As if power and strength filled her.
She gave a sharp nod and cast aside her cloak.
Underneath she wore the loose black clothing and dark leather armor of the Skulls, the city of Barellion’s feared assassins’ brotherhood. She had trained every day for years under the Skulls' cruel masters, both before and after her grandfather had found her. She knew how to kill without noise, without mercy. But she had left that behind when she met Nicholas, left it behind forever.
Until Mazael killed Nicholas.
Once more fury burned through her. And this time Molly seized it, let the dark power of it fill her. She was an assassin of the Skulls, trained in death and stealth.
And she was Demonsouled...and no one could stand before her.
She took a step forward, and called forth the burning darkness within her.
Shadows swallowed her, and the world vanished.
And when the darkness retreated, she found herself standing on the curtain wall. The battle raged around her, knights and armsmen struggling against the zuvembies. They were winning – the fire from Mazael’s sword tore through the zuvembies. A pity, that. Normal steel could not harm the zuvembies, and if not for Mazael's sword, Corvad's walking corpses would have butchered Mazael’s men.
She saw Mazael Cravenlock in the thick of melee and a spike of anger burned in her heart, so fierce that she wanted to scream. He would pay for what he did to her, to Nicholas. She wanted to walk the shadows to his side and bury her sword in his back. But her grandfather had warned that she could not take Mazael in a straight fight.
Especially with that blue-eyed woman guarding his side.
The nearby armsmen looked at her in surprise, and Molly reached for the dark power within her. Again she walked the shadows, reappearing in the courtyard below the ruined tower. Here Mazael's men fought against the Malrags assaulting the barricade, and as on the walls, Mazael's men had the advantage.
A pair of armsmen in the black and silver tabards of the House of Cravenlock saw her appear.
“Foes within the walls!” they shouted, racing at her with swords drawn.
Damnation.
Molly drew her sword, the slender blade gleaming. The armsmen rushed at her, shields out, longswords drawn back for a strike. At the last moment, Molly drew on her power, and strode into the shadows. She reappeared behind the armsmen and spun, Demonsouled power filling her arms and legs with strength. Her boot caught the first armsman behind the knee, and he fell with a clang of armor, his head bouncing off the ground. The second recovered and lunged at her. But with the power filling her, he seemed slow, so terribly slow, and Molly sidestepped, her fist punching out. The pommel of her sword smashed into the man's jaw, and he fell, stunned.
Shouts rang out from the wall, and Molly saw some of the armsmen staring at her, while the archers turned, lifting their bows. The blue-eyed woman's gaze fixed on Molly, and her hands blurred as she raised her bow and notched an arrow.
Molly walked the shadows to the other side of the courtyard. And not a moment too soon – the blue-eyed woman's arrow shattered against the very spot Molly had been standing. The woman pivoted, bow turning towards Molly's direction.
It was time to go. But first Molly needed Mazael's baggage, his supplies. Where would he have hidden them? Someplace safe, someplace secure...
In the ruined tower.
Molly strode the shadows an instant before the next arrow drove into the ground.
She reappeared inside the ruined tower, balanced on a pile of eroded rubble. Pack horses stood within the tower's walls, laden with sacks and bags. Wounded men lay upon blankets, but scrambled to their feet when they saw her, reaching for their weapons. A woman stood over the wounded, a baby in her arms. She had green eyes and black hair. Rachel Roland, Mazael's sister. Half-sister, anyway.
Molly's grandfather had mentioned her.
“Who are you?” said Rachel.
Molly looked around.
There. Two pack horses. A cot slung between them.
A dark, misshapen shape resting upon the cot.
The wounded men hobbled towards her, weapons in hand.
“Get out of my way,” said Molly, “or die. I don't care which.” Corvad would have simply slaughtered them all, the woman and the infant included. But Molly did not kill, unless necessary.
Save for Mazael Cravenlock.
“What do you want?” said Rachel.
“Lucan Mandragon,” said Molly. “He's coming with me.”
