Soul of Skulls (Book 6) (16 page)

Chapter 16 - The Siege of Tumblestone

Gerald marched south with six thousand knights, armsmen, and militia archers, all equipped with wizard's oil and flaming arrows. Sir Commander Aidan Tormaud's Justiciars followed, five hundred mounted knights and five hundred sergeants on foot. Circan rode at Gerald's side, stark in his black coat. 

Ataranur followed them both, his head bowed in his dark cloak, the sun sometimes flashing off his steel mask. His horse moved with a rigid, precise step, and Gerald suspected the wizard used a spell to keep the beast under control.

As if the horse was terrified of his touch. 

The other men kept away from the High Elderborn wizard. 

Gerald set a brisk pace. It was almost a three day march to Tumblestone, using a pass through the low mountains south of Knightcastle. The city might fall to the runedead before he could arrive. Or, worse, Caraster might send runedead to block the pass. A thousand men could hold that pass against an army, and by the time Gerald's force circled around the mountains to the south, Tumblestone might well have fallen. 

###

Two days later they reached the pass.

"Anything?" said Gerald.

Circan lowered his head, rolling a wire-wrapped quartz crystal over his fingers. The crystal flickered with light as Circan worked his spell.

"No, Sir Gerald," said Circan. "There are no runedead in the pass. But there is a force of living men. Two thousand strong, I deem. They are heading this way. Perhaps some of Caraster's living followers?"

"Caraster," said Gerald, "does not have that many living followers."

He put spurs to his horse and rode into the pass, Circan, Ataranur, Aidan, and a guard of knights following. As they drew nearer, he saw a ragged mass of men marching through the pass. Gerald recognized many of them, and saw a familiar figure riding a horse at their head. 

Lord Adalar Greatheart.

Gerald rode forward, and Adalar and his knights met him.

"Sir Gerald," said Adalar, his lean face smudged with dirt and blood, "by all the gods, you are a welcome sight. Has Lord Tobias sent aid?"

"My brother," said Gerald, "is not the liege lord of Knightreach yet. Lord Malden has...recovered from his illness, and is assembling a force to take the fight to Caraster. In the meantime, we have been sent to relieve Tumblestone." 

Adalar stared at Ataranur, frowning. 

"That is Ataranur," said Gerald. "We can discuss him later. For now, we have more pressing matters. We must march for Tumblestone with all haste."

"It may be too late," said Adalar.

Gerald frowned. "Tumblestone has fallen?"

"Not yet," said Adalar, "but it will. At least thirty thousand runedead crossed the River Abelinus, and they put us to rout. Our host broke into a dozen fragments. My men managed to cut our way loose and elude the runedead."

Aidan frowned, his blue surcoat rippling in the wind. "Surely the Justiciar knights did not flee?"

“I do not know, Sir Commander," said Adalar. "Most of our host fell back to Tumblestone. Lord Agravain and Lord Tancred are within the city, and I suspect Lord Nicholas Randerly as well. More runedead have crossed the river, and thirty-five thousand attack the city, if not more."

"What are you doing here, then?" said Gerald.

Adalar took a deep breath. "Sir Gerald, I fear Tumblestone is lost. Even with the men you have brought, we would have scarce eight thousand to face thirty-five thousand undead. Once Tumblestone falls, Caraster will turn his attention to Knightcastle itself. I came here to fortify the pass and send word that aid is needed, immediately."

Gerald gave a curt nod, thinking.

The loss of Tumblestone would be a devastating blow, and the gods only knew how many innocent people Caraster would butcher. Worse, most of Knightreach’s fighting men had been guarding the fords of the River Abelinus. If they had retreated to Tumblestone, Caraster would kill them all, and Knightcastle would no longer have the strength to fight. 

But Gerald's and Adalar's combined force was not enough to defeat the runedead host, not without defensive fortifications. Perhaps Adalar's plan to fortify the pass was best. 

But everyone in Tumblestone would die...

"Sir Gerald."

Ataranur spurred his horse forward to join them.

"I shall deal with the runedead," said the masked wizard. 

"There are thirty-five thousand of the damned things," said Adalar, the doubt plain in his voice.

"Unimportant," said Ataranur. "I have awakened to save Knightcastle, and the runedead threaten Knightcastle. Therefore, I shall destroy them."

