Szegan's coils shifted against his carrier, forked tongue licking at the air.
“It is of no concern,” he said, his voice a hissing croak.
“But honored Szegan!” said Gaith, falling to his knees. “The men of Morsen shall be slain! And then the victors, whether Mazael or the Malrags, shall discover this holy place and lay it waste. Please, save your loyal servants, use...”
“Silence!” said Szegan. “Your villagers are chattels of great Sepharivaim, and your lives are mine to spend as I see fit! Besides,” he said, some of his rage subsiding, “facing both Mazael and the Malrags at once would be great folly. We shall wait until one or the other is victorious and weakened. Then I shall unleash my arts, my undead servants, and my calibah, and destroy the invaders.”
“But our homes,” said Gaith. “They shall be destroyed. And many men and women of Morsen shall be slain.”
“That is of no importance,” said Szegan. “Your homes can be rebuilt. And your kin may be slain, but you humans breed quickly. This temple must be kept hidden. So have the archpriests of the San-keth declared. Once the battle above is over, we shall kill the surviving victors. No witnesses must be left.”
Dismay flashed across Gaith's face, but he bowed his head. “It shall be as you command, honored Szegan.”
“Prepare the calibah,” said Szegan, his carrier gesturing with a skeletal hand. “Gather the proselytes who are fit to fight, and equip them with poisoned daggers. Once the battle is over we shall fall upon the victors like fangs in the darkness. And perhaps Sepharivaim will deliver Mazael himself into my grasp. He is an enemy of the San-keth, and his death would earn me great standing with the archpriests of Karag Tormeth.”
Mazael's hand tightened around Lion's hilt.
Szegan wanted Mazael? Well, the San-keth cleric would get his wish. There were four calibah, along with Gaith and Szegan, and Mazael could take them all. He would have to kill Szegan first, preferably before the cleric managed to work a spell...
One of the calibah turned, black-slit eyes widening as he saw Mazael
“Damn,” muttered Mazael.
“Master!” shrieked the calibah, yanking a dagger from his belt. “We are discovered.”
Mazael stepped in the sanctuary, drawing Lion from his belt. The blade erupted with blue flame, throwing back the dim red light. Gaith sputtered in alarm and stepped behind the calibah, drawing his sword, while the changelings lifted poisoned daggers.
Szegan's head swiveled to face Mazael, tongue lashing at the air.
“Mazael Cravenlock,” said Szegan. “Come face your doom.”
“Are you so certain of that?” said Mazael, raising Lion. He needed to take down Szegan, but the calibah and Gaith were in the way. “Skhath and Straganis both tried to slay me, and are both dead.”
“Skhath and Straganis were fools,” said Szegan, the skeletal hands of his carrier coming up, “and I am not. Kill him! Kill him for the glory of Sepharivaim!”
The calibah rushed forward, daggers raised, and Szegan began to cast a spell.
###
Molly walked down the corridor, sword in hand.
The temple had been built on a similar plan to the one below Castle Cravenlock, though on a smaller scale. The sanctuary waited at the end of this corridor. Rooms lined either side of the corridor, housing the temple's calibah and San-keth priests. The temple's high priest would have his rooms here, alongside the library.
Molly opened the door to the high priest’s chamber. It was bare of furniture, save for a bronze brazier, and a bed of sand in the corner. No doubt the creature curled up there to sleep. There was no sign of any San-keth, which was disappointing. Molly found them just as loathsome as Malrags, and would have enjoyed killing the high priest.
She pushed open a door in the far wall and found herself in the temple's library. Shelves lined either wall, stuffed with books and scrolls. A writing desk rested against the far wall, next to a wooden podium.
An open map lay upon the podium.
Molly crossed to the podium and smiled.
The map was a work of art, the mountains and the forests and the plains done in vivid color, the annotations in the script of Old Dracaryl. It showed the Grim Marches and the surrounding lands. Yet it was not a map of the Grim Marches, but of Dracaryl itself, with every town and castle marked.
Including the location of Arylkrad.
Molly rolled up the map and took it with her.
