Soul of Sorcery (Book 5)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  “No,” said Mazael. “We came upon them unawares, but that was dumb luck. The hill blocked their view, but once we move, they’ll see us.”

  “We can outrun them,” said Romaria. “We are horsed and they are not.”

  “There are a dozen villages a day’s march in any direction,” said Mazael. “That warband could burn any one of them to the ground. Or they’ll march to reinforce Ragnachar.”

  “Six hundred men,” said Romaria. “We could ride right through them.”

  “We could,” said Mazael. “Or we could get ourselves surrounded and butchered.” He wanted to draw Lion and charge through the Tervingi, killing with every swing of his arm. He could do it. He could lead his men to victory, could smash the Tervingi to shards beneath his boots…

  He closed his eyes and shivered.

  “No,” said Mazael. “No. I don’t want to slaughter them. I just want to beat them.”

  “A pity we didn’t bring any horse archers with us,” said Romaria. “We could lure the Tervingi out of formation and ride them down.”

  “Yes,” said Mazael, rubbing his chin. “Yes, we could.”

  “You have an idea,” said Romaria.

  Mazael grinned.

  ###

  Romaria slunk through the grasses, her paws gripping the turf. Her senses were keen enough in her human form, but as a wolf, she saw every last waving blade of grass. She tasted the wind, and picked out a hundred different smells with her nose.

  And she heard the Tervingi speaking.

  The mass of Tervingi stood outside their village, arguing. Many wanted to find Ragnachar and join his force before Toraine killed them. Others wanted to raid the nearby villages for supplies, and then retreat back over the Great Mountains. A few blamed Ragnachar for what had happened, and did not want to fight.

  Romaria slid through the grasses. She saw a pair of spearthains arguing with vigor. Several dozen thains stood in a ring around the two, taking sides in the argument.

  Perfect.

  She sprang forward and knocked both spearthains to the ground. A ripple of shock went through the nearby Tervingi, and Romaria sprang atop the stunned spearthains. She threw back her head and howled, long and loud.

  “Lord Mazael’s wolf-woman!” said one of the Tervingi.

  “Kill it!” shouted a man, and the Tervingi scrambled for their weapons as she raced away.

  But she left a trail a blind man could follow, and she stopped at the top of the hill, making sure the pursuing Tervingi could see her.

  And they came in pursuit. At least a hundred Tervingi, while the rest milled around the base of the hill in anticipation of attack. Romaria bared her fangs at the charging thains. Fear flashed over their faces, but the Tervingi did not slow.

  The ground trembled beneath her paws, and Romaria braced herself.

  A heartbeat later knights and mounted armsmen surged over the crest of the hill, lances lowered to strike. They galloped past Romaria and raced down the slope, the horses’ manes streaming in the wind of their passage.

  The Tervingi, charging uphill, never stood a chance. Romaria flowed back into her human shape, snatched her bow from her back, and joined the fray.

  ###

  Mazael watched the chaos on the hillside, saw the knights mow down the Tervingi.

  “Now,” he said.

  Sir Aulus nodded and lifted the war horn to his lips. He loosed a long blast from the horn, and the two hundred and fifty horsemen behind Mazael shouted.

  Mazael lowered his lance and kicked Hauberk to a gallop. The big horse surged forward with an excited whinny, hooves tearing at the ground, and Mazael’s men lowered their lances and charged. The Tervingi at the base of the hill froze in panic, and then erupted in all directions. Some charged at Mazael’s men, screaming. Others raced for the horsemen atop the hill, and still others ran for the village.

  Then Mazael’s men reached the first wave of Tervingi, and he had no more time for thought.

  His lance smashed through the chest of a spearthain, flinging the man to the ground. Mazael killed two more men before the lance shattered. He yanked Lion from its scabbard, the steel flashing in the sunlight, and struck right and left, killing with every blow. His horsemen hewed their way through the disorganized Tervingi, trampling and killing. From time to time a spearthain managed to knock a knight from a saddle, or a bold swordthain cut the legs of a charging horse, but Mazael’s men tore through the Tervingi like reapers through the wheat.

