Soul of Swords (Book 7)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  Or Mazael would simply walk up and plunge Lion through Lucan’s chest.

  It was time to activate the daggers and open the Door of Souls.

  “Now, Lord Malden,” said Lucan.

  But Malden said nothing as he gazed at the oncoming horsemen, his fingers rubbing the hilt of the dagger.

  ###

  The flapping banner filled Malden’s eyes and mind.

  The banner of the House of Roland flew over the charging horsemen, the silver greathelm sigil upon a field of blue. It was Malden’s banner, the symbol of the Rolands and of Knightcastle, and he had ridden under it all of his life.

  And now it had been raised in battle against him.

  His own son rode to war against him. Gerald had always been so concerned with honor, so pious in his devotion to the gods, so disapproving of Malden’s many mistresses. Yet he possessed a stronger conscience than Malden himself had ever known, and Malden knew Gerald would choose the moral, honorable course of action.

  And Gerald had decided that the honorable course of action was to betray and overthrow his own father.

  Malden stared at the charging horsemen as they crashed into the ranks of the runedead. The infantry held the full attention of the undead, and had no defense against the charging knights. The horsemen plowed through the runedead like reapers in a field, and the entire line began to disintegrate.

  “My lord, now!” said Lucan. “The dagger!”

  Malden looked at the dagger, then back at the Roland banner flying over the horsemen.

  “No,” he said. “This has gone on long enough.”

  ###

  Lucan cursed.

  The entire right wing of the runedead line collapsed under the weight of the knights’ charge. The rest of the line bulged backwards, breaking beneath the force of the attacking infantry. In a matter of moments, the runedead host would be driven to the walls of Knightcastle.

  And Lucan would have lost his chance to open the Door of Souls.

  “My lord,” said Lucan, “it has to be now, or else you shall be defeated.”

  “Let me be defeated,” said Malden. “I have betrayed my forefathers and blighted Knightreach. Let me be defeated here, and perhaps Gerald can rebuild…”

  “Silence,” said Lucan, green fire crackling around his fingers as he worked a spell. Linking the spells upon the daggers to Malden’s blade had clearly been a mistake.

  Lucan would just have to kill him and take the dagger himself.

  He had come too far just to turn back because Malden had suffered an inconvenient attack of conscience.

  Lucan raised his hands in the killing spell…and froze, his mind fixing upon a thought.

  Conscience. For a moment he saw again that damned city of crumbling black stone, heard the laughter ringing in his ears…

  He pushed aside the thought and focused his will upon Malden.

  ###

  Riothamus galloped through the chaos, the staff of the Guardian laid across his saddle, and reached for the Sight.

  Through the Sight he saw the dark magic swirling through the runedead, the powers of the seidjar maintaining the spells upon the blades of Hugh’s and Ryntald’s men. And though the Sight he saw the locus of dark power standing behind the lines of the runedead, dark magic unyielding and mighty.

  Lucan Mandragon.

  Riothamus leveled the staff, summoned its power, and unleashed a blast of dazzling golden flame.

  ###

  Malden saw Lucan stepping towards him, hands raised, shadow and green fire swirling around his fingers.

  He realized that Lucan was going to kill him.

  A heartbeat later golden fire filled his vision, and Lucan stumbled backwards as a pillar of golden flame slammed into his chest just as a bolt of shadow-wreathed green flame burst from his fingers. The bolt missed Malden and struck his horse in the shoulder, a pulse of green fire washing through the beast. The horse died in an instant. Malden tried to throw himself from the saddle as the beast collapsed, but moved too slow, and the horse fell atop his legs, the black dagger spinning from his grasp.

  He heard the snap as the bones in his legs shattered.

  ###

  Lucan stumbled, pain stabbing through his limbs at the Guardian’s fire disrupted the spells binding his undead flesh. But the Guardian’s magic, for all its power, was not as potent as the dragon fire, and Lucan forced his will through the pain, summoning more power. Wards flared to life around him, brushing aside the fire, and he steadied his grip upon his limbs.