###
Mazael backed away, whipping Lion in wide arcs to keep the calibah at bay. He dared not let the changelings surround him. If even one of them landed a blow, the poison would slow and weaken him. Then the others could overwhelm him.
Gaith ducked behind the altar. He had gotten a crossbow from somewhere, and jammed a quarrel into the weapon, winding back the crank.
Mazael wheeled, Lion's blade ripping open a calibah's belly. The changeling fell to his knees with a shriek, clutching at his ruined innards. The other calibah hissed in fury and redoubled their attack, driving Mazael across the sanctuary. His sword gave him a longer reach, but he dared not close long enough to finish any of the calibah.
Then Szegan cast his spell.
The skeletal carrier thrust out its hand, and a blast of psychokinetic force slammed into Mazael's chest with the power of a hammer blow. He struck the floor with a clatter of armor, stunned.
The calibah rushed forward, and Gaith raised his crossbow.
###
Romaria crept down the temple's central corridor, bow in hand.
Her senses in human form were not as keen as those of the great wolf, but she could smell Molly's Demonsouled blood well enough, even over the dusty scent of the San-keth. The trail went to an open door on the left wall. Romaria hesitated. Molly might use her power to reappear in the church proper, or even on the steps leading back up to the surface.
Or she might walk through that door.
Right into Romaria's line of sight.
The opportunity was too good to pass up. Romaria stood in front of the door, raised her bow, and drew back the arrow.
###
Molly slid the map into her belt, sword still in hand. She had no fear of damaging the scroll – to judge from its faint tingle against her skin, it had been warded with a spell of preservation. So long as the spell held, the map would outlast the temple itself.
She stepped back into the high priest's chamber and stopped.
The door stood open. She had left it open, of course, to facilitate her escape from the temple. Yet it set off all kinds of warning bells inside her head. It was the perfect place for an ambush. If Molly had been hunting someone, she would have used the door for a surprise attack.
And Romaria was hunting her.
Molly took a cautious step forward.
She just had time to glimpse Romaria, and hear the twang of a bowstring.
###
Gaith lifted the crossbow, and Mazael saw his chance.
He rolled to the side, and Gaith twisted, following the movement. The crossbow jolted in his hands, and the quarrel buried itself in the side of one of the calibah. The changeling shrieked in sudden pain, and Mazael rolled to his knees and opened the half-breed's throat with Lion's point.
“Fool!” said Szegan, beginning another spell.
Szegan was not powerful – Lucan or Malavost could have killed Mazael where he stood. Yet his psychokinetic blasts still struck hard. If he stunned Mazael long enough for the remaining calibah to swarm him...
###
Molly dodged, flinging herself into the shadows.
But not fast enough.
Romaria's arrow clipped her left shoulder, opening a deep gash in her flesh. The force of the blow broke Molly's concentration, breaking her grip upon the shadows, and she collapsed to the floor in an inelegant heap.
Romaria's hand shot to her quiver.
Molly gritted her teeth and fell into the shadows.
She reappeared in the corridor, behind Romaria, sword in
hand. Already her Demonsouled nature began healing the gash in her shoulder, the wound shrinking, the blood flow dwindling. Yet her arm hurt damnably, and had Molly not dodged, the arrow would have plunged right through her heart.
Not even her Demonsouled essence could heal that.
Best to end the fight quickly.
Molly lunged at Romaria, sword blurring.
Romaria twisted, spinning her bow like a staff, knocking aside Molly's thrust. She reached over her shoulder, drawing her bastard sword, and came at Molly. Molly backed into the corridor, sword flying as she ducked and blocked Romaria's attacks. Molly launched strikes of her own, sword darting and stabbing for Romaria's face, but the older woman blocked every one of them.
They broke apart and began to circle each other...
“You're very good,” said Molly.
“So are you,” said Romaria.
Molly shook her head. “Why?”
“Why what?” said Romaria.
“Why do you love him?” said Molly. “He's a monster. As all Demonsouled are. Why don't you simply kill him and have done with it?”
Romaria shrugged. “Why did you love Nicholas?”
