Soul of Skulls (Book 6)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  “You have all taken oaths!” said Tobias, voice hard, “and…”

  “Tobias,” said Gerald, “look.”

  “Not now,” said Tobias. “My lords, we…”

  “Damn it, Tobias,” said Gerald, pointing. “Look.”

  Tobias looked, as did the other lords, and fell silent as the huge image of shadow and silver light rose over the runedead lines.

  ###

  Lucan considered killing both Adalar Greatheart and Nicholas Randerly with a single spell, and then Gerald’s shouts drew his attention.

  Along with the surge of magic coming from Caraster’s undead host.

  He watched as the colossal shape of shadow and silver light formed, creating the image of a hooded specter. Lucan cast a spell, probing the magic empowering the apparition. It was a variation of the spell Caraster had used to project his image before the battle at Tumblestone. Except now it was much stronger, and Lucan felt the presence of dozens of additional wizards empowering the spell.

  Caraster’s disciples, he realized. From what he had learned, all of Caraster’s disciples had some degree of magical power or another, and it seemed Caraster had brought them all for his invasion.

  “Hear me!”

  Caraster’s deep voice, buzzing and distorted through the spell, boomed across the armies of living and dead men.

  “I am Caraster, and the hour of liberation is at hand!” thundered the towering image. “Today you shall be free! There will be no more lords, no more knights, no more merchants, no more lying priests! All shall be free! All shall be equal! Never again shall any man go hungry when there are no more rich and no more poor!”

  An uneasy ripple went through the knights and armsmen.

  “Circan,” said Lord Tobias. “Can you amplify my voice?”

  “Of course, my lord,” said the wizard, casting a spell.

  “I am Tobias Roland!” said Tobias, his voice booming from the sky. “By the authority of my father, Malden, Lord of Knightcastle, I command the rebel Caraster to surrender himself at once!”

  “Fool!” said Caraster. “Your father’s authority is false! Soon all the lordly swine shall perish, and the world shall be rid of your stench!”

  “If you persist,” said Tobias, “we shall defeat you at arms.”

  Caraster’s laughter rang off the distant mountains. “You will, little man?” The towering image thrust out its arm. “Behold my host! History itself is on my side. The runedead have risen to cleanse the world of the wicked and corrupt, to slay every last grasping lord and every last lying priest! I shall fashion a new world, one glorious and pure, and…”

  “That,” said Lucan, “is quite enough.”

  He cast a spell and gestured with a gloved hand. The great image of Caraster flickered, his voice becoming an indistinct crackle, and the illusion vanished.

  “Just as well,” said Tobias. “I doubt anything productive would have come from a parley.”

  “No,” said Lucan. “He intends to kill you all.”

  And Caraster’s victory would disrupt Lucan’s plans. Caldarus and his Justiciars had proven themselves most enthusiastic at harvesting stolen life energy. A few more weeks, and Lucan could open the Door of Souls and travel to Cythraul Urdvul.

  Which he could not do if Caraster took Knightcastle.

  “Listen to me,” said Lucan. “It is within my power to defeat Caraster. But you must do exactly as I say.”

  Gerald and Tobias gave him a suspicious look.

  “What do you intend?” said Tobias.

  “First,” said Lucan, “this.”

  He cast a spell, green fire flaring and dancing around his fingertips. The knowledge he had stolen from Randur Maendrag shaped the spell. Lucan drew power into himself, more and more, magic that would have killed a living wizard in an instant.

  And still more.

  Fortunately, Lucan no longer felt pain or fatigue.

  Green flames snarled around his fingers, and Lucan thrust out his hands.

  Emerald light exploded from him in a wave and shot through the assembled host of Knightreach. Both Gerald and Tobias stepped back in alarm, and as they did, their drawn swords caught fire. Green flames flickered up and down the blades, and throughout the army, every bladed weapon and every arrow shimmered with its own halo of ghostly fire.

  “What did you do?” said Tobias, squinting at his sword.

  Circan stared at Lucan, eyes wide with alarm.

