returned, the High Druid Ardanna following behind, cold and imperious. Romaria’s face settled into a neutral mask as she regarded her mother.

  “Lord Mazael,” said Ardanna in her musical voice. “What do you wish of me?”

  “The Door of Souls,” said Mazael, remembering the struggle with Malavost in the ruined temple atop Mount Tynagis.

  Malavost had sought to use the Door to become a god…

  Ardanna’s golden eyes blinked in surprise. Whatever she had expected, this was not it. “What of it?”

  “Malavost tried to open it,” said Mazael, “to enter the spirit world and claim the power of Sepharivaim for himself. I know his spells damaged it, but could the Door be repaired?”

  Ardanna shrugged. “In time. The High Elderborn were artificers without peer. The Door’s spells will regenerate in a short time. A few centuries, perhaps.”

  A look of concern came over Riothamus’s face, his hand tightening against the Guardian’s staff.

  “Could a skilled wizard repair it?” said Mazael.

  “With enough power, yes,” said Ardanna. “But that is irrelevant. Lucan Mandragon is at Knightcastle, not Deepforest Keep, and my people still guard the mountain. Even if Lucan intended to abandon Knightcastle to assail Mount Tynagis, he could not reach the mountain without our knowledge.”

  “Unless,” said Mazael, “the High Elderborn made more than one Door of Souls.”

  “Three,” said Riothamus and Ardanna in unison.

  They looked at each other.

  “They made three,” said Riothamus. “The memories of past Guardians tell me this.”

  Ardanna nodded. “As does the lore of the druids. They made three…”

  And then the eyes of the others widened as they understood.

  “Then there’s a Door of Souls at Knightcastle?” said Romaria.

  “The three Doors,” said Mazael. “What happened to them?”

  “One was destroyed,” said Riothamus, “in the destruction of the demon god, the father of the Demonsouled.”

  “The second was atop Mount Tynagis,” said Ardanna, “and my people guard it to this day.”

  “And the third?” said Mazael.

  “It was lost,” said Ardanna. “Presumably destroyed.”

  “No,” said Mazael, growing more and more certain. “It wasn’t. It’s in Knightcastle.”

  “Impossible,” said Ardanna.

  “It’s not,” said Mazael. “I lived at Knightcastle for years. I know its history. The original keep was built over the ruins of a citadel of the High Elderborn…”

  “Where a Door could have been kept,” said Romaria.

  “Gerald told me Old Dracaryl tried to conquer Knightcastle several times, but it was too far away for the high lords to manage it,” said Mazael. “They must have been trying to claim the Door of Souls. Think of what Gerald told us about Lucan. Lucan disguised himself as Ataranur, a High Elderborn prince sleeping beneath the mountains until the hour of Knightcastle’s greatest need. Those legends are as old as Knightcastle itself. A High Elderborn wizard sleeping in the darkness below Knightcastle, in long-forgotten vaults…vaults that might hold a Door of Souls.”

  For a moment no one said anything.

  “A doorway,” said Riothamus. “That’s what the Urdmoloch told me. He needed the proper tool. A doorway.”

  “It would explain,” said Ardanna, “why the Sight cannot behold Knightcastle properly. An active Door of Souls creates tremendous magical turbulence. If Lucan Mandragon is truly opening a Door of Souls…”

  “You have more experience with a Door of Souls than anyone else here,” said Mazael, though he suspected Riothamus might have more abstract knowledge from the Guardians’ memories. “And you know how Lucan has been gathering stolen life force with those black daggers. Would that work to reopen a Door of Souls?”

  “It would,” said Ardanna, her voice solemn. “Gods of earth and sky, but it would. I fear you are right, Lord Mazael. There is a Door of Souls below Knightcastle, and Lucan will soon open it.”

  “Gods,” said Mazael, his hand twitching towards Lion’s hilt. “All this time. Lucan and the Glamdaigyr. The Great Rising and runedead. Caldarus and the black daggers. It was the Old Demon’s plan from the beginning.” He shuddered. “For all those centuries he sired and slew Demonsouled children and sent their power to Cythraul Urdvul. All of it has happened at his design.”

