Soul of Skulls (Book 6)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  But he suspected it was far too late for that.

  "You are sincere," said the Lady.

  "Yes," said Riothamus. "There has been too much death already."

  "You are sincere," repeated the Lady of Blades with a small smile, "but there is cunning in your sincerity. For if you seek to save Malaric from the power he has stolen, then you are not his foe...and I may speak to you freely."

  Riothamus shrugged. "If you choose to interpret my words in that way, I cannot blame you."

  He waited in silence, sweat trickling down his back. If the Lady chose to fight, he was not at all certain he could defeat her, Guardian or not.

  "Ask what you will," said the Lady.

  Riothamus kept the relief from his face.

  "Malaric has gained Demonsouled power," said Riothamus. "How?"

  “In the same fashion he has gained all his power,” said the Lady. “By theft.”

  “The burning skull,” said Riothamus. “I have seen it in my visions. The burning skull is the source of his power.”

  “Yes,” said the Lady.

  “What is it?” said Riothamus.

  “The skull,” said Lady, “of your lord’s son.”

  “Mazael’s son?” said Riothamus. “Mazael doesn’t have…wait.” Molly did not talk about her twin brother Corvad very often. From what he could gather, she had once loved him, but Corvad had grown crueler and harder as he embraced his Demonsouled nature. And, in the end, he tried to transform her into a Malrag Queen. “Corvad. You mean Corvad.”

  “Correct,” said the Lady.

  “So Malaric went to Arylkrad,” said Riothamus, “found Corvad’s skull, and was able to draw on Corvad’s Demonsouled power?”

  “Yes,” said the Lady.

  “How?” said Riothamus. “That should not be possible. Corvad is dead, and his power died with him. Unless…” His eyes widened. “Malaric bound his soul to the skull?”

  “You see clearly, Guardian,” said the Lady. “Even the bones of a grandson of the Old Demon bear power. Your lord should not have left them to molder within the black walls of Arylkrad.”

  “But that is folly,” said Riothamus. “If he bound his soul to the skull, it would let him tap Demonsouled power. But it would make him absolutely vulnerable to anyone who held the skull. And if the skull was destroyed, it would probably kill him. Horribly.”

  “I told him,” murmured the Lady, “but he heeded me not.”

  “Where is the skull?” said Riothamus. If Malaric knew enough necromantic magic to bind his soul to the skull, he would recognize the danger. He would have placed the skull someplace secure.

  “Why?” said the Lady. “So you can destroy the skull?”

  Riothamus saw the trap. “So I can break the spells upon it and return Malaric’s soul to him.”

  “Ah,” said the Lady. “A wise answer. The skull is in the city mortals name Barellion, located within the Prince’s Keep. Malaric has placed wards of surpassing potency around it, and has commanded me to guard it with my full strength. I am to kill any intruders who enter the chamber housing the skull.”

  “I see,” said Riothamus. He thought for a moment. “Is Malaric allied with Skalatan and the San-keth?”

  “Not at the moment,” said the Lady. “For no alliance is permanent to Malaric. He will betray anyone, if he thinks he can gain advantage. After the defeat he has suffered, he may try to ally himself with the San-keth once again…or in his desperation, he may turn to darker powers.”

  “Malaric has suffered a defeat?” said Riothamus.

  “You could use that knowledge to harm him,” said the Lady. “Therefore I am bound not to share it with you.”

  “But if he suffered a defeat at the hands of the Aegonar,” said Riothamus, “then Lord Mazael and Prince Hugh are waging war against the Aegonar. So that knowledge could be used to defeat the Aegonar, thereby aiding Malaric.”

  “Clever,” said the Lady. “How refreshing to talk with a mortal who is not completely witless. Yes, Malaric has suffered a grievous defeat. Several days ago he gathered the combined host of Barellion and flung against the serpent-worshippers. He underestimated his foes and overestimated his wits, and the serpent-worshippers scattered his host like chaff upon the wind. Malaric fled back to Barellion, and seeks to find a way to overcome his foes before they overwhelm and destroy him.”