  “The spell,” said Lucan, turning to face the runedead, “will only last until sundown, but that will be long enough. The flames will disrupt the spells binding the runedead, both in their physical and immaterial forms.”

  “You mean our swords will harm them,” said Gerald, “even if they are wraiths.”

  “Precisely,” said Lucan. “I suggest you do not touch your blades. If living flesh comes into contact with those flames, the effects would be…deleterious.” He stared at Tobias. “With this spell, you can stand against the runedead. And I shall deal with Caraster.”

  “How?” said Gerald.

  “By killing him,” said Lucan.

  "You seem certain of that," said Tobias.

  "I am," said Lucan. "He fled after our last encounter. This time he will not. He has brought all his disciples with him, and I suspect almost all the runedead under his control. He believes that he is the chosen of history, and that he shall therefore be victorious. I will prove him wrong."

  At least, Lucan thought he could. He could defeat Caraster in a confrontation. But Caraster could call upon the aid of his disciples and tens of thousands of runedead. Lucan, for all his power, was neither omniscient or omnipotent. If Caraster was clever, if he struck boldly, he might destroy Lucan.

  But that did not matter. Lucan would rid the world of the Demonsouled. And if he had to kill Caraster to stop the Demonsouled...then so be it.

  Very well," said Tobias. "If you..."

  A rustling noise filled the air, the sound of thousands of rotting legs moving at once. The great mass of runedead started forward, a vast front almost a mile wide. They would not bother storming the fords, or holding Tobias's army pinned in place while attacking Castle Town. No, Caraster's runedead would cross the entire river at once, envelop the men of Knightreach, and destroy them utterly.

  "I suggest, Lord Tobias," said Lucan, "that you prepare to defend yourself."

  He turned and strode towards the advancing runedead, the waters of the ford lapping at his boots.

  ###

  Gerald stared at Ataranur's retreating back, anger and fear warring in his mind.

  It was rank madness to entrust the fate of Knightreach to this masked wizard. Perhaps Nicholas and Adalar were right, and they should withdraw back to Knightcastle before it was too late.

  But it was already too late. The runedead had reached the edge of the river. The water would not slow them, and in a matter of moments they would reach the men.

  And then they would be surrounded.

  Tobias lifted his sword. "We'll have to make a fight of it." He turned to his standardbearer. "The men are to dismount and form a square."

  "The corners will be vulnerable," said Gerald.

  "We have no choice," said Tobias. "If those runedead get behind the lines, we're finished. So we have to fight back to back."

  The trumpets rang out, the men shifting their formation to a square.

  Gerald held his sword before him, ghostly flames dancing around the blade, and waited for the runedead.

  ###

  Lucan reached the south bank of the Riversteel. The runedead rushed at him, a solid wall of undead flesh and green flame. He drew on his magic, summoning power enough to blast the runedead to smoldering ash.

  Lucan lifted his hands...and then the runedead ignored him, flowing around him like water around a stone. Soon he stood in a clear space a dozen yards across, the runedead rushing past him.

  That was curious.

  Caraster must have commanded them to ignore him. But why
? They were useless against Lucan, certainly, but all Caraster's command had accomplished was to leave a large empty space around him...

  "Oh," said Lucan.

  The first fireball came howling out of the sky an instant after he cast his wards. The force of the blast knocked him back, the grass around him going up in flames, the ground hardening to charcoal. Lucan shook his head, waving the smoke away from his face. Caraster had hit much harder than he had expected. The rebel possessed Demonsouled strength, and augmented with the aid of his disciples...

  A second fireball hammered against Lucan's wards, driving him back another step.

  ###

  Gerald squinted into the glare. When it cleared, he saw that Ataranur had disappeared into the heart of the inferno.

  "Why aren't the runedead attacking him?" said Tobias.

  "I think," said Gerald, "Caraster has decided to deal with him personally, while his runedead kill us all."

