Soul of Skulls (Book 6)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  Power flooded into Riothamus, magic drawn from the bones of the earth beneath his boots, the wind moaning overhead, even the roots of the low bushes clinging to the rocky hills.

  He struck the butt of the staff against the earth, and three blue-white lightning bolts screamed from the sky and tore into the runedead with deafening thunderclaps. The blasts reduced a score of the animated corpses to smoking shreds and threw dozens more to the ground.

  But the rest kept charging, reaching with cold hands for the shield wall.

  "Hold fast!" roared Mazael, and the mob of corpses slammed into the waiting men.

  Molly disappeared in a flicker of darkness.

  ###

  The darkness vanished, and Molly Cravenlock reappeared on the flank of the charging runedead. The burning blades of the men in the shield wall rose and fell, destroying the creatures, but more pressed the attack.

  Molly felt herself grinning. The rage of her Demonsouled blood burned inside her, making her faster and stronger, giving her the power to walk instantly through the shadows. She had grown weary of killing...but she could embrace a fight against Lucan Mandragon's pet monsters without hesitation.

  She darted forward, her Demonsouled blood lending her strength and power. Her sword and dagger flashed, and two runedead toppled, blue fire quenching the green light in their eyes. She took down another and danced to the side, and some of the runedead turned to face her.

  Swords darted from the shield wall, cutting down the undead, and Molly jumped into the shadows.

  She reappeared on the far end of the shield wall, where Earnachar and his swordthains struggled. For all his windy speech, Earnachar was no coward. He stood in the shield wall with his men, bellowing exhortations as he laid about with a spiked steel mace. A runedead reached for him, and Earnachar struck with such force that the creature’s head exploded.

  The headless corpse slumped to the ground.

  Molly joined the fray, her blades a blur of blue fire. She dispatched one, two, three of them in as many heartbeats. More undead turned to face her, and Molly danced around their attacks. The creatures were fast and strong, and possessed the skills they had used in life…but they had been farmers and shepherds, not warriors. Had they been alive, Molly could have killed them with ease.

  Their animated corpses did not fare much better.

  A score of runedead attacked her, and Earnachar’s swordthains seized the moment and pushed forward. A shout rang out, and the waiting knights charged down the hillside, plunging into the mass of runedead. The sheer weight of the attack drove the undead back, forcing them towards the ruined village.

  Then green light flared through the runedead, and dozens of them transmuted into wraiths of mist and ghostly green light. They strode through the shield wall, through the bodies of the men, and into the mass of archers.

  ###

  Riothamus had seen the runedead do this before. They could turn themselves into wraiths, to stride unhindered through walls and doors. Then they would take physical form once more and rip apart their foes. While in wraith form, they could not be harmed, not even by Lion's fire.

  But Riothamus had access to weapons beyond mere steel.

  The staff’s magic flooded through him, old as the mountains and just as strong. The last wizards of the High Elderborn had imbued their powers into the Guardian's staff, to stand forever vigilant against the Demonsouled and the powers of dark magic, and the staff had been passed down from bearer to bearer over the millennia.

  And now Riothamus was the custodian of that power.

  He leveled the staff and cast a spell.

  Blasts of golden flame erupted from the staff and stabbed into the immaterial runedead. The bolts of flame reduced them to piles of smoking ash. A few of the runedead shifted into material form to avoid the golden fire, only to have the surrounding militia archers attack with their short swords.

  In a matter of moments the attack collapsed, the shield wall and the knights pushing back the runedead.

  “Advance!” Mazael’s voice roared over the melee, and he led the charge, striking right and left with Lion. His armor of golden dragon scales glittered in the sun, and with Lion in hand he looked invincible.

  ###

  The battle was over a few moments later.

  Mazael wiped sweat from his forehead. Hundreds of runedead lay carpeted upon the ground, their flesh and bone crumbling into black dust. No matter how long they had been dead, the runedead usually crumbled into dust after the spells binding them had been destroyed. A few runedead retreated towards the ruined village, but not many.

  Mazael had lost seven men in the fighting, and a score more wounded.