  “I understand,” said Riothamus. If Malaric had suffered such a defeat, there would be no force left to keep the Aegonar from claiming all of Greycoast. And, worse, Malaric would be desperate. He had done tremendous harm while certain of victory. What more might he do when he had nothing to lose?

  Mazael had to know of this at once.

  “Thank you, spirit,” said Riothamus. “Your wisdom has been illuminating. I release you from my summoning.”

  “A mortal with courtesy?” said the Lady. “Such a rare thing. Until we meet again, Guardian. You may not believe yourself Malaric’s foe…but he will make you unto his foe, before much longer.”

  A flash of light, and she vanished into nothingness.

  Riothamus’s circle of golden light faded away.

  He shook himself and headed for the camp in search of Mazael.

  And as he did, he noticed that the camp had grown much larger in his absence.

  ###

  Mazael clapped a militiaman on the shoulder. “Rouse the cooks,” he said, “and have them prepare food for our guests.”

  The militiaman ran for the quartermaster’s tent.

  “It was a slaughter,” said Lord Bryce Spearshore, his voice exhausted. His armsmaster and several of his chief knights stood around him. “We had the better position, and could have held Castle Bridge indefinitely. Yet that murderous fool Malaric threw it all away.” Bryce shook his head. “I should have insisted. I should have disobeyed, I…”

  “Do not blame yourself, my lord,” said Hugh. “As far as you knew, Malaric was your lawful Prince. And had you disobeyed, he simply would have slain you.”

  “That bloody-handed fool!” said Bryce. “I suspected he murdered your family. But there was some doubt, and we needed someone to lead us against the Aegonar. I hoped Malaric would lead us to victory against the Aegonar, but he has only brought us ruin.”

  “How many men do you have with you?” said Mazael.

  “Just over five thousand,” said Bryce. “All those I could gather from the wreck of the battle. The Aegonar slew many and captured more…and many more died when Malaric worked his witchery and collapsed the bridge.”

  “Will you follow me?” said Hugh. “I am your lawful Prince…but I cannot force you to do anything. You have more men than I do at the moment. But I mean to throw down Malaric and drive the Aegonar from our lands. Will you ride with me?”

  “Aye!” said Bryce. “I thought all was lost. The surviving lords scattered to their own castles, to defend their lands or to make peace with the Aegonar however they could. But I want neither Malaric nor the Aegonar to hold sway over Greycoast. With a true Prince, with a true son of Everard Chalsain to lead us…aye, we will follow you.” He looked at Mazael. “And you have gained the aid of a commander of renown, my Prince.”

  “My lord is too kind,” said Mazael. “I suggest, my lords, that our first task is to take Barellion. Malaric has been badly weakened, and cannot have many men left. If we force our way into the city, we can hold it against the Aegonar.”

  “We do not have enough men,” said Hugh.

  “More will follow you, my Prince,” said Bryce. “A larger problem is that we are on the wrong side of the River of Lords. Malaric destroyed the Castle Bridge, and the nearest ford is seven days’ ride away.”

  “That will not be a problem,” said Mazael. “I have a wizard of great power with me. He can use his spells to freeze the River of Lords long enough for us to cross to the southern bank. The Aegonar will have to build rafts and ferry their men and supplies across, and that will gain us a few days.”

  “Your wizard,” said Bryce
. “Is he strong enough to contest Malaric’s magic? Or to handle the seidjar?”

  Mazael remembered the terrible battle outside of Swordgrim. Lucan Mandragon had borne the Glamdaigyr and the Banurdem, had unleashed spells of staggering power at Riothamus. Yet Riothamus had held his own against Lucan.

  “He is,” said Mazael.

  As if summoned, he saw Riothamus walk into the light of the fire, Molly at his side.

  Their expressions were grave.

  “A moment, my lords,” said Mazael. Bryce and Hugh nodded and kept talking, and Mazael joined his daughter and the Guardian.

  “What is it?” said Mazael, once they were out of earshot.

  “Malaric has suffered a terrible defeat,” said Riothamus, “and fled to Barellion.”

  “I know,” said Mazael. “One of the Prince’s most powerful vassals escaped the battle and turned up here. With his help, we might be able to pull together a host strong enough to handle Malaric and defeat the Aegonar.”

