Soul of Sorcery (Book 5)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  “Or mayhap he’ll choke on his dinner,” grumbled Molly.

  “But you are lying,” said Riothamus, smiling.

  “Oh?” said Molly.

  “You’ll have to go past Stone Tower to reach Castle Cravenlock,” said Riothamus. “I think you just want to travel with me.”

  Molly grinned. “You think highly of yourself, don’t you?”

  He touched her cheek. “More than I once did.”

  Molly felt color flood into her face and looked away.

  “You’ll come to Castle Cravenlock, once the oaths are finished?” said Molly.

  “A horde of Malrags would not keep me away,” said Riothamus.

  “Good,” said Molly.

  ###

  Aegidia, Guardian of the Tervingi, leaned upon her staff.

  She was tired.

  Too many years spent fighting the Malrags. Too many years keeping the Tervingi from ripping themselves apart. Too many years seeing friends die and the Tervingi crumble beneath the weight of the Malrag assault.

  And too many years spent carrying her great regret.

  She had made one mistake, just one, but it had been more than enough. She could not even claim the flimsy excuse of a girl’s poor judgment. Fifty-five years ago she had already been a woman of twenty-five, inexperienced in her office as Guardian, but the Guardian of the Tervingi nonetheless.

  Just one mistake.

  And it haunted her to this day. Now the Tervingi had the chance to grow and prosper in their new homeland.

  Unless her mistake ruined everything.

  “Guardian?”

  Aegidia’s eyes shot open.

  She stood in the square outside Stone Tower’s massive keep. Athanaric stood on the steps, flanked by his most trusted thains, waiting for Lord Richard Mandragon to enter the village with ceremonial pomp. Both men would renew their oaths, forging another tie of friendship to bind the two peoples together.

  “Guardian, are you all right?”

  Riothamus stood nearby, his blue eyes worried.

  “I’m fine, boy,” said Aegidia, with more harshness than she intended.

  Riothamus nodded, unruffled by her temper, and she felt a surge of pride. At twenty-six years old, he was no longer a boy, but a man grown. And he looked happier than she had ever seen him.

  “Perhaps we should get out of the sun,” said Riothamus. “If you faint, it will hardly enhance the honor of the Tervingi.”

  Aegidia laughed. “I’m fine, Riothamus. Merely an old woman wandering the maze of her memories.” She grinned. “You are looking well, these days.”

  His expression did not change. “The brisk air on the plains, I think.”

  She lifted an eyebrow.

  “A curious nickname for Molly Cravenlock,” said Aegidia.

  Riothamus sighed. “How long have you known?”

  “For a while,” said Aegidia. “I didn’t even need the Sight to tell me.”

  “We were careful to keep it quiet,” said Riothamus.

  She smiled. “And I’ve known you since you were six, boy.” She lowered her voice. “Do you know that she is demon-blooded?”

  “Aye,” said Riothamus. He coughed. “We take…precautions. And she tells me that the heir of Castle Cravenlock having a bastard baby with a barbarian wizard would be…complicated.”

  So she had told him the truth? That was good.

  “You realize,” said Riothamus, “that means Lord Mazael is demon-blooded…”

  “And a child of the Urdmoloch,” said Aegidia. Like Ragnachar. “I should have expected it. He is destined to face the Urdmoloch one day. And who better to face the Urdmoloch than one of his own children?”

  “Or Ragnachar,” said Riothamus.

  Aegidia opened her mouth to speak, and then trumpets rang out.

  Lord Richard Mandragon arrived at Stone Tower.

  ###

  Ragnachar stood beneath his wraithcloak.

  The Urdmoloch had given him two hundred wraithcloaks, and he had concealed his orcragars around the square. Bands of orcragars waited on either side of Athanaric and his men. Once Lord Richard rode in, they would kill everyone in sight.

  No witnesses, and it would be so easy to blame the massacre on Lord Richard.

  Ragnachar stood a few paces from the Guardian and her wretched apprentice.

  He was going to enjoying killing them both.

  His hand tightened against the hilt of the Destroyer’s greatsword.