  The first of the runedead struggled up the bank. Those that carried weapons raised them, while others extended their hands. Gerald had no more time to worry about Ataranur, no more time think about strategy or tactics.

  It was time to fight or die.

  The runedead crashed into the line, and Gerald slashed with his sword. The burning blade took off a runedead's head, and he twisted and cut the hand from another. Tobias bellowed, wielding his sword with two hands, and finished off the runedead with a powerful blow. Gerald destroyed another, and still another.

  But an endless ocean of them kept coming.

  ###

  Another blast of howling flame fell out of the sky, and Lucan recast his ward. The blue light pulsed and flickered, the ground around Lucan's boots turning to smoldering coals for a dozen yards in every direction.

  But the flames did not touch Lucan.

  Caraster and his disciples struck with tremendous force, and the amount of energy required to turn aside their spells would have killed any mortal wizard. But Lucan had already died, and therefore had no need to worry about his stamina. He could protect himself from Caraster's blows indefinitely.

  He just could not move forward.

  Another burst of flame shot towards him, this one purple instead of orange-yellow. Lucan recognized the spell, a strike designed to sap at his magical energy in addition to devouring his flesh. He altered his warding spells, the violet flames raging around him, and the attack dissipated.

  And still another attack came.

  Lucan refreshed his warding spell, plotting a counterattack. He could summon the Glamdaigyr, use it to absorb Caraster's spells, and fling the attacks back at him. But Caraster's attacks came too hard and too fast. If Lucan's wards wavered for even an instant, the flames would devour him.

  More fire hammered down out of the sky, forcing Lucan to throw further power into his warding spells.

  ###

  Gerald twisted, catching a runedead's fist upon his shield. The blow rocked him, the runedead striking with the force of a blacksmith's hammer. He lashed out with his sword and caught the creature upon the forehead, the green fire of his sword struggling against the ghostly glow of its sigil. The fire of Ataranur’s spell proved stronger, and the runedead collapsed into a motionless heap.

  He saw a runedead menacing Lord Adalar, and destroyed the creature with a sharp chop of his sword. Adalar managed a grateful nod before two more runedead charged him. Gerald attacked the undead, cutting down the first while Adalar took the head from the second.

  And for just a moment, no foes threatened Gerald, and he risked a look around the battlefield.

  The horde of runedead had smashed into the front of the square, attacking with unnatural vigor. He saw flares of green light as the runedead turned immaterial and strode through the river with ease, hardening into material form as they reached dry land. They circled around the sides of the host, attacking the sides of the square formation.

  Very soon the army would be surrounded.

  Another wave of runedead came at Gerald, and he got his shield up to block their attacks. He felt himself being forced back, even as he cut down undead after undead. Sooner or later they were going to run out of room to fight. The runedead would draw closer and closer until the army ran out of room to swing their swords and stab their spears.

  And then runedead would crush them beneath the sheer weight of numbers.

  A thunderclap rang out, followed by a flash of light, and Gerald saw a firestorm raging in the heart of the runedead host. Had Caraster and his disciples just killed Ataranur?

  If so, all hope was lost.

  Gerald fought on.

  ###

  The next spell was a titanic hammer of psychokinetic force, power enough to crush flesh and bone to bloody mist. The ground shuddered beneath Lucan’s boots, and he raised his hands, his cloak billowing around him as he threw more power into his wards. The blue light of his defensive spells sputtered, but held against Caraster’s onslaught. The shock wave of the spell bloomed around him, spreading with enough force knock over hundreds of runedead like toys.

  Lucan frowned as the obvious realization came to him.

  His defensive approach had been foolish. He had been trying to block Caraster’s attacks by sheer strength, but a clever warrior used his foes' strength against them. If he instead deflected Caraster’s spells, and flung the rebel's own power back at him…

  A lance of purple flame hurtled for Lucan.

  He adjusted his defensive wards. Power screamed through him, and he drew on everything – his own strength, the stolen Demonsouled power, the knowledge he had taken from Randur Maendrag.