  Molly laughed, her voice wild. “It will take more than an army to stop Malaric.”

  “Why?” said Mazael. “What have you found?”

  “Malaric has bound a mighty spirit creature to his service,” said Riothamus. “So mighty that my Sight sensed it whenever he summoned it. So I summoned the creature myself and gleaned some answers.” He took a deep breath. “It’s Corvad, my lord.”

  “Corvad?” said Mazael, astonished. “Corvad’s dead. I slew him myself.” The guilt tugged at him. A father should not slay his own son. But Corvad had tried to claim the mantle of the Destroyer, tried to transform Molly into a Malrag Queen.

  “He is,” said Riothamus, “but Malaric found Corvad's skull and bound his soul into it. That act grants him access all of Corvad’s Demonsouled power – the strength, the speed, the rapid healing. Even some that Corvad did not possess in life, such as walking through the shadows.”

  Molly laughed, her eyes haunted. “Even in death, Corvad still tries to kill me.”

  “I killed Corvad,” said Mazael, “and I am going to kill Malaric.”

  “So long as his soul is bound to that skull,” said Riothamus, “I don’t think he can be killed. No matter how grievously you wound him, his injuries will heal. Cut him to bits and his flesh will reassemble itself. Burn him to ashes, and his body will rebuild itself piece by piece.”

  “But if we find Corvad’s skull,” said Mazael, “we can kill him?”

  Riothamus nodded. “Yes. Or I can unravel the spells upon it and return Malaric’s soul to his body.”

  “And then I’ll kill him,” said Molly.

  “Did Malaric’s pet spirit happen to tell you where to find the skull?” said Mazael.

  “Somewhere in the Prince’s castle,” said Riothamus. “She would not be more specific.”

  “She?” said Mazael.

  To his surprise, Riothamus shivered. The Guardian was as calm and placid as an immovable boulder. Yet something about that creature had unsettled him. “The spirit is called the Lady of Blades, and she possesses vast power. Had she not feared the Guardian’s staff, she would have killed me for having the temerity to summon her. For Malaric to control her is utter folly. One might as well try to tame a thunderstorm, or put a saddle on a rushing river.”

  Mazael snorted. “If what you’ve said about that skull is true, Malaric is already riding one tiger. What’s one more?” He slipped the compass from his belt and looked at the needle. It still pointed southwest, but it had moved. The Aegonar were marching for Barellion.

  And Skalatan was with them.

  “What will we do now, Father?” said Molly.

  “We will ride with Hugh as he builds his army,” said Mazael. “And then we shall take Barellion, settle with Malaric, and take Skalatan’s blood back to the Grim Marches to heal Romaria.”

  “And the gods have mercy,” said Riothamus, “on anyone who tries to stop us?”

  “Yes,” said Mazael. “For I will not.”

  ###

  The next day Hugh rode at the head of the host as they headed south.

  Mazael was as good as his word. The peculiar barbarian wizard worked a spell, and a sheet of foot-thick ice covered the River of Lords for a half-mile in either direction. It took the entire army and all their wagons less than an hour to cross, and we they finished, the Guardian destroyed the ice bridge, keeping any foes from following.

  They marched south for Barellion.

  Hugh rode between Mazael and Lord Bryce, going over plans for the coming siege. The Chalsain banner, the black tower on green, floated overhead, alongside the sigil of Spearshore and a Cravenlock banner the Guardian had provided.

  And very soon more banners flew alongside them.

  Rumor spread like wildfire through the countryside, carrying word that a son of Everard Chalsain had survived Malaric’s treachery and now rode to smite the usurper and drive the Aegonar from Greycoast. Soon a dozen banners flew at the head of the host. Then a score, and still more.

  And Hugh found himself leading twenty thousand men to Barellion.

  The terror of it filled him. He did not want to be Prince. Gods, he was not ready to be Prince. He had never commanded more than five hundred men in battle at once. How was he to lead over twenty thousand?

  But Adelaide was behind Barellion’s walls.

  If she was still alive.

  If Malaric had killed her, Hugh vowed he would kill the murderous dog with his own hands.

