Soul of Swords (Book 7)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  “I am,” said Lucan. “This is a great day, my lord. Today you will win your final victory. Today we will cleanse the world of the wicked, and from the ashes we will raise up a new and better world, one free of the tyrannies of the old.”

  He stopped talking, realizing that he had said too much, but Malden only shook his head.

  “All this with fifty thousand runedead,” said Malden. “It will be quite a sight, I am sure.”

  “You will see with your own eyes, my lord,” said Lucan. “You have the dagger?”

  He had thought about triggering the spells upon the black daggers himself, but had decided against it. Both Skalatan and the Guardian of the Tervingi would unleash their full powers against him, and turning his attention away from them, even for the few moments required to activate the daggers, might prove fatal. Instead he had placed the activation spell on Malden’s dagger. When the Lord of Knightcastle used it, every last one of the black daggers would erupt in a wave of deadly energy, slaughtering thousands and sending their life force to the Door of Souls.

  Of course, Lord Malden and all his household knights would perish alongside their foes.

  But Malden didn’t need to know that.

  It was treachery. But it was a necessary betrayal. He had to reach Cythraul Urdvul. If he did not destroy the Demonsouled, they would be free to continue their reign of tyranny, and all the blood shed at Lucan’s hands would have been for nothing.

  Tymaen’s death would be meaningless.

  Lucan would not allow that to happen.

  Malden took his place behind the line of runedead, his household knights dispersed throughout the front. At his command, the runedead and the knights would charge the enemy. And at Lucan’s command, Malden would trigger the daggers, harvesting the necessary life force to open the Door of Souls.

  Malden squinted at the sky. “Those damned griffins. They’ve been circling overhead for days. Mazael knows our every move.”

  “No matter,” said Lucan. “The only move that will matter is the one that you shall unleash with the black daggers. That will win the battle and usher in a new era for the world.”

  That, at least, was true.

  “So much death,” said Malden, and again he looked and sounded older than his youthful face. “So much blood, Lucan. Has this truly been worth it?”

  “It will be,” said Lucan, “if we do not waver. If we do not turn back from our purpose.”

  “Perhaps it would have been better,” said Malden, shaking his head, “if you had never come to Knightcastle.”

  Lucan glared at him. “If I had never come to Knightcastle, my lord, you would have died in bed, and Caraster would have overrun Knightreach. Your vassals would have been scattered, your armies broken, your people ravaged, your sons slain…”

  “My vassals are scattered,” said Malden, “my armies have deserted me, Knightreach has been ravaged by runedead and invading hosts, and my wife and all but one of my sons are slain.” He shook his head. “And all because I was too cowardly to die in my bed at my appointed hour.”

  Now was a damnable time for Malden to develop doubts. Still, given the magnitude of the setbacks they had suffered, it was only to be expected. And perhaps Malden had realized that Lucan regarded him as a useful tool and nothing more.

  But he just needed Malden to obey for only a few more hours.

  “My lord,” said Lucan, “we…”

  Hooves drummed against the ground, and one of the scouts galloped towards them.

  “Aye?” said Malden.

  “My lord,” said the scout, reining up, “my lord, the enemy comes from the north.”

  Lucan looked north, and just over the horizon glimpsed the crimson banners of the Aegonar alongside the green and black standards of the House of Chalsain.

  It seemed that Skalatan and Prince Hugh had arrived first.

  ###

  Hugh gazed upon the stern stone walls and proud towers of Knightcastle.

  The great castle sat at the foot of the mountains, with three concentric rings of curtain walls rising up the slope. At the top of the castle sat the High Court and the great Hall of Triumphs, an enormous blue and silver banner flying overhead. Knightcastle was vast and old, and every generation of Roland lords had expanded and rebuilt the castle, adding towers and keeps and walls, until it was a fortress without peer in the realm. Barellion was strong, but Knightcastle, held by a determined defender, was all but impregnable.

  “Why the devil is he outside of the walls?” said Hugh.