  He looked around with a curse. Malden’s horse lay upon its side, and Malden lay beneath it, injured or dead, but Lucan did not care. The dagger, where was the damned dagger?

  Another blast of golden fire hammered into him, and Lucan swept his hand before him, strengthening his wards. The Guardian could strike with tremendous force, but the Guardian was still a living man, and could only summon so much magical force at once without burning his flesh to smoking embers.

  Lucan had no such limitations.

  He could defeat the Guardian, he knew, given enough time. But Skalatan would not give him that time. Nor would Mazael Cravenlock, and his horsemen were drawing dangerously close. For that matter, the Guardian’s magic had spread Lion’s flame to every man in Mazael’s host, and if the Guardian battered down Lucan’s wards, the weapons of the common armsmen could harm his undead flesh.

  And this was not his fight. He had come here to destroy the power of the Demonsouled, not to wage war against half the armies of the realm.

  But to destroy the Demonsouled, he needed to open the Door of Souls. And to open the Door of Souls, he had to trigger the spells upon the daggers. And to trigger the daggers, he needed Malden’s dagger.

  Once again, Lucan cursed himself for entrusting the dagger to Malden.

  Fine. He had made mistakes before, but he had overcome them…and he would overcome this.

  He summoned magical power, more and more, until it snarled around him like a storm.

  ###

  Lion blazed in Mazael’s fist like a bonfire.

  Gauntlet crashed through the runedead, shoving aside the undead with sheer power and speed. Mazael struck again and again, the sword’s blade shearing through flesh and bone, the blue fire quenching the harsh crimson glow of the sigils upon pallid foreheads. He carved a path through the runedead, his knights and lords and headmen following him. To his right, he saw the Aegonar warriors and the footmen of Greycoast striving against the runedead.

  He took the head off a runedead with a single blow, and saw the green light flaring ahead. Behind the center of the runedead line a sphere of green light shone, growing brighter.

  Lucan.

  Mazael turned Gauntlet towards the glow.

  ###

  Riothamus lifted the staff, summoning more magic as he prepared to launch another attack at Lucan.

  But Lucan struck first.

  Green lightning ripped down from the sky, and Riothamus diverted his magic into a ward, a sphere of golden light shimmering around him and his horse. Another blast screamed down out of the sky, and another, and Riothamus gritted his teeth, concentrating as he maintained the ward.

  He could hold the spell…but he did not have enough strength left to strike back at Lucan.

  And still the rain of green lightning continued.

  ###

  “There,” said Hugh, pointing with his sword. “You see?” Green light and golden fired played back and forth behind the runedead line. “The Guardian has engaged Lucan. If you throw your strength into the fight now, you can overwhelm Lucan.”

  “Perhaps,” said Skalatan, who did nothing.

  Hugh frowned. He knew very little about magic, but it seemed that both the Guardian and Lucan were evenly matched. Skalatan’s spells could tip the difference.

  But Skalatan had to know that.

  Then Hugh realized that Skalatan didn’t want to help the Guardian to win, nor did he want the Guardian to lose. The San-keth wanted them both to
lose. He would wait until either the Guardian or Lucan prevailed, and then he would attack the weakened victor.

  And then he would seize the power of the Demonsouled and become the new serpent god.

  Hugh hesitated, aware of the weight of the sword in his hand.

  Skalatan had saved Barellion from the runedead, but Hugh had no illusions about the archpriest’s benevolence. It had served Skalatan’s purposes to break the runedead host against Barellion’s walls. And had it served Skalatan’s purposes to kill every last man, woman, and child in the city, the San-keth would have sent his dragon to burn the city to the ground.

  Hugh shuddered to think of what Skalatan would do with the powers of a god.

  Skalatan’s attention remained focused on the battle, his unblinking yellow eyes watching the magical duel behind the runedead. One solid blow from Hugh’s sword would take off the archpriest’s head. Then Skalatan would never become the new god.