  But Malaric had cost Hugh his brothers and his father. The Aegonar, for all their brutality, came as simple conquerors, and fought in the open. Malaric had murdered Hugh’s family and cast the blame upon the San-keth, usurping the throne of Barellion for himself. And with that stolen authority he had brought Greycoast to the edge of utter ruin.

  Hugh had to stop him.

  The Prince of Barellion rode on, his army following.

  Chapter 29 – The Battle of the Riversteel

  Gerald sat on his horse and watched the runedead.

  The assembled host of Knightreach waited on the Riversteel’s northern bank, hundreds of banners flying in the breeze, the sun glinting off helmets and cuirasses and spears. Gerald remembered the battle at the River Abelinus, driving back the runedead as they tried to cross the water.

  But that had only been four thousand runedead.

  Now more runedead than he could count filled the southern bank of the Riversteel, thousands upon thousands of undead, the sigils upon their forehead shining like an endless field of ghostly candles. Gerald had been enraged when his father and the Grand Master had sent the Justiciars on their fools’ quest to purge evil from the villages of Knightreach, but now he realized the Justiciars’ numbers would have made no difference.

  The scouts claimed that one hundred and fifty thousand runedead marched north, but they had underestimated the numbers.

  Severely.

  “Quite a few of them,” said Gerald at last.

  Tobias snorted.

  “Tut, tut, brother,” he said, his tone light. “That will simply make it harder to miss.”

  But his grim expression belied his bantering words.

  “We can hold the fords easily enough,” said Gerald, “but that hardly matters. The water will not trouble the runedead. Caraster can simply send a force to pin us in place, while the rest of his undead cross the river to seize Castle Town and assail Knightcastle.”

  “A simple strategy, but Caraster need not even bother with that,” said Tobias. “He outnumbers us twenty to one. Maybe even twenty-five to one. He can throw wave after wave of runedead at us until we’re all dead, and then take Castle Town and Knightcastle at his leisure.”

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  “Come,” said Tobias at last, turning his horse. “Let’s consult with the others.” He scowled. “Perhaps Ataranur will pull a miracle out of his cloak.”

  Gerald followed his brother to the center of the host, where the Roland banner, silver on blue, flew from its staff. The chief lo
rds and knights of Knightreach waited there, Lord Agravain, Lord Tancred, Lord Adalar, Lord Nicholas, and all the others. Ataranur stood in their midst, and the lords and knights kept well away from him.

  “My lords,” said Tobias, “as you have no doubt observed, the foe has arrived.”

  An uneasy chuckle went through the lords.

  “Our task is clear,” said Tobias. “We will hold the fords and keep the runedead from gaining the northern bank. The men shall fight in shifts to conserve their strength.” He nodded at Circan, who stood not far from Ataranur. “The wizards will hold their powers in reserve, ready to unleash fire if necessary. Siege engines have been arrayed behind our lines, and…”

  “To what avail?” said Lord Nicholas. He was the youngest man there, younger than even Gerald, but he sounded as exhausted as Gerald felt. “We cannot repel such a horde. Lord Malden has sent us to die.”

  Lord Agravain scowled. “You will not speak ill of our liege lord!”

  A glimmer of silver light flashed in the heart of the runedead host.

  “Why not?” said Nicholas. “Is it ill to speak the truth?” The young lord took a deep breath and glared at Ataranur. “That wizard has bewitched him, and led us to destruction.”

  Ataranur made no response, motionless in his black cloak and steel mask. Gerald saw Nicholas’s hand move close to his sword hilt, and he realized the Lord of Knightport was going to attack Ataranur. Gerald opened his mouth to speak, hoping to defuse the confrontation.

  But the brightening silver light drew his attention.

  “This is an ill position,” said Tancred. “Better that we withdraw to Knightcastle, or even Sword Town. Their walls have been warded against runedead. We might have a chance there.”

  “Better than dying,” said Nicholas, still glaring at Ataranur, “as part of some wizard’s schemes.”

  “I agree,” said Adalar. “I have seen firsthand what happens when a wise lord is seduced by the honeyed words of a dark wizard. And I know what must be done to stop wielders of dark magic.”