  The cost had been much lighter than he expected.

  “We should pursue them, hrould!” said Earnachar, face flushed with excitement and battle-rage. “Cut them down as they flee, just as mighty Tervingar pursued the sons of Greuthungar after…”

  “No,” said Mazael.

  Earnachar blinked in surprise. “What? Why not?”

  “They’re withdrawing in an organized fashion,” said Mazael. “Which means that mind in the village is controlling them. Pursue the runedead, and we’ll run right into a trap.”

  Earnachar grunted. “Then perhaps our work is done. If the undead priest in the ruins has no further runedead to command, it is no threat. Let it lurk in its lair and lord over dust and bone.”

  Arnulf barked a laugh. “Turning from a fight, Earnachar? I’d never thought I’d see the day.”

  Earnachar scowled and raised his mace an inch or so. “Earnachar son of Balnachar does not run from battle! But there is a difference between honorable battle and chasing a poisonous serpent into its hole.”

  “Exactly,” said Mazael, “but if our guess is right, this poisonous serpent is an undead San-keth cleric. It won’t stay in its hole. Sooner or later more runedead will pass Morsen, and it will take control of them. Or it will decide to attack your villages directly. No, best to deal with it now.” He raised his voice. “I will defeat with the undead priest myself. Guardian, Lady Molly, come with me.”

  “We shall accompany you, hrould,” said Earnachar, and Arnulf nodded in agreement.

  “No,” said Mazael. “I have Lion’s fire, and the Guardian has his magic. Together we can protect ourselves. The priest probably lurks underground, and if it unleashes its spells while the men are packed together, it would be a slaughter.” Besides, Mazael’s and Molly’s Demonsouled blood would heal any wounds or injuries. The other men were not so lucky. “Lady Romaria will remain in command here.”

  “No,” said Romaria, voice calm. “It will be dark underground, and my senses are sharper than yours. You will need my aid.”

  Mazael gritted his teeth. He could command her to remain behind, but he knew she would follow him up the hill anyway. And he could use her help. But he remembered that dark day she had followed him into the San-keth temple below Castle Cravenlock, the day the Old Demon had killed her.

  He did not want to lose her again.

  “Very well,” said Mazael. “Earnachar, Arnulf. You’re in command until I return. For the love of the gods, don’t kill each other.”

  Earnachar scowled. “It will take more than the likes Arnulf to slay Earnachar son of Balnachar!”

  Arnulf only snorted.

  Mazael turned and strode up the hill, the others following.

  Chapter 2 – Serpents of Bone

  Molly looked around the deserted village and shivered.

  “Gods,” she said. “I never thought I would return here.”

  The place was a wreck. Most of the damage from Corvad’s attack had never been repaired, and Molly saw further signs of mayhem. Some houses had burned to the ground, and Molly could guess what had happened. Generations of the dead lay beneath Morsen Village, and when the Great Rising came, the dead rose as runedead. The villagers tried to flee, only to be slaughtered.

  How many more villages were like this? How many hundreds?


  How many thousands?

  “The tunnel collapsed,” said Mazael, pointing with Lion.

  The gates, the surrounding wall, and most of the nearby buildings had collapsed in a pile of rubble. One of Corvad’s Ogrags had jumped from the wall here, Molly remembered, and the creature had fallen through the street to the concealed tunnel below.

  “The stairs in the church are still intact, I’d wager,” said Romaria, her bastard sword in hand. “We can use them to reach the temple and deal with Szegan.”

  Mazael glanced at her. “Do you think it’s Szegan? I doubt we left enough of a corpse to rise as a runedead.”

  Romaria shrugged. “If it’s not him, it could be another dead San-keth. Or one of the proselytes that possessed magical skill.”

  Mazael nodded. “Let’s go.”

  He and Romaria took the lead, Riothamus came after them, and Molly followed. She had come here with Corvad to steal a map from the San-keth temple’s library, a map that led to Arylkrad and the Glamdaigyr. And from there, Corvad promised, she would have revenge upon Mazael for murdering her lover Nicholas Tormaud. But that had all been a lie. Corvad had murdered Nicholas at the Old Demon’s urging. And Corvad would have used the Glamdaigyr to transform Molly into a Malrag Queen, a monster to spawn an army of Malrags.