  And if the Guardian destroyed Lucan, no one would take the power of the Demonsouled.

  Of course, if he attacked Skalatan, Ryntald and the other Aegonar would cut him down in an instant. But if he killed Skalatan, if he stopped the San-keth from becoming a god, it would be worth the cost of his life. The people of Greycoast would not have to live in a world ruled by the ruthless serpent.

  Adelaide would not have to live in such a world.

  Hugh took a deep breath, and waited for the moment to strike.

  ###

  Gerald cut down another runedead, and the undead line collapsed.

  The creatures did not flee, but the sheer press of horsemen and the Aegonar infantry drove back the runedead. With their lines collapsed, the runedead could no longer fight effectively, and the living men made greater gains. Green lightning and golden fire flashed overhead, and Gerald realized that Lucan and Riothamus battled each other.

  This would not be over until they found Lucan.

  Gerald turned his horse, and saw the Roland banner lying upon the ground. A dead horse lay sprawled next to the banner, pinning a young knight in splendid steel armor, his face twisted with pain…

  “Father,” said Gerald.

  Lord Malden Roland looked up at him.

  “Gerald,” said Malden, his voice a thick rasp, blood dripping from his lips.

  Gerald opened his mouth, closed it again. He wanted to scream at his father, to throw his brother’s and his mother’s deaths into his face. He wanted to demand answers, to know why Malden had used the black daggers, why he had unleashed the runedead in a war against his own people.

  “It’s over,” Gerald heard himself say.

  “I know,” said Malden. “Gerald. I was a fool. I should have died in bed, not…not like this. I couldn’t stop myself. The black dagger…oh, but it was sweet. Made me an idiot. Such lies…and I listened to them all. This is my fault.”

  “That doesn’t make it better,” said Gerald.

  “No,” said Malden. “I have done great injustice, and here is one more injustice I have heaped upon you. You will have to make it better. You will have to be a better Lord of Knightcastle than I was.”

  Gerald said nothing.

  “Finish it,” said Malden. “I can’t…I can’t stop myself, not any more. If I get up, I’ll find my black dagger, kill people to heal myself.” He took a ragged breath. “I’d kill you to heal myself. I’ve ruined myself, Gerald.” He lifted his chin. “Finish it.”

  Gerald dropped from the saddle, sword in hand.

  “I’m sorry,” said Malden.

  Gerald did what had to be done, wiped his sword clean, and climbed back into his saddle. He found the knights and lords of Knightreach staring at him.

  “I suppose there is no question,” said Lord Tancred, “that you are the Lord of Knightcastle now.”

  “I suppose not,” said Gerald, taking a deep breath and blinking the tears from his eyes. Gods, but he wanted to find a quiet place to lie down. Or get very drunk. Instead, he said, “Continue the charge, and push the runedead from the field, but make for the gates of Knightcastle. The sooner we can claim the castle, the better. I don’t want the Aegonar getting ideas about extending their control this far south.”

  He was now truly the Lord of Knightcastle…which meant he had to start looking to the welfare of his lands and people.

  “As you say, Lord Gerald,” said Tancred.

  ###

  Lucan deflected another blast of golden fire and continued his attack, pouring destruction in the direction of the Guardian.

  But the battle was over around him.

  The runedead began to collapse. Most of Lord Malden’s household knights still fought, laying about with sword and black dagger, but they could not last much longer. And Lord Malden himself was likely dead, his position overrun by the charging knights.

  Lucan had no chance of retrieving Malden’s black dagger now.

  Which meant he would have to activate the remaining daggers himself.

  He extended his right hand and called the Glamdaigyr.

  Darkness swirled around his gloved fingers, and the massive black sword appeared in his hand, the sigils upon the blade flaring with emerald flame.

  He raised the sword and began casting spells as the horsemen closed on him.

  Chapter 27 - A Harvest of Souls

  Mazael reined up, Molly and Romaria at his side as the Aegonar drove against the runedead. Riothamus came up behind them, the staff of the Guardian shining with golden flame in his right hand.