Again the black rage flooded through Molly.
“I'll make Mazael suffer,” she spat, “the way I have suffered!”
She stepped into the shadows. But only a short distance, a flicker, enough to close with Romaria. Romaria's blue eyes widened, and she got her sword up in time to block Molly's thrust. But Molly's free hand lashed out, driving into Romaria's gut. Romaria staggered, the breath exploding from her mouth, and Molly sidestepped, sweeping the older woman’s legs out from underneath her.
Romaria landed on her back, hard.
Molly spun her sword, drawing the blade back for a final stab.
Perhaps Romaria had not been as worthy as she thought, and her death would pour pain upon Mazael...
Romaria changed.
One moment she was a human woman, lying upon the floor. The next a great black wolf crouched in her place. The wolf sprang up, paws slamming into Molly's shoulders. Molly struck the floor with a bone-rattling thud, the wolf's paws and superior strength pinning her in place.
The wolf's jaws yawned wide, ivory fangs reaching for Molly's throat.
Molly seized her powers and fell into the shadows.
She reappeared near the double doors leading to the temple's sanctuary, the wolf forty feet further down the gloomy corridor. Romaria was too fast, too strong, and too skilled. Molly doubted she could take Romaria in a straight fight.
Besides, Molly had what she had come here to take. Fighting Romaria was pointless. Better to leave with the map and return to Corvad. Then Corvad could travel to Arylkrad, and Molly could unleash her vengeance upon Mazael.
Molly gathered the dark fire within her, preparing to walk the shadows to the stairs, and then to the church itself.
She heard Mazael Cravenlock shouting through the sanctuary's double doors.
###
Green fire blazed around Szegan's skeletal hands, and a wave of cold slammed into Mazael, ghostly flame flickering down his limbs. Some sort of necromantic spell, he thought, trying to leech away his life. But the spell had not reckoned with his Demonsouled nature, and waves of strength flowed into him, fighting against the spell's enervating power.
The remaining two calibah lunged for him, daggers raised.
Mazael threw himself at them. One of the daggers crunched into his side, biting into his flesh, but Mazael plunged Lion into the calibah's throat. The changeling fell dead, and Mazael spun to face the final calibah. The creature's dagger raked against his jaw, drawing blood, but Mazael rammed Lion into the calibah's chest, the blade finding its heart.
The changeling went limp, and Mazael kicked it off his sword.
Waves of cold spread from his wounds, and his limbs trembled. The calibah poison was taking effect. It would not last long, but it would weaken him, and he had to take down Szegan before the San-keth cleric killed him.
He raced at Szegan, Lion raised.
Gaith charged, sword in hand. Mazael parried the swing, sidestepped, and brought Lion around in a backhand for Gaith's neck. Or he would have, if his hands had not been shaking. Gaith's sword dug into Mazael's left leg, drawing fresh blood. Mazael bellowed and shoved forward, the sword digging deeper into his leg, and bashed Gaith in the nose with Lion's pommel. The old knight stumbled, and this time Lion found his throat.
Gaith fell, dying, and Mazael faced Szegan.
The San-keth backed away, the bones of his carrier clacking. Mazael stalked after him, trying to run despite the agony in his left leg. He knew the San-keth well enough to recognize the fear in the jerky movements of Szegan's head, the frantic flickering of the tongue.
“Well?” said Mazael. “You wanted Sepharivaim to deliver me to you? Here I am.”
“Impossible,” said Szegan. “The poison should have slain you.”
“It didn't,” said Mazael, and he charged forward, even as Szegan lifted skeletal hands filled with green fire...
Darkness swirled, and Molly appeared atop the altar, sword in hand, blood dripping down her left arm.
Mazael froze, as did Szegan.
Mazael felt Molly's cold gray eyes upon him. She looked a great deal like him – the same shape of the eyes, the same line of the jaw. And the same fury that filled her.
Then she disappeared in a column of darkness.
She reappeared behind Szegan, sword flashing. Blood splashed over the sword, and Szegan screamed. His carrier went into a mad dance, and then Szegan collapsed to the floor, his coils limp. The headless skeleton rattled on for a few more steps, and then broke apart.