  For a black moment Molly wondered if she should have died in Morsen Village. If she had, Mazael would have killed Corvad, and the Glamdaigyr would never have been found. And Lucan Mandragon could not have cast the Great Rising without that cursed sword, and so many people would still live…

  She saw Riothamus looking over his shoulder at her, and some of the dark thoughts fled. No, she was glad she had not died here.

  Because if she had, she never would have met him.

  “Something wrong?” murmured Riothamus as he joined her. His eyes never stopped scanning the ruins.

  Molly snorted. “We’re wandering an undead-haunted ruin in pursuit of a San-keth serpent priest. Whatever could be wrong?”

  Riothamus said nothing. Gods, but that man could be eloquent without saying anything.

  “Bad memories,” she said at last.

  Riothamus nodded. “I suspect I would feel the same, if I returned to the old Tervingi homeland along the Iron River. I grew up there, and nothing but Malrags and corpses dwell there now.”

  Molly had been a different woman when she was last here, a worse one. Or perhaps she was still the same woman, still a Demonsouled monster, and was only deluding herself.

  “You have changed,” said Riothamus, with his usual knack for guessing her thoughts.

  Molly lifted her eyebrows. “And just how do you know that?”

  “Because Earnachar is still alive.”

  She snorted a laugh, and Riothamus went rigid, his eyes darting back and forth.

  “Riothamus?” said Molly, and Mazael and Romaria stopped. “It’s the Sight, isn’t it?” The Sight, a peculiar mix of precognition and farseeing, came upon him from time to time.

  Riothamus blinked, shook himself, and nodded. “Aye. Lord Mazael!”

  “You’ve had a vision?” said Mazael.

  “Szegan, this old foe of yours,” said Riothamus. “He awaits you below. Or at least the runedead that used to be Szegan. And…something else. Something I could not quite see.”

  “What?” said Mazael.

  “Black skulls,” said Riothamus. “That was all I saw.”

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  “Malrags have black bones,” said Molly.

  “So they do,” said Mazael, voice hard, “but Lion’s fire burns Malrag bones to ash while they still live. Runedead Malrags will burn twice as fast.”

  He lifted Lion and led them to the damaged church in the village’s square.

  ###

  The stairs ended, and Mazael found himself in the long, broad corridor outside of the San-keth sanctuary.

  It looked just as he remembered. The same stone walls, done with the same bas-reliefs showing the San-keth torturing and killing humans and Elderborn. The doors to the sanctuary stood half-open, a pale crimson light leaking from inside.

  Romaria sniffed the air, frowning.

  “Anything?” said Mazael.

  Lion burned in his hand, its blue light throwing stark shadows. The sword always reacted that way to creatures of dark magic. Of course, this was a San-keth temple, and dark magic had been practiced here for centuries. Lion would have blazed even if no runedead lurked in the darkness.

  “Snakes and dead things,” said Romaria. “The dead things have been moving around.”

  “I noticed,” said Mazael. “Riothamus.”

  “There are active spells within the sanctuary,” said Riothamus, pointing his staff at the massive doors. “Wards, I think. Old ones, and some recently worked.”

  “Szegan?” said Mazael.

  Riothamus nodded.

  “Molly,” said Mazael. “Check the side rooms.”

  Molly vanished in a flicker of darkness, and Riothamus stared at the empty space where she had stood, his expression worried. The two were betrothed, and since Molly was the heir to Castle Cravenlock and the Grim Marches, did that make Riothamus her consort? He supposed it was traditional for a father to protect his daughter from suitors, but Riothamus probably needed more protection from Molly than the other way around.

  Then Molly reappeared in a swirl of shadows.

  “The side rooms are empty,” she said. “Both the high priest’s rooms and the library.”

  “Good,” said Mazael. He took a deep breath. “Let’s settle this.”

  He pushed open the doors and strode into the sanctuary, Lion raised.