  Mazael’s skythains had been bringing Hugh reports, and now Hugh saw the truth with his own eyes. Fifty thousand runedead stood in battle formation between Knightcastle and Castle Town, spread into a thin line, bands of living troops scattered here and there.

  “It seems that Lord Mazael’s foresight was correct,” said Ryntald. “The foe has left his walls to face us. Though it seems folly. If the runedead held that castle, it would never fall. They fight with supernatural strength and vigor…and unlike living men, have no need of food and water.”

  “Is not the answer obvious, High King?” said Skalatan, motionless in the gray robes of his carrier. “There are far greater concerns at stake that the outcome of one battle or the fall of one castle. Lucan Mandragon requires more life force to open the Door of Souls, so he sends his puppet Malden Roland forth to collect it. If he acquires enough power, he will flee the battlefield to pass through the Door of Souls, leaving Malden to his fate.”

  “Then let us stop him,” said Hugh, “and ensure that the Door of Souls does not open.”

  “Indeed,” said Skalatan.

  “This plan has great risks for my men,” said Ryntald. “And for yours as well, Prince of Barellion. I know there are greater things at stake here than the outcome of a single battle, but I nonetheless must look to the welfare of my warriors.”

  “Mazael will not betray you,” said Hugh. “He gave his word that he will come.” He shrugged. “He vowed that he would come to the aid of the lords of Greycoast, and he has done so, despite the full might of the Justiciar Order and the runedead.”

  “And that is what concerns me,” said Ryntald. “He vowed he would stand with the lords of Greycoast against the Aegonar.”

  “He will not,” said Hugh. “Not until Lucan Mandragon is defeated.”

  “If we defeat Lucan,” said Ryntald, “the Aegonar warriors will be scattered across the field. Easy prey for the horsemen and war beasts of the Tervingi.”

  “Do not fear, High King,” said Skalatan, “for once I have claimed the power and become the new Sepharivaim, all shall recognize their place in the new order to come. Even Mazael Cravenlock, proud and stubborn as he is.”

  “Assuming you are able to take the power,” said Hugh.

  He expected Skalatan to rebuke him, but the San-keth remained calm. “If I fail and the Old Demon takes the power, we shall all be his slaves. If we both fail, then both Hugh and Mazael are men of their word, and you can leave the field and return to Greycoast unharmed, High King. In any event, fifty thousand runedead led by a revenant are a formidable foe, and I suggest we cease bickering to face them.”

  “Very well,” said Ryntald.

  “High Priest!” said Skalatan. Korvager stepped forward, giving Hugh a sullen glare, the bronze rings piercing his arms glinting despite their patina. “Make sure your seidjar are dispersed throughout our lines. You will need to enspell the weapons of the warriors to fight the runedead. If you are gathered together, Lucan might well wipe you out with a single spell.”

  “Victory shall be ours, Herald of Sepharivaim!” said Korvager with a bow, and then turned to join the other seidjar.

  “I notice,” said Hugh, once the High Priest was out of earshot, “that you haven’t told Korvager and the other seidjar what you really intend.”

  “It is unimportant,” said Skalatan. “The truth shall be apparent soon enough. High King, Prince of Barellion, I suggest you begin the attack. Better to take the initiative than
to wait for the enemy to claim it.”

  “As you say,” said Ryntald, and Hugh went to join his men.

  ###

  “You know what you must do?” said Mazael.

  Sir Hagen nodded, standing with Arnulf and several other Tervingi thains. “The footmen will march for the runedead host with all speed.”

  “Good,” said Mazael. “If all goes well, once you arrive the runedead host should be badly scattered. Hunt down the individual bands and destroy them, but keep in battle formation. Lucan might have another trick or two up his sleeve. After you arrive, I will have the Guardian recast the spell to spread Lion’s fire to your blades.”

  Hagen nodded again. “Good hunting, my lord.”

  “I’ll see you at Knightcastle,” said Mazael.

