Soul of Sorcery (Book 5)

by Moeller, Jonathan

But he groaned and fell to his knees instead.

  For a moment his eyes met Mazael’s.

  “Do it,” whispered Ragnachar, “and let me rest from killing at last.”

  Mazael brought Lion down in an azure blur.

  Ragnachar’s head rolled across the trampled grasses. A moment later his armored corpse collapsed to the ground, the sword of the Destroyer falling from his hands. The crimson greatsword shivered, shattered into red shards, and blew away in a drift of black smoke.

  Lion’s fire dimmed, but did not vanish.

  Mazael let out a long breath.

  ###

  “At last,” said Lucan.

  Through the Glamdaigyr’s hilt he felt the death of a Demonsouled, a powerful Demonsouled. Ragnachar, most likely. Not that it mattered. Mazael himself would die soon enough.

  Lucan felt the strength of a child of the Old Demon surge through the sword.

  And at last he had the power to work the Great Rising.

  ###

  Mazael gazed at Ragnachar’s beheaded corpse, at the smoking shards of the Destroyer’s sword.

  That could have been him. Had Romaria not stopped him from killing Rachel, all those years ago. Had Morebeth seduced him into becoming the Destroyer.

  It could still be him, if he let the Demonsouled rage devour him.

  “Gods,” said Mazael at last, wiping sweat from his brow.

  “Are you all right?” said Romaria.

  “I’ve been better,” said Mazael, “but I’m still alive.”

  Which was more than could be said of Ragnachar. And of so many of the Tervingi and the knights and the armsmen and the militia soldiers.

  So many dead, and all for nothing.

  “What do we do now?” said Molly.

  “First,” said Mazael, “make sure our lords and the Tervingi don’t kill each other.” The battle had wound down, but a single spark could restart it. “And then we’ll have to deal with Toraine.” He looked at the gates of Swordgrim. “He will probably try to attack us any moment, and we’ll need a united front to deal with him. I can deal with the lords. Riothamus! You’ll need to make sure the Tervingi don’t start a battle.”

  Riothamus said nothing, gazing at Swordgrim.

  “Riothamus!” said Mazael.

  Riothamus turned to look at him, eyes wide with alarm.

  And terror.

  An instant later a pillar of green flame exploded from the top of Night Sword Tower.

  Chapter 34 – The Great Rising

  Lucan threw back his arms and screamed.

  Tymaen watched, terrified.

  Shadows crawled up and down the black sword in Lucan’s hand. Arcs of green lighting sparked and danced from the Wraithaldr, touching the sigils of fire upon the floor. She felt the stone of the tower thrumming beneath her boots, the wind tugging at her skirts and cloak.

  The tower tensed beneath her, like a bowstring drawn back.

  The entire world tensed.

  And then a pillar of green light erupted from the Glamdaigyr and stabbed into the sky.

  ###

  “What the devil?” said Mazael.

  A pillar of green flame shot from the crown of Night Sword Tower and rose into the darkening sky. Massive black clouds formed overhead, swirling around Swordgrim, green lightning leaping from thunderhead to thunderhead.

  “What is that?” said Molly.

  The wind picked up, billowing over the blood-soaked battlefield.

  “I have no idea,” said Mazael, looking at Riothamus. “Do you know what this is?”

  “Something terrible,” said Riothamus, voice grim and hard. “We were all puppets, my lord Mazael. You, me, Ragnachar, and Lucan Mandragon. All puppets of the Urdmoloch.”

  “What does this have to do with Lucan?” said Mazael.

  “He says Lucan is up there,” said Molly, staring at the black tower. “And he’s casting some kind of spell.”

  “Lucan?” said Mazael. In the chaos after Lord Richard’s murder, he had forgotten about Lucan, but the memory came crashing back. Lucan had stolen the Banurdem and the Glamdaigyr.

  It looked like he was about to find out what Lucan intended.

  “Lord Mazael,” said Riothamus, his voice urgent. “We have to stop him. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I think it’s a spell from Old Dracaryl. If we let him finish it…”

  Black clouds choked out the last patch of blue sky, and the cold wind grew stronger. A ring of green light exploded from the top of Night Sword Tower, expanding over the plains and the Lake of Swords alike, shooting overhead with terrific speed until it vanished over the horizon.