  Lucan Mandragon stood twenty yards away, the Glamdaigyr held before him.

  When Mazael had last seen him, Lucan had been dead atop the highest tower of Swordgrim, the Great Rising unravelling around them. He looked little different, his pale face hard and cold, his black eyes unblinking.

  He did not appear to be breathing.

  “Lucan,” said Mazael.

  “Lord Mazael,” said Lucan. “You look older.”

  “You look like a dead man,” said Mazael.

  “Appropriate, given that I am one,” said Lucan. “And you should know.”

  “End this,” said Mazael. “This is all the Old Demon’s doing, not yours. He has you dancing on…”

  “Enough,” said Lucan. “None of this would have happened if not for the Demonsouled.” Something like emotion passed over his dead face. “Tymaen would not have died, if not for the Demonsouled.”

  “Now you are lying to yourself,” said Romaria. “You told me as much. Tymaen’s death was your fault. And I saw the Old Demon, Lucan. I saw his shadow wrapped around you, and I see it on you now. You’ve done nothing but advance his work. Put down the Glamdaigyr, and this can end.”

  Again the rage flashed over his features. “I will end the Demonsouled, I…”

  Molly sighed, rolled her eyes, and disappeared from the back of her horse in a swirl of darkness.

  ###

  Shadows swallowed the world, and when they cleared Molly Cravenlock found herself standing behind Lucan Mandragon.

  She did not hesitate, but drove her sword and dagger through his cloak and into his back, the tip of her sword bursting from his chest. Lucan staggered as the blue fire sank into his undead flesh.

  But he did not fall.

  Molly ripped her blades free as Lucan spun to face her, the Glamdaigyr swinging for her head. She had felt the icy, malevolent touch of that sword before, when she had faced Corvad in the throne chamber of Arylkrad, and she had no desire to feel it again.

  She stepped back into the shadows, disappearing before the blade found her head.

  ###

  Romaria raised her bow and loosed an arrow, the blue-blazing tip sinking into Lucan’s chest.

  Through the Sight she saw the necromantic force binding Lucan, saw the blue fire from her arrow and Molly’s blade attack the dark magic. But it wasn’t enough. The dark magic flickered, like a shield struck by a thrown rock, but did not break.

  It would take the Guardian’s magic or the blade of Lion itself to destroy Luca
n.

  Mazael spurred Gauntlet to a charge, and Lucan summoned power.

  ###

  Lucan could not face them all and win. Romaria and Molly were irritants, but the Guardian’s fire could destroy him, as could Mazael’s sword.

  And if they cut him down, Tymaen’s death would have been in vain.

  He flung out his hands as they charged, and a field of gray mist appeared around him, swirling like a storm.

  Shapes formed in the mist.

  ###

  Riothamus felt the surge of magic and began to disrupt it, but Lucan moved too quickly. The gray mist swirled, and four huge, translucent shapes appeared, creatures called up from the spirit world to fight at Lucan’s command.

  The beasts looked like huge, misshapen scorpions the size of small mammoths, their bodies covered in a gleaming carapace like polished black iron. Great leathery wings rested upon their backs, and barbed tails rose from their thoraxes, dripping with poison. Their pincers were as long as a knight’s lance, and they had the heads of human women, eyes alight with glee, mouths distorted by jagged black fangs.

  “Kill them!” shouted Lucan, and the spirit-beasts surged forward with terrible speed.

  ###

  Lucan didn’t hesitate, but cast another spell, his body shimmering with green light.

  His spell forced his undead flesh partway into the spirit world, transforming his physical body into a wraith of green light and smoke. In this form, he was far more vulnerable to magical attack, but he suspected the scorpions would keep Mazael and the Guardian busy for at least a few moments.

  He turned to the north and saw the field of crimson light shining upon the foreheads of the runedead, the magic visible to his altered eyes.

  And he saw the concentrations of necromancy within the black daggers as the household knights fought in a desperate last stand.