  ###

  Riothamus watched Lord Richard’s procession enter the square.

  Richard sat atop a magnificent black horse, resplendent in his armor of red dragon’s scales. A score of household knights in his colors followed. The Mandragon banner floated from the standardbearer’s lance, a crimson dragon on a black background.

  “Welcome, Lord Richard,” called Athanaric, “to my hold of Stone Tower.” A bondsman hurried forward with a goblet of wine. “I offer you wine…”

  Riothamus’s mind wandered as Athanaric and Richard went through the ritual of host and guest. Neither Ragnachar nor Lord Toraine favored peace, but neither man had enough supporters to win a war. That might not keep them from starting a war, but Riothamus doubted they were that suicidal. Of course, Molly would say they were idiots…

  He smiled as he thought of Molly. For all the suffering and death that had accompanied the march of the Tervingi to the Grim Marches, he was glad they were here.

  Else he would never have met her otherwise.

  “By the exchange of salt and bread and wine,” said Richard, his deep voice ringing over the square, “I pledge to respect your rights as host, and defend your house and name from dishonor while I am a guest under your roof.”

  The air rippled.

  Riothamus blinked, trying to clear his eyes. It was hot, but certainly not hot enough for heat ripples to rise from the cobblestones of the square. Maybe he should have taken his own advice to Aegidia and stayed out of the sun.

  He looked at her, and saw her eyes narrow, saw her hands tighten around her staff.

  “Guardian,” said Riothamus, “what…

  “My lords!” Aegidia shouted, and the ceremony came to a stop, every eye turning her way. “Defend yourselves! We are betrayed! To arms! To…”

  The air rippled, and hundreds of figures in black armor and strange silvery cloaks appeared in the square.

  Orcragars.

  ###

  Aegidia raised her staff, its sigils flaring with brilliant white light. Her own magic was potent, honed by decades of practice, and combined with the staff’s strength she could unleash spells of tremendous power.

  Not to kill, though. Not even Ragnachar and the orcragars. But a warding spell to defend Richard and Athanaric. And other spells to turn the wind to ice and the ground to quicksand, to slow the orcragars until the loyal thains and knights could win the day.

  She pointed the staff, power surging through it, and then a blade of red steel erupted from her stomach.

  Pain exploded through her, and she heard Ragnachar’s laughter.

  ###

  “Guardian!” shouted Riothamus. “We…”

  He froze, horrified.

  Aegidia slumped, her mouth sagging open with pain. Ragnachar stood behind her, a crimson greatsword in his hands, the blade emerging from Aegidia’s belly. Howling flames surrounded the greatsword, charring the Guardian’s skin, and Riothamus felt waves of dark power rolling off the weapon.

  Ragnachar sneered and kicked Aegidia off his sword.

  She collapsed atop her staff, her cloak of feathers fluttering, and did not move.

  Riothamus shouted and worked a spell. Freezing air swirled around his fingers, and he flung a spear of ice at Ragnachar. But the hrould moved with uncanny speed, the burning blade of his greatsword a blur, and the icy spear shattered into steam against his blade.

  “Do you remember,” said Ragnachar, “what I told you about threats?”

  He surged forward, a blur of black armor and
crimson flame.

  ###

  Aegidia rolled onto her side, her hand wrapped like a claw around her staff. Pain pulsed through her in sickening waves, and blood soaked the front of her clothes.

  With cold clarity, she realized that she was going to die.

  Ragnachar. She had to stop Ragnachar. She had to atone for her mistake.

  She drew on the staff’s power, trying to summon enough magic for a spell.

  But the pain was too much, and she trembled against the cobblestones.

  ###

  Riothamus threw all his power into a spell and pointed at the ground.

  The earth heaved, responding to his will, and a man-sized knot of stone rose from the ground, interposing itself between Riothamus and Ragnachar. The stone blocked the blow that would have taken Riothamus’s head, yet Ragnachar’s burning greatsword cut through the rock like butter. The earth jerked as the knot collapsed, and Riothamus lost his balance.

  He fell into a group of charging orcragars.