  “I think,” said Molly, voice quiet, “that we might be too late.”

  Spots of green fire flared over the battlefield, hundreds, thousands of them. Mazael saw sigils of green fire burning upon the foreheads of the slain.

  Sigils that looked just like symbols that had burned upon the brows of Ardasan Mouraen’s runedead.

  ###

  Lucan's arms trembled with effort, his mind reeling with the strain of compelling such titanic forces to bend to his will.

  But he did it.

  The Glamdaigyr sucked in the power released from the deaths upon the battlefield.

  The Wraithaldr gathered the power and amplified it a hundredfold, pouring it into the sigils of the spell.

  And the Banurdem focused Lucan’s will upon the power, shaping it as he desired.

  Black clouds swirled in a mad dance around the tower, arcs of green lightning shooting overhead. A single mistake, and the summoned power would blast Lucan to ashes – and probably most of Swordgrim, as well.

  But Lucan, his power fortified with the well of Demonsouled strength, his mind enhanced with the skills of Marstan and Randur Maendrag, did not make a mistake.

  He shivered in exultation. He had done it! He would succeeded where Randur and all the high lords of Old Dracaryl had failed! The power intensified in the Wraithaldr, the pillar of green flame throbbing, until the summoned magic reached a mighty peak.

  Yearning to be released.

  Lucan screamed out the final words of the Great Rising, and for an instant the world seemed to pause on his words.

  “Rise!” he shouted, sweeping the Glamdaigyr before him. “Rise!”

  A thousand points of green fire flared across the battlefield.

  And in the depths of the Lake of Swords behind him.

  “Rise!” Lucan bellowed, pouring his will into the Banurdem. “By my power and by my will, by the power of the Banurdem, I command you to rise!”

  His vision seemed to encompass the battlefield, Sword Town, the Lake of Swords, and even all the world.

  And the dead rose at his command.

  The freshly slain on the field outside of Sword Town rose as runedead, sigils of power shining on their brows. Even a dead mammoth rose from beneath the walls, a massive glyph burning on its skull. Lucan’s will reached into the Lake of Swords. Dozens of battles had been fought on the lake over the centuries, and the bones of sailors lay moldering beneath the waves.

  They, too, rose at Lucan’s command.

  His magic plunged into the crypts below Swordgrim. Centuries of Mandragon dead erupted from their stone sarcophagi, the light of the sigils upon their skulls throwing back the shadows. His power reached into the town itself, into the graveyards outside the walls and the crypts beneath the church, and the runedead clawed their way free.

  The will of Lucan Mandragon spread from the Grim Marches and over the world, carried on the expanding ring of green light. The earth in graveyards churned as the runedead rose, crypts exploded open, ancient bones rose from battlefields, and drowned corpses rose to the surface of rivers and lakes.

  And still more rose, more and more.

  All of them waiting upon Lucan Mandragon’s command.

  He took a deep breath.

  “Kill!” he command, the Banurdem carrying his will across the entire world. “Kill them all!”

  And the runedead
obeyed.

  ###

  Horror reigned on the fields outside Sword Town.

  An undead swordthain attacked Mazael, the ghostly light of the sigil upon its brow transforming its face into an eerie green mask. Mazael parried, shoved aside the sword, and riposted. Lion's blazing blade pierced the runedead’s tattered chain mail and sank into its chest. Blue fire burst through its veins, and the creature staggered. Mazael tore Lion free and brought the sword down upon the runedead’s head.

  Azure flame quenched the green sigil, and the corpse collapsed, quiescent once more.

  Though there were more to took take its place.

  Thousands more.

  The ghostly glow of the runedead filled the field in all directions. Men fled, or fought against the dead. And they fought in vain, for weapons of normal steel could not harm the runedead. He heard the screams from Sword Town as the runedead became wraiths of pale light and walked through the walls. He saw the gates of Swordgrim burst open, saw men flee from the barbican, pursued by the runedead. Behind the castle the Lake of Swords boiled as the long-drowned dead clambered to the shore.