Molly stared at Mazael, her eyes burning with rage.
“Hello,” she spat, “father.”
Mazael lifted Lion.
“You're here to kill me, I suppose,” said Mazael.
Molly said nothing.
“I didn't kill Nicholas Tormaud,” said Mazael.
Molly shivered in fury. The double doors boomed open, and Romaria ran into the sanctuary, composite bow in hand. Molly took two quick steps to the left, placing Mazael between her and Romaria.
“You did murder Nicholas,” said Molly, voice quiet, but still tight with rage. “You've tormented me all my life. You sired me on my mother and abandoned us. You let the Skulls raise us, turn us into weapons. And when I escaped all that, when I found Nicholas, you murdered him.”
“I did forget your mother,” said Mazael. “I was young and foolish, and I forgot her. I left you to the tender mercies of whoever raised you. I did these things, and I am sorry for them.” He took a deep breath. “But I swear to you, I did not kill Nicholas Tormaud.”
“Lies,” said Molly. “I know what you are, father. You're a monster, like me. I thought I could escape that, I thought I could be happy, but I could not. I am a monster, and so are you.” She took another step to the left, no doubt trying to keep Mazael between her and Romaria. “And you'll pay for what you've done to me. You'll pay for what you did to Nicholas.”
“Not if I put an arrow in you first,” said Romaria.
Molly laughed. “I can't fight both of you together. But I don't need to, once Corvad has what he wants. Then I will come for you. You'll see the Grim Marches burn. You'll watch everyone you love die. You'll suffer as I have suffered, as you have made me suffer. And then, and only then, will I kill you.” Her eyes glinted like sword blades. “Father.”
She vanished in a flicker of shadow.
###
A walk through the shadows to the temple stairs, and then another to the church's dome.
Molly took a quick look over the village and saw that the battle was over. Most of Morsen lay in ruin, but Mazael's men had held. She saw the remnants of Corvad's Malrags streaming down the hill, saw the fires burning on the hillside. Apparently Mazael's wizard had possessed the strength for a few more explosions.
Molly walked the shadows to the rampart, and then down to the
valley, reappearing next to Corvad. Her brother scowled at the village, hands closed into fists. The failure of his attack would not have pleased him, even if it had been intended as a distraction.
“Sister,” he said, glaring. “Were you successful?”
Molly gave him a tight smile. “I know where Arylkrad is.”
Corvad's answering smile was wolfish. He liked killing things, after all. And if their grandfather had told the truth, the thing buried in Arylkrad's ruins would allow Corvad to kill tens of thousands.
“Good,” said Corvad. “We can begin at last.”
Chapter 19 – The Cleric of Sepharivaim
Mazael lowered his sword with a curse.
“Are you injured?” said Romaria, hurrying to his side.
“Aye,” said Mazael. “But it will pass.” Already he felt the wounds healing, the poison fading from his blood. Soon it would be as if he had never been wounded, thanks to his Demonsouled blood.
The same Demonsouled blood that flowed through Molly's veins.
His daughter.
Mazael's hand tightened against Lion's hilt. The hatred in her eyes had been more intense than anything he had seen. She wanted him dead, badly. He had never known of her existence, but he understood if she hated him for abandoning her.
Because he had abandoned her. Unknowingly or not, he had abandoned both her and Corvad, left them to the tender mercies of teachers who twisted them into monsters. But Molly didn't hate him for that. She hated him for the death of Nicholas Tormaud.
A man that Mazael had not killed.
Why the devil did she think Mazael had killed him?
“We should get back to the village,” said Romaria. “There are stairs leading to the church. The men will need your aid.”
“They will,” said Mazael, “but Corvad has what he wanted. Did you see that scroll in Molly's belt?”
“It looked like a map,” said Romaria.
“That was what Corvad was after,” said Mazael. “Now that he has it, he'll retreat through his mistgate.” He scowled. “And we'll have to chase him across the Grim Marches. If we knew where he was going, we could catch him, but...”
Soul of Dragons Page 18