  And for a moment dread blacker than anything he had ever known settled upon Mazael Cravenlock. He had led men to victory in battle, had defeated powerful foes…but he was still as nothing next to the Old Demon. The ancient monster’s plots and webs spanned millennia. Nations and empires had danced upon his strings. How many generations of children had the Old Demon raised and devoured? How many kingdoms had he ground into the dust?

  “Three thousand years,” murmured Mazael.

  “Aye, three thousand years,” said Molly, “and the old devil finally made a mistake. He left you alive. You and I, father. We might be the last of the Demonsouled, but we’re the ones who are going to stop him. We’re the ones who are finally going to bring him to account.”

  “Aye,” said Mazael, though he could not see how.

  “That explains why he needed Lucan and the Glamdaigyr,” said Riothamus. “Lucan to gather the power and open the Door of Souls for him.”

  “And the Glamdaigyr,” said Romaria, “to claim the power when he enters Cythraul Urdvul.”

  “Then we’ll have to defeat Lucan as quickly as possible,” said Mazael, “and kill as many bearers of the black dagger as we can.” He nodded to himself. “That was why Lucan attacked Barellion. Fifty thousand people live within its walls, and he could butcher them quickly and obtain the power he needed. But Skalatan stopped him. So he must not have enough power to open the Door yet.” He blew out a long breath. “We cannot allow Lord Malden’s knights to kill too many of our men with those black daggers. Otherwise we shall do Lucan’s work for him.”

  “Easier to just find Lucan and kill him,” said Molly.

  “He’s already dead,” said Riothamus.

  Molly scowled. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do,” said Riothamus, “and it will be challenging. Lucan was a match for me during the Battle of Swordgrim, and he will have grown in power since then. I may not be able to overcome him.”

  “You shall have my help,” said Molly.

  “And the help of the druids of Deepforest Keep,” said Ardanna, “which I imagine would be rather more effective than the blades of an assassin.”

  “Father,” said Molly, ignoring Ardanna, “you ought to be grateful that your wife inherited her charm from her father.”

  “Lion’s fire could destroy a revenant,” said Mazael, cutting off the argument. “It’s just a matter of getting close enough to stop him…”

  Riothamus, Romaria, and Ardanna turned their heads in unison, and for a brief moment Mazael wondered if they were going to start fighting. Then he saw that all three wore identical expressions of alarm.

  “Mazael!” said Romaria. “The Sight. Something’s
coming.”

  “A spell,” said Riothamus, raising the staff of the Guardian. “Someone is casting a spell…”

  The air rippled before them, and Mazael drew Lion. The nearby armsmen, close enough to see the distortion, shouted and raised their weapons. Then the rippling stopped, and three figures appeared before Mazael.

  “Hugh?” said Mazael in surprise.

  Hugh Chalsain, Prince of Barellion, stood before Mazael. He wore fine steel plate armor, and looked much the same as Mazael remembered, though there were dark circles below his green eyes. Next to him stood an Aegonar warrior in gilded scale armor, the serpent diadem of the Aegonar upon his red hair. Behind them both stood a gaunt figure draped in ragged gray robes, head concealed in a cowl…

  Fury like fire spread through Mazael.

  “Skalatan,” he spat, urging Gauntlet forward. “I said I would repay you for…”

  “An illusion,” said Riothamus. “They’re not really here.”

  “You will forgive me, I trust,” hissed the archpriest, “for not appearing before you in person. Given your likely reaction.”

  “Lord Mazael,” said Hugh. “It is good to see you again.”

  “Prince Hugh,” said Mazael, his mind racing.

  “Guardian, Lady Molly,” said Hugh, turning in their directions. “I am glad to see you unharmed.”

  “Oh,” said Molly, “it will take more than ninety thousand runedead to kill me.”