“No,” said Rachel.
Molly looked at her and grinned. “Do you really think you can stop me? And do you really want to see your brother's men, your husband's men, die to save one wretched wizard? One who turned himself into a monster?”
Doubt flickered across Rachel’s face. Molly heard noise from the courtyard, shouts and clattering boots. Mazael and his woman had sent men to stop her. She was out of time.
“Last chance,” said Molly. “Get out of my way. Or die in front of your son.”
Rachel scowled, but sidestepped. The wounded men hesitated, and then did the same.
“Wise,” said Molly, and walked to the cot.
She looked upon Lucan Mandragon, the Dragon's Shadow, the youngest son of Lord Richard Mandragon the Dragonslayer.
He looked terrible.
In fact, he didn't even look human any more, with his gray skin, his deformed and bulging limbs, the tumors dotting his face and chest. His breath came hard and shallow, and crimson light flickered beneath his eyelids.
He looked rather like one of Corvad's infused Malrags.
Molly's grandfather had told her that Lucan tried to wield Demonsouled power, only to have that power devour him. The fool hadn't realized that Demonsouled power destroyed all who wielded it.
As Molly herself knew, only too well.
Men raced into the ruined tower, swords drawn.
“Lady Rachel,” said Molly. “Tell your brother. Tell him that I'm going to kill him for what he has done.”
Burning power welled up within Molly, and she put her hand on Lucan's feverish shoulder and walked into the shadows.
She reappeared outside the castle wall, among Corvad's Malrags. Lucan fell at her feet with a thump, still unconscious. Dizziness washed through Molly, and she took a moment to catch her balance. Walking herself through the shadows was not hard. Taking someone with her took a great deal of strength.
The Malrags edged closer, and Molly made herself stand upright. Any sign of weakness, she knew, and the Malrags would turn on her.
Corvad approached. “You've returned, sister?”
And she knew what Corvad might do if she showed weakness to him.
“Plainly,” said Molly. She nudged Lucan with the toe of her boot. “Here’s what you desired, brother. Though why you want such a twisted creature, I have no idea.”
He smiled. “Twisted? Yes. That is precisely why I want him.” He pointed. “You two. Carry him. And allow no harm to come to him. I need him alive, if only for a little while.”
Two of the infused Malrags obeyed, scooping up Lucan like a sack of grain.
“Come,” said Corvad. “We have what we need. The sooner we are gone from here, the better.”
“What of the Malrags?” said Molly.
Corvad glanced at the ruined castle. “Easily replaced.”
Molly nodded, taking one last look at the castle. At the blue flame of Mazael Cravenlock's sword. She yearned to walk the shadows to the wall and kill him.
But she was not yet ready.
Mazael would pay, though. He would pay for everything he done, for the pain her mother had endured, for the pain she had endured.
For what he had done to Nicholas.
Once she was ready.
Molly turned and followed Corvad to the north.
Chapter 3 - Wolf Hunt
They were winning.
Mazael fought alongside the others, cutting down every zuvembie that scaled the wall. Against men with weapons of normal s
teel, the zuvembies were deadly. But facing men wielding blades sheathed in Lion's fire, the zuvembies were not so formidable. The archers loosed flight after flight of arrows, killing and wounding the Malrags, and the men in the courtyard made short work of any that broke inside.
Then the last of the zuvembies fell, and the Malrags fled.
Mazael blinked, breathing hard, sweat tricking down his face and beneath his armor. The surviving Malrags fled north, vanishing into the trees. Corvad had disappeared as well, along with his reserve of deformed Malrags.
The battle was over.
Yet that didn't explain who that strange woman had been, with her ability to appear and disappear in a swirl of darkness.
“Should we pursue?” said Gerald.
Mazael hesitated. In the open, on the plains of the Grim Marches, they could have ridden down the remnants of Corvad's band. But beneath the massive trees of the Great Southern Forest... “No. Too risky. He might have more Malrags waiting. We could pursue and find ourselves surrounded.”