  Lion ran red with blood, Mazael’s rage thundering in his chest and heart. The Tervingi seemed so slow, and he avoided their blows with ease, deflecting them upon his shield. The Tervingi could not stand against him. No one could stand against him! He would kill them all, he would…

  Mazael reined up, surprised.

  There were no Tervingi left to kill. Dozens of corpses lay strewn across the ground, while the rest of the Tervingi fled into the village. A low earthwork wall and ditch surrounded the village, but the gates were open, and Mazael could order his men inside and kill and kill until no Tervingi were left…

  He forced himself to lower Lion, blood dripping from the sword’s point.

  “Sir Aulus!” he shouted. “Sound the halt!”

  ###

  A short time later a swordthain emerged from the village’s gates.

  The swordthain had gray-streaked red hair and a tangled red beard. Scars marked his cheeks and hands, but the scars of battle, not the ritualized scars of an orcragar. He came out unarmed, hands held before him. Mazael rode out from his lines and reined up before the swordthain, facing him alone.

  “I am Earnoric,” said the swordthain, voice rough, “son of Marothar. This is my hold, the village of Stony Hill. What terms do you offer?”

  “Surrender,” said Mazael.

  Earnoric shook his head. “If I do, you will slaughter us all.”

  “I will not,” said Mazael. “Surrender, lay down your arms, and take an oath not to take up weapons against the lords of the Grim Marches, and you shall be left in peace.”

  “I cannot,” said Earnoric.

  “Why not?” said Mazael. “Are you so eager to die?”

  “No,” said the swordthain, “I do not wish to die. But I have accepted it, as has every man, woman, and child of the Tervingi nation. We expected to perish in our homeland beneath the blades of the Malrags, and we expected to perish during the long journey to the Grim Marches. And if we perish now, beneath your sword…well, we are prepared for that fate.”

  Mazael’s hand twitched toward Lion’s hilt, ready to take Earnoric at his word …

  Instead he said, “I have no wish to slay you. And if you lay down your arms, you shall be left in peace.”

  “The choice may not be yours,” said Earnoric.

  “What do you mean?” said Mazael.

  “The hrould Ragnachar sent word,” said Earnoric. “Lord Richard slew Athanaric, though he was mortally wounded in the fighting. Now Toraine is Lord of Swordgrim, and he has vowed to exterminate the Tervingi. We must fight alongside Ragnachar’s men or perish utterly.”

  “Do you believe that?” said Mazael. “Do you really think Lord Richard murdered Athanaric?”

  “No,” said Earnoric. “But the truth does not matter. Toraine is liege lord now, and he wishes to destroy us. Ragnachar might have betrayed and murdered Athanaric, but Toraine still wants us dead.”

  “No,” said Mazael. “We will defeat Ragnachar. And once he is defeated, we will have peace once more.”

  “Even if Lord Toraine wishes to slaughter the Tervingi?” said Earnoric.

  “If he wishes it,” said Mazael, “then I will stop him.”

  Earnoric lifted a red eyebrow. “Will you?”

  “Yes,” said Mazael. “I will not allow Toraine to butcher innocents, and I certainly will not allow him to kill your women and children. If you take up arms against us, I will destroy you. But if you lay down your arms and swear to not to make war against us, I will leave you in peace.” />
  Earnoric grunted. “The Lord of Swordgrim is your liege lord. And if he commands it, will you refuse him?”

  “I will,” said Mazael.

  Earnoric paused. “And even if you must make war against him, will you refuse his command?”

  “I shall,” said Mazael.

  It was the first time he had spoken it aloud.

  If Toraine tried to destroy the Tervingi, Mazael would stop him. Fighting against Ragnachar was one thing. But once Ragnachar was defeated, if Toraine tried to slaughter the Tervingi, Mazael would stop him.

  Gods and devils, how had it come to this? He wanted peace. Yet no matter what decisions he made, he always found himself facing a new war. Was that the curse of his Demonsouled blood? That no matter what he did, it would come down to fighting in the end?

  “You will?” said Earnoric. “The Guardian was right about you.”

  “What did she say?” said Mazael. She and Riothamus were most likely dead now, if they had accompanied Athanaric to Stone Tower.