  He rode Gauntlet through the press. The host of the Grim Marches and the Tervingi nation filled the road leading to the gates of Castle Town. The war mammoths brought up the rear, and the heavy horsemen, six thousand knights, horsethains, and mounted armsmen, had gathered at the head of the army. Mazael rode for the horsemen, where the Cravenlock and Roland banners waved in the breeze. Romaria, Riothamus, and Molly waited there, along with Earnachar and many of Mazael’s chief vassals. Gerald sat atop his horse, surrounded by the exiled lords of Knightreach.

  “The footmen are ready,” said Mazael, reining up near the others. Behind him he saw the dust start to rise as the infantry began to march, the mammoths bringing up the rear.

  “We had best ride at once, then,” said Adalar. For an instant Mazael remembered the Battle of Tumblestone, years ago, when he had led the host of Knightreach in battle against Amalric Galbraith and the Dominiar Order. He had gambled then, separating the horsemen from the infantry in hopes of pinning the Dominiars against the walls of Tumblestone.

  Just as he hoped to gamble now.

  “If this doesn’t work,” said Gerald, “we’ll be badly exposed.”

  “It will work,” said Mazael, filling his voice with a confidence he did not feel. “Hugh will hold the runedead in place, and then we’ll smash the undead from behind. Remember,” he swept his gaze over the lords and headmen, “remember the reason for this battle. Lucan will want the knights with the black daggers to kill as many men as possible. Our first task must be to kill any knights with black daggers. Without those daggers, Lucan cannot harvest the life force he needs.”

  The others nodded their agreement.

  “Then let us ride,” said Mazael. Sir Aulus blew a long blast on his horn, and the horsemen started forward, making the final leg of the journey to Knightcastle.

  ###

  “What are they doing?” said Malden, craning his neck for a better view.

  To his surprise, the enemy host marched south, the infantry spreading into a broad front to match the line of his runedead. Malden saw armsmen and militia from Greycoast scattered through the enemy, but most of the footmen were Aegonar warriors clad in scale armor, round shields on their arms and broadswords and battle axes in their right hands.

  “Attacking, it would seem,” said Lucan, motionless in his black cloak.

  Malden glared at the wizard, irritation forcing its way through the dark cloud in his mind. “I hadn’t noticed.” He shook his head. “I expected they would wait for the runedead to attack.”

  Lucan shrugged. “Their blood is up. They think they have the momentum. The time has come to strike the final blow and overthrow the tyrant of dark magic ruling in Knightcastle.”

  Sarcasm colored his words, but they stung Malden nonetheless. Was that truly what he had become? A tyrant, ruling over his lands through force and fear and an army of animated corpses?

  How had it come to this?

  Dozens of pulses of emerald light flared in the advancing army, and a shimmering haze of green light settled over the advancing footmen.

  “Lucan!” said Malden. “They’re working a spell.”

  But Lucan seemed unconcerned. “Observe.” The glowing haze faded, and Malden saw that every axe and sword in the army now flickered with ghostly green flames. “The Aegonar wizards have enspelled their weapons to harm the runedead.”

  “And we lose another advantage,” said Malden.

  “It won’t matter,” said Lucan. “Once the footmen close with the runedead, you can activate the daggers. Thousands will die in a single heartbeat, and you can drive the foe from the field with ease.”

  He sounded so unconcerned.

  Malden looked at the black dagger in his hand, the sigil pulsing with green light. He had murdered innocent people with that weapon, feasting on their life force to make himself younger and stronger, even if he hadn’t realized that was what he was doing. Now he was planning to kill tens of thousands. Even if they were Aegonar serpent-worshippers, he would still kill them in a heartbeat.

  So much more blood on his hands.

  “What of Skalatan and his magic?” said Malden. “Can you deal with him?”

  “I shall,” said Lucan. “I will wait until he reveals himself, and then strike with my full strength. He will not escape me this time.”

  “He didn’t try to escape you at Barellion,” said Malden. “He was hunting you.”

  Lucan looked up at him, his dark eyes like cold stone. “He caught me off-guard. He will not do so twice.” He looked at the advancing army. “Be ready, my lord. The moment will come soon.”

  Malden’s hand tightened around the dagger’s handle.

  ###

  Hugh watched his men advance, his sword drawn.

