“You’re slaughtering thousands of innocents,” said Mazael. Tymaen wondered if he would attack, if he would try to plunge that burning sword into Lucan’s heart. Yet he only seemed to want to talk. “Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Their deaths are necessary,” said Lucan.
“And that doesn’t trouble you?” said Mazael. “I’ve known you for years, Lucan. You swore to fight dark magic, to keep it from devouring others as it devoured you. Look at what you’re doing! An army of undead? Why?”
“To…to rid the world of the Demonsouled,” said Lucan, shaking his head. “Yes. It…I must do it. I must! It will be worth the cost in the end.” An instant of terrible confusion crossed over his face. “Isn’t it?”
“The Glamdaigyr and the Banurdem,” said Mazael. “Don’t you see what’s happened? They’re too powerful for you, just like the bloodstaff. They’ve warped your mind until you are capable of doing…this.”
“No, no,” said Lucan, shaking his head. “No, that’s not it. The Banurdem and the Glamdaigyr and the Wraithaldr are only tools. I can control them. I am controlling them!”
“Then why,” said Mazael, “are you so comfortable killing all those people?” He took another step closer. Tymaen watched him, her heart hammering. “All those thousands of people, Lucan.” His gray eyes flicked towards Tymaen, and she flinched from the heavy force of his gaze. “All those women like Tymaen. They’re all going to die. And you feel no remorse? A year ago you would never have dreamed of doing anything like this! What changed?”
“I don’t know,” whispered Lucan. Again the terrible confusion came over his face.
“Was it the bloodstaff?” said Mazael. “Something it did to you?”
“I don’t know!” shouted Lucan. He shook his head and pressed the heel of his free hand against his temple, his fingers brushing against the Banurdem. “I remember…something. Wait. I remember it. A…a black city, full of ruins…”
Tymaen saw a shadow moving along the battlements behind Lucan. She glimpsed armor of black scales, a curved sword glimmering with blue fire.
Lord Toraine Mandragon.
“Lucan!” she screamed.
He turned, looking at her, and Toraine jumped from the battlements, sword angled to kill.
###
Malaric’s sword, wreathed in green flame, swung for Molly’s head. She ducked, slipped past his next thrust, and stabbed for his chest. But his sword snapped up, deflecting the blow, and he brought his blade hammering for her face.
She crossed her sword and dagger before her and caught the descending blade, her arms trembling with the strain.
He was strong. Freakishly strong, strong enough to match Molly’s Demonsouled strength. And he was much faster than she remembered. That wasn’t possible. Men slowed as they aged. They didn’t get faster.
Yet Malaric moved so fast she could barely follow the movements.
He stabbed at her, and Molly slipped into the shadows, reappearing a dozen paces away to consider her options.
Malaric laughed.
“You’ve gotten slower, little girl,” he said. “Or maybe I’ve just gotten faster.”
“What is this, some spell?” said Molly. “Or some enspelled toy you found with Lucan?”
Malaric’s smile widened. “It is, indeed an enspelled toy. And it lets me do some impressive tricks. Like this.”
He disappeared in a swirl of darkness.
Molly blinked in astonishment. Had he turned invisible? Or…
A heartbeat later her brain caught up with her eyes and screamed a warning.
She whirled just as Malaric reappeared behind her, her blades coming up to beat aside the thrust that would have plunged between her shoulders.
Somehow, Malaric had gained the power to travel through the shadows, just as Molly did.
She jumped back into the shadows, reappearing atop one of the inner walls. Malaric disappeared, and reappeared atop in the wall in a swirl of darkness an instant later, his sword ready.
“Run as far as you want,” said Malaric, “run as fast as you can. It won’t matter. You can never escape from me.”
He came at her in a blur, his sword spitting green fire.
###
Lucan whirled just as Toraine sprang from the battlements.
He flung out his hand, hurling a blast of invisible force, but Toraine was moving too fast. His spell clipped Toraine’s shoulder and spun him, but his older brother’s black-armored body slammed into Lucan. He lost his balance and fell to the ground, hand still clutching the Glamdaigyr’s hilt, and Toraine landed beside him with a clatter of armor.
Lucan heard Tymaen shouting, Toraine snarling, and the clatter of boots as Mazael ran at him.
He cursed in fury.
It had all been a trick, the deception of a Demonsouled trying to save himself. For an instant Lucan had wavered, wondering if he had made a terrible mistake.
If he had become the puppet of something else.
But it all had been another lie. No doubt Mazael had planned to distract Lucan, keeping him occupied until Toraine struck. Mazael was Demonsouled, and the world would not be safe until every last drop of Demonsouled blood been spilled.
Starting with Mazael.
Toraine rolled to his feet, sword raised, and Lucan cast a spell.
###
Malaric pursued Molly through the shadows, and they danced and flickered over the walls of Swordgrim.
She hissed in fury, risking a look at the top of Night Sword Tower. Mazael needed her aid. But she could not walk the shadows to his side, and she could not get away from Malaric long enough to take the stairs.