  Swords plunged into his side, his hip, his shoulder.

  ###

  Aegidia tried to sit up, leaning on the staff like a crutch.

  Everywhere she saw scenes of horror. The orcragars rampaged through the square, killing everyone in sight. Neither the thains nor the knights had been prepared for a fight, and the orcragars cut them down without mercy. Lord Richard and his remaining knights fought at the foot of the keep’s stairs, while Athanaric battled at the base of the tower.

  Failed. She had failed.

  She tried to stand, and the blackness swallowed her.

  ###

  Riothamus would not use his magic to kill, but he could defend himself by other methods.

  He ripped a dagger from the belt of the nearest orcragar and plunged it into the man’s throat, even as another sword plunged into his side. The orcragar’s eyes went wide, and he toppled into Riothamus, knocking him from his feet.

  He struck the ground hard, the dead orcragar atop him, and his head slammed against the cobblestones.

  Darkness claimed him.

  ###

  Ragnachar watched Aegidia twitch in a pool of her own blood, saw her apprentice fall beneath the orcragars’ blades.

  Good. The battle was all but over.

  Time to finish it.

  He went in search of Lord Richard.

  Richard Mandragon stood with his remaining knights, holding fast against the orcragars’ assault. Despite his age, Richard wielded a greatsword with skill, throwing back his foes’ attacks again and again. No doubt his dragon’s scale armor had helped keep him alive.

  But he could not stand against the power of the Destroyer.

  “So, traitor,” said Richard, raising his greatsword. “I hope you have the nerve to kill me yourself, rather than cowering behind your lackeys.”

  “As you wish,” said Ragnachar, lunging.

  Richard parried the first blow, the second, and the third, his face tight with strain behind the white-streaked red beard. Ragnachar thrust past his guard, but the edge of the burning sword only scraped Richard’s armor. The Lord of Swordgrim twisted and managed to land a blow in the gaps of Ragnachar’s shoulder plates. Pain flooded through Ragnachar’s arm, blood trickling down his cuirass.

  The pain diminished as the blood of the Urdmoloch healed the wound.

  Ragnachar sidestepped and brought his sword around in a massive sideways blow.

  Richard raised his sword to parry, and the blade of the Destroyer shattered his weapon into a hundred gleaming shards. Richard stumbled, the hilt still clutched in his hands, and Ragnachar whipped his sword around.

  Richard’s head rolled across the ground, leaving a trail of blood.

  A heartbeat later the Lord of Swordgrim’s armored body clattered against the cobblestones.

  Ragnachar stepped over the corpse and strode toward the keep. Athanaric slumped against the wall, trying to lift his sword. Blood drenched his clothing, and his face had gone gray.

  “You dog!” spat Athanaric, struggling to stand upright. “You took an oath, and you’ve betrayed it! You have doomed the Tervingi nation!”

  “Perhaps,” said Ragnachar.

  “You don’t care?” snarled Athanaric.

  “A new world comes,” said Ragnachar. “The Tervingi will either be strong enough to live in the new world…or they will not. It is no concern of mine.”

  He buried the crimson greatsword in Athanaric’s belly. The old hrould screamed, and Ragnachar seized his throat and drew him closer.

  “For I am the Destroyer,” he whispered into Athanaric’s ear, “the son of the Urdmoloch, and I shall crush the realms of men beneath my feet.”

  He had the satisfaction of seeing the horror on Athanaric’s face before the hrould died.

  Ragnachar kicked the corpse from his blade and turned back to the square. Silence had fallen, and the orcragars stood over the corpses of the slain.

  “Has anyone survived?” he bellowed.

  “This one, master!” said an orcragar. “The Guardian let lives.”

  This would be sweet.

  He walked to Aegidia and gazed down at her. She was still alive, but not for long. The sword of the Destroyer had left hideous gaping wounds in her back and stomach, and she lay in a pool of her own blood. Not even the Guardian’s magic could save her now.

  She might not even be conscious.

  Nevertheless, he gripped her white hair and pulled her up.