  The blast struck him and rebounded from his wards like a thrown rock bouncing off a stone wall. The bolt of violet flame ripped through the runedead, turning a hundred of the creatures to dust.

  The smoke cleared, and Lucan caught his first glimpse of Caraster himself.

  The rebel stood on a low hill that rose like an island from a dark sea of runedead. Lucan saw a tall man in a ragged black robe, his chest adorned with the sigil of a closed crimson fist. Around him stood nearly fifty men in black robes. All of them possessed magical power, but Caraster himself wielded the most might.

  Joined together, they made for a potent force.

  Caraster shouted, and the disciples began another spell. Arcane power spiked in the air, and Caraster flung a massive fist of psychokinetic force. Lucan worked his own wards, the air crackling around him, and cast his spell just as Caraster and his minions finished theirs.

  The psychokinetic burst struck Lucan, and his wards deflected it. The spell tore through the ranks of runedead, hurling the creatures dozens of feet into the air. For an absurd instant Lucan remembered his brother Toraine as a child, throwing a tantrum and flinging his toy knights in all directions.

  Even from this distance, he heard Caraster’s bellow of enraged fury.

  Lucan ran, his legs pumping as the runedead flowed around him. The low hill drew closer, and Caraster and his disciples began another spell. Lucan stopped, rebuilding his wards, and a volley of fire fell from the sky. Lucan thrust out his hands, deflecting the spells. The fiery bursts stabbed through the runedead, turning undead flesh and bone into smoking ash.

  Again Caraster and his minions cast a spell, and Lucan ran forward. He drew on his magic, filling himself with power. Caraster shouted a command, and all the disciples flung out their hands.

  A storm of flame roared from their fingers and swept down the hill, devouring the runedead in its path. The burning wall rushed towards him, and he cast his own spell, holding his hand out to the fire.

  The wall of flames reached him...and began flowing into his hand.

  Lucan gritted his teeth, his undead body trembling with strain. Neither pain nor exhaustion troubled him, but the sheer strain of his effort was considerable. His wards screamed around him, threatening to collapse, but Lucan summoned his full strength. He felt the power surge through him, and undead or not, it was enough raw force to melt his bones to molten sl
ag.

  The wave of fire yawned over him…and vanished into his fingers.

  A heartbeat later he held a shimmering ball of orange-yellow light, his hand twitching with strain. The sphere trembled with the spell's vast power, all of it forced into a globe two inches across.

  Caraster and his disciples gaped at him in astonishment.

  “Catch,” said Lucan, and he threw the sphere at the hill.

  ###

  Gerald slashed the head from another runedead, fighting side-by-side with Tobias and Adalar. Blood streamed down his brother’s face from a cut, and Adalar winced every time he raised his arms.

  They were losing.

  Endless waves of runedead came at them, an neverending assault of green flame and undead flesh. Gerald’s arms throbbed, his breath coming in a harsh rasp. He wanted to catch his breath, to rest his aching arms. But he dared not. If he lowered his guard for even a moment, the runedead would have him.

  He felt another man jostle his back. They were almost out of room. Soon Gerald would have no more space to swing his sword or raise his shield.

  And then he would die.

  At least Rachel and Belifane and Aldane were safe behind the walls of Knightcastle.

  But not for much longer. Knightcastle’s walls had been warded against the immaterial forms of the runedead, but nothing would stop them from tearing down the gates. And then Rachel and the children would die as Caraster built his mad new order.

  Gerald wished he had stayed at Knightcastle. Then he could have died with his family, rather than…

  A brilliant flash of white light flared over the runedead.

  A moment later the thunderclap rang out, and Gerald saw a pillar of fire billowing from the heart of the runedead host.

  ###

  Lucan got his feet, grateful that he no longer needed to breathe.

  The stench of burning flesh would have made that quite unpleasant.

  Raging flames covered the hill, and dozens of charred, twisted forms dotted its slopes, all that remained of Caraster and his disciples. They had warded themselves, of course, but their wards had been insufficient to stop their own redirected power. They would have…