She reappeared atop one of Swordgrim’s outer towers, Malaric behind her. Their blades met in a furious dance, the pale blue flames from Lion straining against the necromantic fire of Malaric’s sword. Her sword caught his, and she rolled her left wrist, her dagger raking against his hip. Malaric staggered with a grunt of pain, and at last Molly had her opening.
Her sword flashed across his neck, opening his throat.
Malaric stumbled against the battlements, blood dripping down his neck...and grinned.
A few heartbeats later the wound in his throat closed.
Malaric had gained the ability to heal his own wounds.
“How?” said Molly.
Malaric laughed. “Let us just say your brother was most obliging.”
“Corvad?” she said. “Corvad’s dead, you idiot.” But while Malaric and Corvad had not been friends, they had respected each other, at least as much as Corvad respected anyone. Had Corvad given Malaric a bloodsword, the way Amalric Galbraith had given Ultorin one? “So what is it? Did he give you a bloodsword?”
“Don’t be absurd,” said Malaric. “A bloodsword is a gift. I took this power by right. Just as I shall take your head.”
His blade came at her, and Molly parried.
She realized she could not defeat Malaric on her own.
Molly fled into the shadows, and Malaric pursued her.
###
Lucan flung out his hand, and invisible force hammered into Mazael.
The blast knocked him over and sent him rolling across the turret. He clawed at the floor, trying to stop himself before he bounced over the battlements and plunged to his death.
But something lifted him up, and Mazael found himself floating in the air, unable to move. He saw Toraine floating a short distance away, cursing and slashing at the air.
Lucan’s magic held them fast.
“I should have known,” snarled Lucan, leaning on the Glamdaigyr as he staggered back to his feet. “Deception is the chief weapon of the Demonsouled. I am going to rid the world of the Demonsouled, now and forever!”
“What are you going to do to them?” said Tymaen.
Lucan ignored her. “They will not stop me.”
“Lucan,” said Mazael. “Listen to…”
“You will release me!” screamed Toraine. “I command it! I am the liege lord of the Grim M
arches. You will release me!”
Lucan’s black eyes turned toward Toraine.
“We had a bargain!” said Toraine. “You would rid me of both Mazael and the barbarians! That was our bargain.”
“I suppose,” said Lucan, “that it was the great disappointment of our father’s life that he turned us both into weapons, but not into capable lords. If he had left the Grim Marches to the town’s drunkard, my brother, he would have left them in better hands than yours.”
“You miserable wretch!” shouted Toraine. “I am your liege lord, release me, I command you to release, me, I command…”
Lucan pointed the Glamdaigyr and beckoned.
And invisible force wrenched Toraine forward and slammed him upon the blade of the Glamdaigyr.
Toraine screamed and aged before Mazael’s eyes as the black sword drank away his life. In a heartbeat he looked fifty years old. A heartbeat after that he looked a hundred years old, and then a thousand. Then only a ragged skeleton hung upon the Glamdaigyr, black dragon’s scales falling to the floor.
Lucan shook the Glamdaigyr, and the bones clattered against the floor, the dust blowing away.
“You killed him,” whispered Tymaen. “You killed your own brother.”
“He tried to kill me,” said Lucan, voice toneless. “And his death was necessary.”
“Necessary,” spat Mazael. “You’re fond of that word. How many more deaths will be necessary?”
“Yours, to begin,” said Lucan, turning towards him. “I assume you slew Ragnachar? The Glamdaigyr captured the power released by his death, and that power served as the catalyst to work the Great Rising. How much more power will I draw from your death, my lord Mazael? How many more runedead will I raise? It would be appropriate if your death provided the power to rid the world of the Demonsouled forever.”
He strode toward Mazael, the Glamdaigyr drawn back to stab.
###
Riothamus summoned another volley of lightning, ripping apart the wave of runedead charging towards him.
And, for just a moment, nothing was attacking him.
He risked a look at the army. It stood fast against the runedead, Romaria’s clear voice ringing over the fray as the archers loosed volley after volley. Riothamus was exhausted, his head pounding, his heart thundering with the exertion of loosing so much magic in so short a time. Even the Guardian had limits. Yet the men needed his aid, and he knew he should fling his spells into the fray.
He looked at Night Sword Tower. Molly was up there, facing Lucan Mandragon. She needed his help…
Then darkness swirled, and Molly appeared before him, the grass burned by his spells crunching beneath her boots.
“Molly?” said Riothamus.
“Help me,” said Molly.
Darkness swirled next to her, and a man appeared. He had a sleek, predatory look about him, and his sword blade glimmered with a necromantic spell. Even without trying, Riothamus sensed the dark magic rolling off the man. A series of mighty necromantic spells rested upon the swordsman, filling him with power.
The swordsman advanced on Molly, blade raised, and Riothamus leveled his staff.
The swordsman's green eyes widened, and he glanced at Molly.
"The Tervingi wizard," said the swordsman.
"You're right, Malaric," said Molly. "I can't defeat you by myself."
“Oh,” Malaric said. “That was clever.”
Golden fire burst from the staff and hammered into Malaric, tearing at his spells. Malaric screamed, burns appearing on his skin as his spells collapsed, but for some reason the burns healed almost at once. Malaric threw himself to the side, vanishing into a swirl of shadow.
He did not return.