  Hugh grinned. “Clearly.” He bowed to Romaria. “You are Lady Romaria, I trust? It is good to meet you at last. Mazael crossed the realm, waged war, and threw down both a High King of the Aegonar and a Prince of Barellion to save you…and I’m glad to see he was successful.”

  “And it is good to meet you, lord Prince,” said Romaria. “Mazael always spoke highly of you.”

  “You’ve allied with the Aegonar,” said Mazael, the pieces falling into place, “haven’t you?”

  Hugh grimaced. “I fear I had little choice. Lord Malden came against the walls of Barellion with a great host of runedead, and we could not stand before him. Skalatan offered to come to our aid, and I had to accept. We have put aside our differences until Lucan Mandragon and Lord Malden Roland are defeated. Then we can go back to killing each other.” He gestured at the Aegonar warrior. “This is Ryntald, the High King of the Aegonar.”

  Ryntald bowed. “It is an honor to meet you, Mazael Cravenlock.” His voice was quiet and deep. “Your war against us in Greycoast caused us a great deal of trouble.”

  “A pity I did not cause more trouble,” said Mazael, “else we would not be having this conversation.”

  Ryntald grinned like a wolf showing its teeth. “Indeed not.”

  “Both the army of Greycoast and the host of the Aegonar are marching to Knightreach,” said Hugh. “We decided to contact you, in hopes of launching a combined assault upon Knightcastle.”

  “Perhaps,” said Mazael. “But before we go any further, you should know what Lucan truly intends to do.” He looked at the gray-cloaked figure. “And what Skalatan intends to do.”

  Skalatan made no response.

  “I would dearly like to know,” said Hugh. “We have suffered much misery since the Great Rising, and I would like to know why such evil as befallen our lands.”

  “Lucan Mandragon worked the Great Rising to destroy the Demonsouled,” said Mazael, “every last man, woman, and child who possessed a single drop of Demonsouled blood. Their power gathered in a domain of the spirit world, a place called Cythraul Urdvul. There’s a relic of the High Elderborn called the Door of Souls beneath Knightcastle, and the purpose of the black daggers is to collect enough power to open the Door. Lucan intends to enter Cythraul Urdvul and destroy the power of the Demonsouled. But he is only a puppet. The Old Demon himself will use Lucan to claim the power and transform himself into a god.”

  Hugh stared at him in silence.

  “You’re serious?” said Hugh.

  “Lord Mazael,” said Skalatan, “speaks the truth.”

  “Gods,” said Hugh. “If both of you agree…gods. If Lucan is doing this…I thought the Old Demon was just a story. If he does as you say, it will be the end of the world.”

  “Indeed,” said Skalatan. “Which is why we must stop him.”

  “You should also know,” said Mazael, “that Skalatan plans to claim the power for himself, and become the new god.”

  Hugh looked at Skalatan, while Ryntald merely nodded, as if having a suspicion confirmed.

  “Why should I not?” said Skalatan. “If you are wise, you will support me.”

  Hugh laughed. “And why should we do that?”

  “Someone must claim that power,” said Skalatan. “The Old Demon is consumed by needless cruelty. I would set this world to order, and bring a new era of harmony and peace.”

  Ardanna laughed. “A likely story, serpent. Ever has your kind sought to dominate the world.”

  “As opposed to your kind,” said Skalatan, “who created the Demonsouled through their folly.”

  “Enough,” said Mazael. “Skalatan is right, at least in this. We cannot allow the Old Demon to become a god.” He leveled a finger at Skalatan. “But neither will I allow you to claim the power. You would be as ruthless a tyrant as the Old Demon.”

  “You would not think so,” said Skalatan, “should he become a god.”

  “That we must first destroy Lucan and stop the Old Demon,” said Mazael, “we can all agree.”

  Ryntald smiled. “Then we kill each other.”

  “How far are you from Knightcastle, and how many men do you have?” said Mazael.

  “Three days’ march,” said Hugh. “We have twenty thousand men, knights and militia and armsmen. The Aegonar have thirty thousand men, though no cavalry among them.”