  “You failed, old fool,” he hissed. “You tried to stop me, and you failed. Think on that as you die.”

  He threw her back the ground and turned away.

  “Come,” he ordered his orcragars, and they fell in behind him.

  It was a short march to the nearest village, the hold of one of Athanaric’s headmen, a man named Vigoric. A crowd gathered as they approached the village, and Ragnachar saw that Vigoric’s men had armed themselves, no doubt anticipating an attack.

  “What do you want, Ragnachar?” said Vigoric himself, a lean man in his forties. “We wish no conflict with you! Why have you come here?”

  “I come with grave tidings,” said Ragnachar. “Athanaric is slain.”

  A ripple of shock went through the assembled Tervingi.

  “Lord Richard treacherously murdered him,” said Ragnachar. “I arrived too late to save Athanaric, though I avenged his death. Now Toraine is liege of the Grim Marches, and he will try to destroy the Tervingi. We must act quickly! Send messages to every Tervingi hold and village, urging them to arm themselves at once! If we tarry, Toraine shall slaughter us all to the last child!”

  And how the fools ran to carry out his bidding.

  ###

  Riothamus’s eyes swam back into focus.

  He lay upon his back, the sun beating down on him, the dead orcragar pinning him to the ground. The wounds in his side and hip burned with pain. He vaguely wondered why he had not bled to death, and he felt at his side, wincing. The cuts were long and messy, but not as deep as he had feared. Riothamus muttered a spell, forcing the elements of water and air over his wounds. With luck, that would keep infection at bay until him…

  Until…

  The memory of the attack came back.

  Riothamus tried to shove the dead orcragar off him. On the fourth try, he managed to push aside the corpse, and staggered to his feet. He almost fell, and grabbed at the nearby stone wall for support.

  It was hot.

  And not just from the sun.

  Stone Tower burned.

  Flames leapt from the roof of every house, and smoke billowed from the windows of the keep. Scores of bodies lay strewn across the square. Riothamus saw Lord Richard’s household knights and Athanaric’s thains heaped among the dead. Athanaric slumped against the wall, eyes glassy. Lord Richard’s head and body lay some distance apart from each other.

  For a horrible instant Riothamus was six years old again, standing in his father’s burning hold, fleeing as the Malrags came to kill him…

 
; “The Guardian,” coughed Riothamus, wincing as the stench of blood and torn flesh and smoke filled his nostrils. “Guardian. Guardian!”

  He limped through the square, looking over the corpses. How could Ragnachar have taken them unawares? His orcragars had simply appeared out of nowhere. The Guardian should have sensed them. How…

  He came to a stop.

  Aegidia lay in her own blood, hands still wrapped around her staff. Riothamus fell to his knees beside her, pain shooting through his wounds. Ragnachar’s burning sword had left hideous wounds in her stomach and back. A strong young man could not recover from such an injury. An old woman had no chance…

  Her eyelids fluttered.

  She was still alive.

  “Riothamus,” she rasped.

  “Guardian,” he said, grabbing her hands. “I have to move you. There must still be an intact house. Then I can…”

  Her fingers tightened against his. “No. Too late for me.”

  “You cannot die,” said Riothamus. “The Tervingi need you. Someone must warn them against Ragnachar.” Just as Molly had feared, Ragnachar had killed Lord Richard and Athanaric and restarted the war. No doubt he would lay the blame for Athanaric’s death at Richard’s feet. But Ragnachar’s word would not stand against that of the Guardian.

  “They need the Guardian,” said Aegidia, her voice growing fainter. “You.”

  She pushed the staff against him.

  “Take it,” she whispered. “Take it.”

  “No,” said Riothamus. “It’s yours. I…”

  “Take it!”

  His hands closed around the ancient wood. The staff felt rough beneath his grip, the edges of the sigils digging into his palm.

  “Take it,” said Aegidia. “Guardian. The staff is yours. You must…you must face yourself, before you can wield it, and see the truth. Tell the others what happened. Aid Lord Mazael. Aid him! The fate of the Tervingi is in his hands. And the world. Go. You are Guardian. The burden is yours now.”