  Mazael turned, trying to find the others. He saw dark flickers as Molly danced around the runedead, luring them away. Bursts of golden fire flashed as Riothamus unleashed his magic, striking down the runedead right and left. Romaria backed away, face grim, bastard sword flying as she tried to hold off four of the dead…

  No.

  Mazael shouted a war cry and ran at her, bringing up Lion. His two-handed stroke took the head from the nearest runedead, blue flame pouring into its dead flesh. The other runedead turned to face him, and Mazael’s swing took the next creature’s head.

  Then he spun and slapped the flat of Lion’s blade against Romaria’s sword.

  The blue fire jumped from Mazael's sword and sheathed Romaria’s blade in crackling flame. She slashed, and this time her sword bit into the undead flesh. Her next swing took a runedead’s head from its shoulders. Mazael stepped past her and destroyed the final runedead with a backhanded blow from Lion. The creature staggered another two steps and fell to the ground.

  More runedead rushed at them.

  Darkness swirled in front of him, and Molly appeared. She slapped both her weapons against Lion, and disappeared again. She reappeared behind one of the runedead, dispatched it with two quick thrusts, and disappeared once more. Mazael seized the moment, cutting down a runedead with a single powerful swing. Romaria stepped into the gap, taking the hand and then the head from another runedead. Mazael cut down the last creature, and then they were clear.

  But only for a moment.

  Thousands of runedead surrounded them, and everywhere he looked, Mazael saw more of the slain rising from the battlefield, more climbing out of the lake’s churning waters, more emerging from the earth of the graveyards outside the town’s walls.

  Thousands of the things – and neither Mazael’s men, nor the Tervingi, nor the town’s militia had weapons that could harm the runedead.

  ###

  “What are you doing?” said Tymaen, gazing at the battlefield in horror.

  Lucan had told her what the Great Rising would do, how it would raise the dead to hunt the Demonsouled. Even with all their power, the Demonsouled could not fend off entire armies of animated corpses.

  But Lucan’s runedead were butchering everyone in sight. She saw the undead charge through the scattered Tervingi and the knights. Runedead stalked through the streets of Sword Town, going from house to house.

  Even from this distance, Tymaen heard the screams.

  Lucan looked up from the spectacle, his dark eyes reflecting the green fires of his sword.

  “You told me you were just going to kill the Demonsouled!” said Tymaen. “The undead are killing everyone!”

  “Tymaen,” said Lucan, “I am killing the Demonsouled.”

  “But…”

  “Don’t you understand what I must do?” said Lucan. “The Demonsouled have existed for thousands of years. Hundreds of generations. A man like Mazael Cravenlock is half-Demonsouled. But there are countless others. Men and women who are only one-tenth Demonsouled, or even one-hundredth Demonsouled. Not enough power to manifest, but Demonsouled nonetheless.” He looked back at the raging battlefield. “They, too, must be destroyed, for the good of the world.”

  “But you’ll kill thousands of people!” said Tymaen.

  “Tens of thousands, more likely,” said Lucan.

  “That’s mad!” said Tymaen.

  Lucan shrugged. "We are doing a terrible thing, yes. But it is necessary. Once the Demonsouled are utterly exterminated, we need never fear their threat again. A new world will rise from the blood spilled today, a better world, a happier world.”

  And Tymaen could do nothing as she watched the carnage below.

  ###

  “Others!” shouted Mazael, cutting down another runedead. “We need to find others!”

  The undead swarmed after him, wave after wave of dead thains and slain armsmen. Mazael and Romaria fought back to back, their swords trailing blue fire. Molly flickered around them, disappearing and reappearing, cutting down any runedead that drew too close. Riothamus stood nearby, his staff a blazing shaft of golden light, and unleashed blast after blast of golden flame at the runedead.

  “To the town!” said Mazael. He saw bands of Tervingi and armsmen rallying below the walls, trying to fight off the runedead. They formed shield walls, covering other men as they fled into the gate. But their weapons could not touch the runedead.