“I sense no other Malrags nearby, my lords,” said Circan, holding his crystal. “And the survivors are all running north.”
“Running,” said Gerald. “Why?”
“We held against them,” said Circan.
“No,” said Romaria. “That's not it. That woman in black. The Malrags and the zuvembies were only a distraction.”
“To distract us from what?” said Mazael.
“From whatever that woman wanted,” said Romaria.
“Lord Mazael!” One of the wounded men hobbled into the courtyard, leaning on a crutch.
“What is it?” said Mazael.
“You should come,” said the wounded man. “Someone got into the tower...”
“Rachel,” said Gerald.
Mazael hurried down the worn stone steps, Gerald and Romaria following, and went to the ruined tower. A quick glance told him that all the wounded were still alive, and none of the supplies had been taken. Rachel stood with Aldane in her arms, her face tight.
She ran to Gerald as soon as she saw him.
“What happened?” said Mazael.
“I don't know,” said Rachel. “There was this strange woman. She took Lucan and disappeared.”
“Lucan?” said Mazael, looking at the two horses bearing Lucan's cot.
The cot was empty.
“Why the devil would she take Lucan?” said Mazael. Whatever Malavost had done to Lucan had left him a twisted, ruined shell. Mazael doubted that Lucan would live, let alone ever wake up. Why would Corvad and the woman in black take him?
“Mazael,” said Rachel. “There's something else.” She took a deep breath. “She says she's going to kill you. To make you pay for something you did to her.”
“Why?” said Mazael. “I've never seen her before. What could I have possibly done to her?”
Gerald shrugged. “You've killed a lot of men, Mazael. Perhaps she wants vengeance for one of them.”
“Then why not simply stab me in the back during the battle?” said Mazael. “Why take Lucan and leave a threat?”
“I don't know,” said Romaria. “But I'm going to find out. I'm going to follow the Malrags.”
“That's risky,” said Mazael.
She gave him a tight grin. “Of course it is. But I have advantages.”
Mazael gave a reluctant nod. He did not want to see her go into the forest alone. He had seen her struck down once before, and had no wish to ever see it again. But if anyone could follow Corvad and his band unnoticed through the forest, it was Romaria Greenshield.
“Go,” said Mazael. “We'll wait here until you return.”
“I'll be back by sundown,” said Romaria.
She kissed him and left.
“What do we do until then?” said Gerald.
“See to the wounded,” said Mazael. “Strengthen the barricade at the gate. If Corvad and his Malrags come back, I want to be ready.”
He watched Romaria stride across the courtyard. Ever since he had met her, he had known nothing but strife and battle. First against his brother and the San-keth, then against Amalric Galbraith and the Dominiars, then against Ultorin and his Malrag horde, and the neverending struggle against his Demonsouled nature, his desire to conquer and destroy. He wanted to live in peace with Romaria, with his lands prosperous and free of war.
Would he ever have that chance?
###
Romaria walked from the ruined castle, bow slung over her shoulder, bastard sword in its scabbard against her back. She heard the men working, axes biting into wood, knights and armsmen cleaning and repairing arms and armor. She smelled blood in the air, both human and Malrag.
Along with the smell of corruption that came from the deformed Malrags. There was something wrong with those Malrags, something darker.
They smelled, in fact, rather like Lucan Mandragon.
She walked past the dead Malrags and into the woods, her boots making no sound against the tangled ground.
Her father had been Athaelin, the Greenshield, Champion of Deepforest Keep and Defender of the Mountain. Her mother had been Ardanna, the High Druid of the Elderborn tribes. Romaria was a half-breed, split between the human half of her soul and the earth magic of the Elderborn half. Most half-breeds went mad, warped into wild beasts by the Elderborn power of their souls.
But not Romaria. All her life she had struggled against the beast within, against the Elderborn magic consuming her. But at last she had realized that the beast was part of her. And now the two halves of her spirit existed in balance.