"One mortal wizard," said Adalar, "cannot handle that many undead."

"I am no mortal wizard," said Ataranur. "I studied at the feet of the great High Elderborn wizards of old. I know spells and arts unlike anything practiced by your wizards' brotherhood. If you allow it, Sir Gerald, I will destroy the runedead and save Tumblestone." 

Gerald stared hard at the steel mask. The masked wizard claimed to be High Elderborn, but Gerald doubted that a High Elderborn would have gone to such lengths to conceal his true features. But who, or what, Ataranur really was, Gerald could make no guess. And certainly a man who went to such lengths to conceal his features did not have any good end in mind.

But the wizard did have power.

Malden's newfound health and vigor proved that. 

Could that power prove effective against Caraster’s runedead? If Ataranur was some wielder of dark magic, a disguised San-keth like Skhath or a renegade wizard like Malavost, then that power would lead to only disaster. 

Yet Gerald thought of all those people trapped within Tumblestone, people Caraster would butcher to build his mad new world. 

It was time to take a risk.

"Very well," said Gerald. "Ataranur, I shall speak bluntly."

The metallic voice sounded almost amused. "I would have it no other way." 

"While I am grateful for your efforts on my father's behalf," said Gerald, "I do not trust you, and you have given me no reason to trust you. We shall do as you suggest, and ride against Caraster. But if you give me any reason to suspect betrayal, it will not go well with you."

"I act," said Ataranur, "in the name of the greater good. As I always have. If that is insufficient for you, Sir Gerald, you may put your sword into my chest at your leisure." 

Gerald nodded. "So be it."

###

The next day they reached the plain between the mountains and Knights' Bay. 

Lucan rode masked and cloaked, saying nothing and listening to everything as Sir Gerald led his men to battle. Gerald rode tirelessly through the host, consulting with his captains, praising men who showed disciple and initiative, and rebuking the sluggards. The man was a capable commander, and if he survived the upheaval, would one day make a fine lord. 

Lucan remembered the last time he had been at Tumblestone, following Mazael as he led the armies of Knightreach against Amalric Galbraith and the Dominiar Order. Mazael had been victorious, and Amalric and his sister Morebeth, both children of the Old Demon, had been slain… 

Lucan pushed aside the thought. Caraster and his runedead were a distraction, and nothing more. Lucan needed Knightcastle to open the Door of Souls and reach Cythraul Urdvul. He could not do that if Caraster destroyed Knightcastle. 

So Lucan would destroy him first. 

A few hours later Tumblestone itself came into sight. 

"Gods," muttered Adalar. "There are even more of them." 

The city of Tumblestone sat on a peninsula jutting into the blue waters of Knights' Bay, ringed by massive stone walls. Even at a distance, Lucan sensed the wards upon the walls, spells fashioned to keep the runedead from becoming immaterial and striding through the stones. A vast black mass of runedead surrounded the city, thousands of sigils burning with ghostly green light. Wave after wave of runedead assaulted the gates, and water surrounded Tumblestone on three sides, but the waves were no hindrance to the undead. They swarmed through the water and climbed up the walls. 

The defenders put up a valiant fight. Volleys of flaming arrows and waves of burning oil fell from the battlements. The runedead that reached the battlements met knights and armsmen wielding blades soaked in wizard's oil. Yet the undead were tireless, and the defenders were not. Sooner or later they would be overwhelmed. 

"Ataranur," said Gerald, voice hard. "I trust you have a plan?"

"Of course," said Lucan, spurring his horse forward. "I shall..."

He felt a surge of magical power in the air.

"Sir Gerald!" said Circan, his voice tight with alarm. "A spell! It..."

The air before them flickered, and a figure fashioned of black shadow and silver light appeared. A ripple of alarm went through the nearby men, and most drew their swords. 

Lucan's lip curled behind his mask.

"Don't bother," he said. "That's nothing but an illusion. An image fashioned of light and shadow and a minor spell."

Circan worked the spell to sense the presence of magic. "He's right, my lords."

"Fools."

The voice coming from the silver-lined shadow was a deep rumble, though the spell made it snarl and vibrate like a buzzing insect. 

"You cannot prevail against me," said the image. "History itself is upon my side. Justice has raised up the runedead to serve me, and I shall use them to cleanse the world of wickedness forever."