  “That the destiny of the Tervingi lies in your hands,” said Earnoric. “The Guardian had visions of power. She said that the destiny of the Tervingi rests with a man in golden armor who fights with a sword of blue fire.”

  Mazael felt a chill, Lion heavy in its scabbard at his belt.

  “Seems she was right,” said Earnoric with a shrug. “Of course, your sword looks fashioned out of steel, not blue fire, so mayhap she was wrong.”

  “You wouldn’t see the blue fire,” said Mazael. “The High Elderborn forged the sword long ago, and it only burns with blue fire when confronting a creature of dark magic.”

  He remembered the Old Demon’s confident prediction of his death. Was that what his father had meant? That the Tervingi would kill him? That Ragnachar would defeat and slay him?

  Earnoric blinked. “Oh.”

  He edged away a bit.

  “That doesn’t matter now,” said Mazael. “Whatever the Guardian might have prophesied, the fate of your hold, Earnoric son of Marothar, rests in your hands, here and now. Will you swear not to take up arms against us? Or will you fight?”

  “We shall swear,” said Earnoric.

  ###

  An hour later the last Tervingi thain had sworn not to wield arms against Mazael or the other lords of the Grim Marches. One by one they came, swearing upon their spears and swords, and Mazael had sworn to defend them in kind.

  He had acquired some new vassals.

  “Do you think they will keep their oaths?” said Romaria, when the last Tervingi thain returned to the village.

  Mazael shrugged. “It depends. If we defeat Ragnachar, they’ll be as peaceful as our own peasants. If Ragnachar defeats us, they’ll join him, and Ragnachar will march against the neighboring lords.”

  “And if Toraine tries to kill them,” said Romaria, “they’ll fight to defend themselves.”

  “Aye,” said Mazael. “So it all comes down to how well I handle Toraine.”

  “I think,” said Romaria, turning her head, “that we’re about to find out.”

  He followed his gaze, and saw a rider galloping towards them.

  One of Sir Tanam Crowley’s scouts.

  ###

  A short time later Mazael and his men rejoined Toraine Mandragon’s host.

  More vassals and knights had arrived, and close to seven thousand men now rode beneath the Mandragon banner. Toraine rode at the head of the army. Lord Jonaril Mandrake, Lord Astor Hawking, Lord Robert Highgate, and the other chief lords of the Grim Marches rode at his side.

  Mazael joined them, flanked by Romaria and Sir Aulus.

  “Ah,” said Toraine, his dark eyes flashing. “Lord Mazael. You’ve deigned to rejoin us. What news?”

  Mazael steered Hauberk alongside Toraine’s mount. “There was a Tervingi warband outside of Stony Hill. Six hundred spearthains and swordthains.”

  “A significant force,” said Lord Astor.

  “Yet you have returned unscathed,” said Toraine. “Remarkable. One would think that you were friendly with the Tervingi.”

  “Or that he outmaneuvered them,” said Romaria.

  Toraine snorted. “Outmaneuvered them? Did you invite them to a dance?”

  “The Tervingi are fine warriors,” said Mazael, ignoring the insults, “but undisciplined. Lady Romaria lured them out, and we were able to smash them.”

  “A solid victory,” said Lord Jonaril.

  “And once you defeated them, what then?” said Toraine.

  “The remaining men surrendered, and gave oaths not to take arms against us,” said Mazael. “We then departed.”

  Toraine scowled. “You left them?”

  Mazael shrugged. “They surrendered. What else was to be done?”

  “You should have killed them all,” said Toraine, voice hard with anger. “The barbarian vermin will join Ragnachar the minute you turn your back. You could have killed them without a fight.”

  “They surrendered after a fair battle,” said Mazael. “I will not butcher prisoners who fought well, and certainly not their wives and children.”

  Toraine grinned. “That is why you are not liege lord, my lord Mazael. You cannot make the difficult decisions.”

  “Sparing women and children,” said Mazael, “is hardly a difficult decision.”

  “Correct,” said Toraine. “I will kill them without a second thought.”

  “You will kill them?” said Mazael.

  “It occurs to me that our strategy is flawed,” said Toraine. “We can kill warband after warband, but Ragnachar will not come after us until he is ready. Instead, we need to attack the Tervingi villages.”