###
Tymaen watched Lucan stalk towards Mazael, the Glamdaigyr drawn back to strike.
Mazael was Demonsouled. He deserved to die. The world would be better without the Demonsouled. Lucan had said so.
Lucan had said a lot of things…and in the last hour he had wrought more horrors than she had seen in her entire life.
It was her fault. She should have refused Lucan. She should have talked him out of his mad plan, made him see reason. Instead she had followed him like a love-blinded fool, and now his armies of runedead would kill everyone in the Grim Marches.
And thousands upon thousands more throughout the world.
She had dreamed of doing something significant with her life, and instead she had helped Lucan to kill countless innocents.
She had to stop him from doing anything worse.
Her eyes fell upon the Wraithaldr, revolving within the column of pulsing green flame. Lucan had cautioned her not to touch the staff or any of the sigils he drew upon the floor. The spell was a delicate thing, he said, involving fantastic amounts of magical force.
Delicate enough, perhaps, that she could disrupt it?
Tymaen ran at the pillar of green fire and flung herself at the staff, intending to knock it out of the light. The light washed over her like liquid ice, like a torrent of freezing blood, and she struck the staff.
She bounced away as if it had been made of iron instead of black crystal.
Tymaen staggered back, her boots scraping through the sigils. Agony flooded through her, every vein in her body turning to ice, filling her with so much pain that she could not even scream.
“Tymaen!” shouted Lucan.
The Wraithaldr still revolved within the column of green light, but Tymaen’s shove had knocked it askew, and it spun faster and faster. A horrible keening sound, like metal under stress, came from the staff, and the tower began to shake. She heard Lucan shouting, heard the Wraithaldr’s shriek, but it all seemed so terribly distant.
The Wraithaldr screamed, and the staff exploded.
Shards of burning dark crystal shot in all directions, plunging into Tymaen’s heart and throat and chest.
A brief moment of pain, and then everything went black.
###
Mazael hit the floor and rolled as Lucan’s spell released him.
He scrambled back to his feet. The tower trembled and quaked around him, and the pillar of green fire began to bore into the stone like a massive drill, hot chips of rock spraying in all directions. The clouds spun faster and faster overhead, the wind rising to a howling gale.
Tymaen Highgate stood before the widening column of fire, her chest transfixed by a shard of black crystal as long as Mazael’s forearm. She turned towards Lucan, held out a hand toward him, and then fell upon her face.
Dead.
###
Lucan screamed.
This could not be happening.
This could not be happening!
The pain flooded through him, worse than anything he had experienced, even worse when she had broken their betrothal. She had been lost to him, and he had reclaimed her from Lord Robert. Now to lose her again…it was too much.
The Demonsouled had done this to him.
Still screaming, Lucan whirled to face Mazael, all his power summoned for a killing spell.
###
Mazael sprang forward as Lucan raised the Glamdaigyr, shadows and ghostly fire dancing around the black sword.
He drove Lion forward, and the blade sank to the hilt into Lucan’s chest.
Lucan sagged, his eyes going wide, his right hand still clutching the Glamdaigyr.
“I’m sorry,” said Mazael.
Lucan turned his head, looked at Tymaen, his face filled with horror and regret.
Then he slid from Lion’s blade, dead, and the glyphs on the Glamdaigyr’s blade went cold and dark.
A roar filled his ears, and the pillar of fire widened. Mazael lost his balance, grabbing at the battlements for support as the turret cracked and splintered around him. The floor titled, the pillar of fire chewing through it. Mazael looked for the stairs, but it was too late. The pillar of fire had engulfed them, and Night Sword Tower would collapse any second…
“My lord!”
A griffin flashed past, T
oric on its back.
He rammed Lion into its scabbard and jumped over the crumbling battlements.
The griffin hurtled past him, and Mazael grabbed the beast’s right hind leg. The griffin shrieked in annoyance, wings flapping as it tried to deal with the unexpected weight, but the griffin’s flight leveled out as it swooped away from Swordgrim and towards the battle below.
Mazael hauled himself up to the saddle, and behind them the pillar of green fire devoured Night Sword Tower.
And then it exploded.
###
A ripple went through the massed runedead.
Romaria lowered her bow, frowning, her arms and shoulders aching. The runedead lost their precise formation, some surging forward to attack, others wandering away across the plains. This time the shield wall held easily against the scattered attacks, the runedead mass disintegrating into an incoherent mob.
The mind controlling the runedead had been defeated.
Lucan was dead.
Romaria let out a long breath and looked at Swordgrim just in time to see it explode.
The pillar of green fire pulsed, expanding to colossal size, and ripped through the stone walls and towers of Swordgrim like paper. Burning chunks of stone rained in all directions, ripping through the scattered runedead and falling into the lake like hail. The ground heaved beneath Romaria’s feet, and for a dreadful moment she wondered if the pillar of green light would expand and consume the entire world…
Then the green light winked out, and Swordgrim was gone.
Utterly gone. Not even one stone of the massive castle sat atop another. Even the finger of land upon which it had stood had vanished. The lake boiled and writhed, massive waves sloshing at the shore.
Soul of Sorcery (Book 5) Page 44