Romaria took another step, reached for the power within herself, and changed.
One moment she wore the form of a human woman. Her flesh flowed, her bones reshaping, her muscles thickening, her limbs growing longer and stronger. The next moment she was a great black wolf, larger than any normal wolf, with gleaming white fangs and icy blue eyes. Her senses were already keen, but in wolf form, they became far sharper, especially her senses of hearing and smell. She heard the labors of the men in the castle, the groan of the ancient trees, the splash of the water in the creek. She smelled the flowers of the forest, the moss growing on the ancient stones of the castle, the sweat and blood from the battle.
The vile stink of the Malrags, fleeing north.
The Demonsouled power, like tainted lightning, in the blood of Corvad and the woman in black.
And the corrupting stink surrounding Lucan, like the taint of the Demonsouled, only much worse.
Romaria growled. Mazael should have killed Lucan. Whatever Lucan had become, whatever he had done to himself, he had become something monstrous.
She shook the thought from her mind and raced forward, paws finding easy purchase on the root-strewn ground. The combined stench of the Malrags, the Demonsouled, and Lucan led to the north. Romaria would have no problem finding them.
And once she found them...well, she would do as she thought best.
###
“How much farther?” demanded Corvad.
One of the three Malrag warlocks turned and spoke in its growling, rasping tongue. Molly did not know the language, and had no desire to learn it, though her grandfather spoke it fluently. Yet even as the creature spoke, the meaning of its words echoed inside her skull.
-Not far, great one. The way cannot be opened so close to shed blood. Else it would collapse and be useless-
“That's not what I asked,” said Corvad. “How much farther?”
-A mile. Perhaps less-
“Why such haste, brother?” said Molly. “You have what you wanted.” She glanced at the Malrags carrying Lucan slumped between them.
“Because,” said Corvad, “the sooner we are gone from here, the better. Mazael will come after us...and I am not ready for that. Not yet.”
Molly smirked. “And what if he does catch up to us?”
The expression on Corvad’s face made her take a step back and reach for her sword.
“If he catches up to us,” hissed Corvad, “then I wil
l kill him. I will make him suffer.”
Molly nodded. Corvad hated Mazael Cravenlock as much as she did. Perhaps even more.
Or, more likely, he simply wanted to impress their grandfather.
They continued north, flanked by the remaining Malrags.
###
Romaria circled around a tree, and the Malrags came into sight.
There were still perhaps two hundred of the creatures. Some of them were normal Malrags, while the throbbing crimson veins marked the others. At the head of the Malrags she spotted Corvad and the woman in black. This close, she saw the family resemblance, and realized they were brother and sister. Besides them walked three Malrag shamans. Or, at least, the creatures had once been Malrag shamans. Now a web of pulsing crimson veins covered their gray skins, and their third eyes flickered with fiery light.
Two of the Malrags carried Lucan Mandragon, misshapen limbs dangling limp.
Romaria's fur rose as the smells, a mixture of the Malrags' vileness and Lucan's corrupted blood, filled her nostrils. The beast within her wanted to attack and destroy the vile things. But the beast co-existed with her rational mind, and her rational mind counseled caution. Corvad's actions made no sense. Why kidnap Lucan? Did he need Lucan for some purpose?
Whatever it was, Romaria couldn't image.
Romaria crept around another tree, and found herself face to face with two of the deformed Malrags.
###
The warlocks stopped.
-Here, great one. We can open the way from here-
“Then do it already,” said Corvad.
-As you wish, great one-
The Malrag warlocks lifted their clawed hands, whispering in their grotesque language. Emerald light flared around their fingers, and Molly felt the surge of magical power.
A cold wind blew through the trees, rustling the branches.
Molly watched the warlocks cast their spell for a moment, then glanced back at the trees.
Did she see a flicker of motion among the trunks?
She frowned, hand dropping to her sword hilt.
Soul of Dragons Page 3