  A massive bronze idol of Sepharivaim reared over the bloodstained altar, the great serpent’s metal eyes seeming to watch him. Mazael’s boots clicked against the gleaming floor of crimson granite, a red glow seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere.

  The thing that had once been Szegan, the high priest of the temple, stood below the altar.

  Most San-keth were fifteen feet long, with wedge-shaped heads the size of a human child's. Mazael had beheaded Szegan, and now the dead San-keth cleric’s head rested atop that of an animated human skeleton, his ragged spine entangled with the skeleton’s ribs and vertebrae. A sigil of green fire blazed above Szegan’s dead eyes, and his leathery skin hung in strips from his skull and neck.

  “Gods,” muttered Molly. “He died badly and came back worse.”

  The undead creature jerked forward, head turning back and forth.

  “You’ve come!” hissed Szegan, his voice the same hissing croak it had been in life. “I saw it, yes. The woman of wolves and the lord of the demon children. Yes, I saw that you would come.”

  “Did you?” said Mazael. “If you foresaw our coming, then you should have fled when you still had the chance.”

  “Why?” said Szegan, and the runedead loosed a long, demented giggle. “You already slew me. Can you slay me again? How many times can a child of Sepharivaim die?”

  “You’re about to find out,” said Mazael. “Why did you send your runedead to attack the nearby villages?”

  “I don’t remember,” said Szegan. “Or Szegan would have known, and I am only his shadow.”

  Mazael took another step closer to Szegan, the others fanning out around him. The awakened runedead he had encountered, the ones able to think and speak, had been raving mad. It seemed Szegan was no exception.

  “They were faithless,” said Szegan. “They did not follow the path of the true god, the path of great Sepharivaim. Glory to mighty Sepharivaim! For the San-keth are his true servants, and when we free him from his long imprisonment, the San-keth shall be the lords of the earth! Tremble and bow before us, human worms, while you still…”

  Molly made a disgusted sound. “I’ve heard enough of this.” She lifted her swords…

  “Wait,” said Mazael, taking another step closer. Szegan had still made no move to defend himself. Mazael suspected that if he kept Szegan tal
king, the mad runedead might not realize the danger until it was too late. “Sepharivaim will return, you say?”

  “I have seen it,” murmured Szegan, his voice rasping. “While I lived I was anchored in time, and could only see the single direction of its endless river. But now I live again in death unending, and I see the eternal kingdoms of the spirit realm. Great Sepharivaim shall be free again. It is unavoidable.”

  Then the human bones rippled, tapping against each other with a macabre rhythm, and Szegan’s green-glowing eyes fixed upon Mazael.

  “But you,” hissed the serpent, “will not be there to see it! Oh, not you, my slayer, my murderer! Not you.”

  “Because,” said Mazael, inching closer. “You’ll kill me, I assume?”

  “Perhaps,” said Szegan. “Or perhaps not. In life I tried to slay you, and you overpowered me. Why should death be any different? But the things, my lord of demons, the terrible things I see awaiting you…”

  “Yes,” said Mazael. “Tell me all about it.”

  “I see a pillar of fire,” whispered Szegan, “rising from the ruin of a black temple.”

  Mazael kept his face calm, but the San-keth’s words alarmed him. He had seen such a place in his dreams, the place his father claimed had been the birthplace of the Demonsouled.

  “And I see you, prince of demons, eldest child of the eldest devil,” crooned Szegan, “with two swords piercing your flesh. I see a man in golden armor, raising an army against a false prince. And I see serpents rising from the depths of the sea, spreading across the land to burn and destroy.”

  His glowing eyes shifted to Romaria, and Mazael moved closer. Another few steps and he could drive Lion through the creature’s skull.

  “And you, lady of wolves,” said Szegan. “Would you like to know your fate?”

  “If I cross your palm with silver, will you tell me?” said Romaria. “If the San-keth had palms, of course.”

  Molly snickered.

  “I see you entangled in the roots of a tree,” said Szegan. “I see your tainted blood soaking into the earth.” His voice rose to a shriek. “Beware the skull!”