  Mazael felt his heart go cold. “What?”

  “Stony Hill is a short march away,” said Toraine. “We will go there and kill the prisoners you foolishly allowed to escape. And then we will burn the village and kill all the Tervingi who live there.”

  A disapproving rumble came from the lords and knights.

  “All of them?” said Lord Astor. “Even the women and children? That would be ill done, my lord. Are we any better than the Malrags?”

  “They are only barbarians,” said Toraine. “And war forces hard decisions upon us, my lords.” He turned to his standardbearer. “Signal for march. We shall make for Stony Hill and attack.”

  “No,” said Mazael.

  Toraine glared at him. “I am liege lord here, Mazael. If I command it, it shall be done.”

  “It will not,” said Mazael. “I will not allow you to murder women and children.”

  Toraine’s pale face reddened with rage. “You defy me? I will have you stripped of lands and titles! I will have your head on a spike over the gates of Swordgrim!”

  “I care not,” said Mazael. “But I will not allow you to destroy that village.”

  “Allow?” said Toraine. He spread his arms. “See it well, my lords! Mazael has desired to be liege lord ever since he returned to the Grim Marches. He murdered his brother to claim Castle Cravenlock. No doubt he conspired with Athanaric and Ragnachar to murder my father. And now he uses the excuse of some wretched barbarian urchins to defy his lawful lord!”

  “You are the liege lord,” said Mazael, “and I contest it not. But I would not let a Malrag warband kill those villages. And I certainly will not let the liege lord of the Grim Marches do it.”

  “You go too far,” said Toraine, voice quiet. “How shall you stop me?”

  “If I have to cut you down here and now, I’ll do it,” said Mazael.

  Toraine laughed. “You couldn’t…”

  Mazael had Lion out in an instant. But Toraine was just as fast, and his curved saber flashed into his hand. The other lords yelled in alarm and drew their weapons, and a ripple went through the host.

  “You draw arms against your liege lord?” shouted Toraine. “Idiot! You’ll die here.”

  “Perhaps,” said Mazael. Romaria drew her short bow, ready to release an arrow. He wanted to urge her to flee, but he knew she would never
listen. Mazael’s men clustered behind him, weapons drawn, while the host broke up as the armsmen and knights hastened to the sides of their lords.

  “Almost certainly,” said Mazael. “But you won’t be able to stop me before I cut you down.”

  “You’ll start a civil war,” said Toraine, but there was an eager light in his eyes. “All for the sake of those wretched Tervingi?”

  “Don’t lie to yourself,” said Mazael. “You started this. You’ve wanted an excuse to kill me for years. Well, now is your chance. If you want to kill those villagers, you’ll have to go through me.”

  Toraine hesitated, and Mazael saw an instant of doubt in his eyes. Perhaps it need not come to blood. Perhaps Toraine would see reason, would step back before…

  “Then die,” said Toraine, “traitor!”

  He lifted his sword, and Mazael raised Lion, and the lords cursed and shouted, and all the world paused around him in anticipation of the bloodbath to come.

  His Demonsouled blood burned with delight.

  “My lords!”

  The shout rang over the field, breaking the spell.

  “Sir Tanam!” said Romaria.

  Mazael saw a band of horsemen galloping towards them. The riders wore leather armor and chain, and served as Sir Tanam’s scouts and raiders. Yet why were they all together? Tanam never kept his scouts together, unless…

  “My lords!” Tanam reined up before them, his horse breathing hard. He looked them over and blinked. “What the hell are you fools doing?”

  Toraine scowled. “Mazael defied the lawful command of his liege lord…”

  “If we don’t act now, you’re not going to be liege lord for much longer,” said Tanam. “Ragnachar is on his way.”

  Mazael cursed. “How many men?”

  “At least fifteen thousand,” said Tanam. “And a hundred mammoths, armed for war. He is marching straight for Swordgrim, and we are directly in his path.”

  “Damnation,” said Lord Robert. “With those mammoths, he can overwhelm the walls of Sword Town. And from the wreckage of the town he can build siege engines and assault Swordgrim itself.”