  “It is indeed interesting,” said Ryntald, “how you heathens have turned beasts of burden into effective instruments of war.”

  “I have thirty-five thousand men with me, assembled from the lords of the Grim Marches and the headmen of the Tervingi nation,” said Mazael. “And it is fully my intent that you should see what beasts of burden can do as instruments of war, High King of the Aegonar.”

  Ryntald offered a thin smile. “I look forward to it, Lord Mazael.”

  Mazael doubted it, given that he intended to break the lines of the Aegonar beneath a charge of Tervingi war mammoths. But Skalatan was right. They could not afford to fight among each other in the face of the threat of Lucan and the Old Demon.

  Unfortunately, that played to Skalatan’s advantage.

  “Lucan doesn’t have many runedead left,” said Mazael. “Perhaps fifty thousand, once they are all gathered.”

  Hugh snorted. “Only fifty thousand?”

  Mazael gestured with Lion. “With the help of Lion’s magic, fifty thousand runedead are still formidable…but not as formidable as they would be otherwise.” He scratched his chin with his free hand, thinking. For all that the Aegonar lacked cavalry, they were nonetheless formidable infantry, and their seidjar priests wielded potent destructive magic. “This, then, is what I propose.”

  They listened to his plan of battle, and agreed upon it.

  ###

  That night Mazael stood outside his tent, Romaria at his side. The campfires stretched away in all direction, but for the moment they were alone.

  “I’m surprised,” said Romaria, “that they agreed with so little fuss.”

  Mazael shrugged. “Skalatan wants to be a god, and the Aegonar want to worship a great damn snake. And that won’t happen unless we first stop Lucan and the Old Demon.”

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  “Do you think it will work?” said Romaria.

  “I don’t know,” said Mazael. “No one can see the outcome of a battle.” He smiled. “Not even those of us with the Sight.”

  She laughed.

  “Do I think we will defeat the runedead?” said Mazael. “Yes. But they’re not the enemy. Lucan himself isn’t even the t
rue enemy.”

  “The Old Demon,” said Romaria, voice soft.

  “Skalatan thinks he can defeat the Old Demon and become a god,” said Mazael. “But I fear he is overconfident. It is the Old Demon we must defeat.”

  And if they did not, the world would be his, and all mortals would be his slaves.

  “Aye,” said a soft voice.

  Mazael turned his head, and saw the spirit of Morebeth standing nearby.

  “Why did you not tell me about the Door of Souls?” said Mazael.

  “I did not know,” said Morebeth. “I can only manifest in the material world near you. I told you the Old Demon had some means of reaching Cythraul Urdvul hidden in Knightcastle.”

  “You were right,” said Mazael. He hesitated. “Your visions. Do you see any future where we prevail?”

  Morebeth did not answer for a long time.

  “No,” she said at last.

  Chapter 26 - And All The Nations Shall March

  Lucan strode through Knightcastle’s gates, walking alongside Lord Malden’s horse.

  Malden looked towards the ramparts of Knightcastle’s outer wall, as if expecting cheers, but none came. A few servants stood on the walls, but quickly scurried out of sight at their lord’s approach. Not surprising, given how many of them Malden had murdered in fits of rage.

  A flicker of pain went over Malden’s face, but Lucan hardly cared.

  After today, he would no longer need Malden, or Knightcastle, or the runedead.

  After today, the Demonsouled would be destroyed.

  They headed for the runedead host, drawn up in battle formation northeast of both Knightcastle and Castle Town, in position to intercept the armies coming from the north and the east. Between the survivors of Barellion and those who had escaped the Grim Marches, Lucan had assembled just under fifty-three thousand runedead. A paltry number compared to those he had once commanded, but they would hold their positions long enough to engage the enemy.

  The household knights began to disperse themselves, moving into position along the long line of runedead.

  “You seem so confident,” said Malden. Despite his youthful vigor, the Lord of Knightcastle looked tired and haggard.