  A ghostly ribbon of green flame danced around the steel blade. He would have preferred Lion’s blazing blue fire, not the necromancy of the seidjar priests. Still, his men needed a way to harm the runedead, and Hugh had to admit the spells were more effective than wizard’s oil.

  He sat atop his mount alongside the other horsemen, waiting to move. Once the footmen engaged the runedead, they could flank the undead. Or if the runedead forced their way through the footmen, Hugh and his knights could seal the breach and aid the infantry.

  “Here we go again,” murmured Montigard.

  Hugh was surprised at how thin the runedead line was. Malden had stretched it too thin. Bands of knights on horseback, clad in Roland colors, waited in scattered groups throughout the lines. It reminded Hugh of mounted knights leading bands of footmen into battle to raise their morale and maintain discipline. But that was absurd. The runedead had no morale and required no discipline.

  So why scatter the horsemen through the runedead line?

  It made Hugh uneasy. His experience as a commander had taught him that unexplained behavior among the enemy was always a cause for alarm.

  Then the footmen reached the runedead, and the fighting began.

  ###

  The sound of battle filled Lucan’s ears.

  The runedead fought in silence, but the living men did not. The armsmen and militiamen shouted war cries. The Aegonar warriors bellowed praise to Sepharivaim. Lucan saw runedead torn apart by axes and swords, saw spearmen and swordsmen fall beneath the cold hands of the undead. For an instant the two forces remained balanced, like wrestlers of equal strength straining against each other.

  Then, step by step, the runedead line began to buckle. There were simply too many footmen, and the runedead line was stretched too thin. Very soon the footmen would break through, and the way to Knightcastle would be clear.

  “Now?” said Malden, his voice leaden.

  “Not yet,” murmured Lucan, calculating. “Another few moments. Once the footmen have fully committed themselves. Then we can break their lines, and your runedead can sweep them from the field.”

  Still no trace of Skalatan, or his damned dragon.

  “Assuming there are any runedead left,” said Malden.

  “Fear not,” said Lucan. “In a few moments, my lord, you will never need worry about the enemy again.”

  ###

  Knightcastle itself came into sight, and Mazael reined up.

  A ferocious battle r
aged on the plain between Knightcastle and Castle Town. Mazael saw the combined infantry of the lords of Greycoast and the Aegonar striving against the remaining runedead. The battle hung perfectly in the balance.

  The horsemen had arrived at the right time.

  “Riothamus,” said Mazael. “The Door?”

  Riothamus stared hard at Knightcastle, and then shook his head. “No. I don’t believe Lucan has opened it yet. The Sight shows me tremendous dark power gathered within Knightcastle…but it is still latent, waiting. It hasn’t been activated yet.”

  “Good,” said Mazael. “Then we are not too late. The spell.”

  Riothamus nodded and produced a dagger, and Mazael offered up the blood necessary to power the magic. The Guardian of the Tervingi cast the spell, his staff flaring with golden light, and again Mazael felt a wave of pain and nausea. Lion’s fire flared, and the azure flame spread to the swords and lances of the waiting horsemen.

  “Now!” said Mazael as the pain lifted. “Sir Aulus, the charge!”

  The lean knight sounded the charge, and the horsemen surged forward.

  ###

  Lucan’s head snapped up.

  He felt a surge of tremendous power, and he began to brace himself to cast a ward. Skalatan must have decided to throw his magic into the fray, and Lucan started casting a defensive spell…

  The he realized the power was coming from the east, not the north.

  The blast of a war horn rang out, and he saw masses of horsemen galloping from the east, their swords and lances flickering with blue flame. The banners of the Rolands and the Cravenlocks flew over the horsemen.

  Mazael Cravenlock had arrived.

  Worse, the Guardian of the Tervingi was with him, and, that meant the Aegonar, the lords of Greycoast, and the men of the Grim Marches had at least temporarily set aside their differences to fight alongside each other. Lucan thought he could overpower either the Guardian or Skalatan in a straight fight. But if the archpriest and the Guardian worked together, aided by the lesser wizards, they would destroy him.