Lucan had raised the runedead, not some impartial force, and he certainly had not unleashed the Great Rising to put the runedead at the disposal of this fool.

"You, then," said Gerald, "are Caraster?"

The robed image gave a mocking bow. "Forgive me, oh most noble knight, for not visiting your august self in person. But nobles are treacherous and wicked."

"I am Sir Gerald Roland," said Gerald. "And if you wish to meet in parley, I give you my word of honor for your safe passage."

Caraster laughed. "Do you think I would trust the word of a noble swine? For that is what nobles are. Swine, all of you! You grow fat and bloated upon the sweat and toil of your peasants."

Lucan expected Gerald to react with anger, but Lord Malden's youngest son remained icy calm. "And butchering people at random is better?"

"Not random!" shouted Caraster. "No, not random. I will find the nobles. I will find the merchants. I will find the lying, sniveling priests. I will find everyone who has more than his neighbor. Then I shall kill them all, and take their stolen wealth and give it to the poor. I will raise a new order on the ashes of the world, a world where there are no wealthy men, where no one shall go without bread." 

"A fine dream," said Gerald. "But you seek to make the world clean by washing it in blood. That, in the end, will lead only to more blood." 

"You say that because you are corrupt," said Caraster, "because you cannot see the purity of the new world I will fashion. I will cleanse the world of all evil - and I shall kill you and all your family. Never again will a noble taint the world."

"As entertaining as it is to bandy words with a madman," said Gerald, "I fear I have more pressing demands upon my time. Stop your attack at once, and withdraw back across the River Abelinus." 

"Or?" Lucan heard the sneer in the distorted voice.

"Or," said Gerald, "I shall destroy you utterly."

Again Caraster brayed laughter. "With what? Your paltry host? The men cowering behind the city's walls? You cannot stop me! In fact, Gerald Roland, I will make you an offer. Draw your sword and fall upon it, and rid the world of your filthy noble blood. And if you do, I will spare the lives of Tumblestone, and allow your host to withdraw."

"And if I do not?" said Gerald. 

"Then I will destroy your host," hissed Caraster, "and my runedead will butcher every last man, woman, and child in Tumblestone. I will save you for last, Gerald Roland. I will make you watch as I kill them all, and you will know that their deaths are upon your head. Only then will I permit you to die, and then I shall send your head to Knightcastle."

A dead silence fell over the host. 

"I think not," said Gerald. "You have spat upon the laws of both men and gods, Caraster. Were I to surrender myself, I suspect you would simply kill the folk of Tumblestone anyway, and then congratulate yourself on your courage. No, we shall fight you."

"And who will stop me?" said Caraster. "You?"

"No," said Lucan. "I shall."

The image's hood turned toward him. "And who are you? A masked mummer? A monkey come to perform for my amusement? Such fripperies have no place in the new order."

"I am one," said Lucan, "who is going to teach you the true meaning of power."

He lifted his hand and cast a spell. Caraster's image flickered and vanished. 

"What did you do?" Gerald said.

A ball of snarling purple fire erupted from Lucan's gloved hand. It shot over the heads of the runedead in a high arc and slammed into the beach a mile or so south of the city. There was a bright violent flash, and a heartbeat later a thunderclap rolled over the plain.

A ripple went through the runedead. 

"Did...did you kill him?" said Adalar, stunned.

"Not yet," said Lucan. "I disrupted his projection, traced the flow of magic back to him, and then struck. Regrettably, he thought to ward himself from attack." 

Again the runedead host rippled, and they broke off their attack on Tumblestone.

The army of the undead turned to face Gerald's host, thousands upon thousands of sigils shining with green flame. 

"I think," said Adalar, "that you made him mad."

The runedead raced forward, charging towards Gerald's men.

"I hope, Ataranur," said Gerald, "that your powers extend to this."

"They shall," said Lucan. "I would not presume to command, Sir Gerald, but I suggest your men remain in place."

He dismounted, handed his reins to a befuddled Circan, and strode towards the charging runedead. Behind him Gerald's host scrambled into battle formation, the armsmen forming a shield wall, the mounted knights arranging themselves on the wings. Clearly, Gerald had no faith in Lucan's ability to defeat the runedead.