  They needed his help. Without Lion’s fire, they had no hope of defeating the runedead. Mazael would spread Lion’s fire and rally a larger and larger group. Then they could turn and face the undead in strength…

  “No!” shouted Riothamus.

  “They will perish without our help!” said Mazael.

  Riothamus yelled, gripped his staff in both hands, and slammed it against the ground.

  A ring of golden fire exploded from him, destroying every runedead in all directions for twenty yards.

  For the first time since Ragnachar fell, Mazael had a moment to catch his breath.

  “No, my lord,” said Riothamus. “It won’t be enough. Lucan’s spell isn’t just raising the dead on this battlefield. His spell is touching the entire world.”

  Molly frowned. “You mean…”

  Riothamus gave a sharp nod. “Yes. Everywhere. In every nation, every city, every village. The dead are rising.”

  “How can he possibly have that kind of power?” said Romaria.

  Mazael cursed. “The Glamdaigyr and the Banurdem. He's using them to do this. Gods damn it all, I should have killed him, I should have hunted him down when I had the chance…”

  “It’s too late for that now,” said Riothamus, his voice urgent. “You could set the swords of every man on this field aflame, drive the runedead from the Grim Marches, and the rest of the world will be overrun.”

  “Then we kill Lucan,” said Mazael, “before it’s too late.”

  “Even if we do,” said Riothamus, “no one else in the world will have the means to defend themselves.”

  “Then what do you suggest we do?” said Mazael.

  “We must act now,” said Riothamus. “There is a spell, knowledge of the High Elderborn that the Guardian inherited. I can do it, but I need your help, Lord Mazael.”

  Mazael nodded. “You have it.”

  “There will be some pain,” said Riothamus.

  “Do it anyway,” said Mazael.

  Riothamus nodded and pressed the end of his staff against Lion’s blade. Then he drew a dagger.

  “Take off your gauntlet,” said Riothamus.

  Mazael tugged the gauntlet off his left hand.

  “What are you doing?” said Romaria.

  Riothamus raked the dagger across Mazael’s hand, and red blood welled up. Then the Guardian forced Lion down with his staff, and the blood from Mazael’s hand dripped upon the crossed sword and staff.

  Pa
in exploded through Mazael, and he screamed.

  ###

  Power flooded through Riothamus, the Demonsouled power of Mazael’s blood. It was hideously strong, and tainted with rage and madness. Yet he forced the power through the staff, the sigils flickering and dancing with golden light.

  And the staff’s magic scrubbed the corruption from the Demonsouled blood.

  Lion’s sword roared with azure fire, and Riothamus shouted the incantation to the spell.

  Blue flame erupted into the sky.

  ###

  “What is that?” said Lucan, the wind tugging at his cloak.

  A slender shaft of blue fire erupted from the battlefield, stabbing into the writhing clouds the Great Rising had summoned. For a moment Lucan thought it was a counterspell, an effort to stop the Great Rising, and he began casting defensive wards around the Wraithaldr and the pulsing pillar of green flame.

  Lucan felt a massive pulse of power from the blue fire, felt it wash over him and the Wraithaldr.

  Leaving it untouched.

  He looked at Tymaen, but she only huddled in her cloak, weeping as she watched the fighting below. He regretted that the sight distressed her, but it was for the greater good. Still, the strange spell hadn’t affected her, or the Wraithaldr.

  Or anything at all, for that matter.

  Yet it seemed there was another wizard of power nearby, and such a wizard could interfere with the Great Rising. Best to crush the threat before it manifested. Lucan began a spell, drawing on his well of stolen Demonsouled power, intending to unleash a blast of destructive force.

  The pillar of blue fire faded, and it its place Lucan still saw a faint point of azure flame.

  Mazael Cravenlock.

  He pointed, ready to unleash the spell.

  And then thousands of points of azure fire erupted on the battlefield.

  ###

  Mazael stared in amazement.

  Every sword, every spear, every axe, and every bow in the hands of a living man burst into blue fire as far as the eye could see. A mighty cheer went up from the battling men. Everywhere Mazael saw the knights and thains going on the attack, cutting down the runedead with weapons that now had the power to harm the undead flesh.