Soul of Skulls (Book 6) (20 page)

Or, at least, they were ready for a man with normal strength and speed.

Malaric sidestepped, moving with such speed they could not follow him. His sword opened one man’s throat, and he spun and ran another assassin through. Still another charged him, and Malaric’s free hand caught his wrist with crushing force. Bones snapped, and the assassin fell to his knees with a gurgled scream. The survivors circled around Malaric, and he flickered back into the shadows, reappearing near the stairs to the graveyard…

“Enough!” said Souther, a hint of strain in his voice. 

The assassins stopped, their weapons still raised, and Malaric brought his bloody blade through a lazy salute. 

“Are you sure?” said Malaric. “I could kill a few more, if you like. Or all of them.”

“That was an impressive demonstration,” said the First Dagger, fingers drumming on the handle of his cane. “Yet if you wanted to kill us all for revenge, I assume you would already have done so. So. What do you want?”

Malaric grinned. “Barellion.”

Souther lifted his pale eyebrows. “Is that all?” 

“For now,” said Malaric. “Listen well. Barellion is mine, and I have come to claim it. How many of my half-brothers are in the city now?”

“All of them, including your father the Prince himself,” said Souther. “Ah...save for Sir Hugh, who rides against the Aegonar in the north.”

Malaric snorted. He remembered his youngest half-brother well enough. How Hugh had bawled when the Lady of Blades had killed his mother! The Aegonar raids in the north had to be pathetic indeed, if Prince Everard had sent a sniveling fool like Hugh to fight against them. 

“Good,” said Malaric. “All the rats in one trap, isn’t that what you say?”

“One of my dear mother’s favorite proverbs,” said Souther. “I assume you wish to hire us to kill the Prince’s entire family? A difficult task, even for us, and therefore expensive…”

“No,” said Malaric. “I am going to kill my father and all my brothers. Tonight. Without your help.”

“I see,” said Souther. “Will you then declare yourself King of the World and march against all the other liege lords?”

Malaric laughed. “What you’ve seen here is only a hint of what I can do, First Dagger. The Prince’s guards could no more stop me than your master assassins could. I am going to kill the Prince and his heirs and claim the throne of Barellion tonight.”

“You are a bastard,” said Souther. “If you wipe out the Prince’s family, then Hugh becomes the new Prince.”

“Which is one of the tasks I require from you,” said Malaric. “You will make sure Hugh never returns to Barellion. He died tragically fighting the Aegonar rabble. Second, you will make it look as if the San-keth murdered the House of Chalsain.” 

Souther nodded. “So your plan is to murder the Prince and your brothers, seize the throne for yourself, and then lay the blame at the feet of the serpents. Ambitious, I do admit. Yet I see little gain for the Skulls in such upheaval. It will take a great amount of gold to…”

“I will not offer you gold,” said Malaric.

Souther laughed. “Your goodwill, then? That and a copper penny will buy me a cooked rat from one of the poorer taverns.”

“I offer you something even better than my goodwill,” said Malaric. “The goodwill of the Prince himself.”

Souther’s smile never wavered, but his laughter stopped.

“The Skulls have been outlawed for centuries,” said Malaric. “You have always had to lurk in the shadows, staying out of sight. My father and his nobles would destroy you if they could. How many times have the Skulls been hunted to the verge of extinction?”

Souther still said nothing.

“But if you assist me now,” said Malaric, “when I become Prince, you will have protection. More than that, you shall have a great deal of work to do.”

“Oh?” said the First Dagger.

“A Prince has many enemies,” said Malaric. “And I shall need those enemies eliminated, will I not? Help me take the throne. And when it is mine, you shall be my favored servants, my loyal lieutenants. Anyone who opposes me, you shall have my leave to kill…and I shall reward you with a portion of their lands and incomes.” 

He had thought hard on this, and had concluded the Skulls would be his best allies. Prince Everard inspired deep loyalty among his men, and some of them – most of them – would question that the San-keth had killed Everard and his legitimate sons. Some of them might try to kill Malaric. They would fail, of course. So long as Corvad’s skull was safe, Malaric was invincible. But the Skulls would provide a convenient way of disposing of his enemies. And after the Skulls killed a few malcontents, no doubt the others would be too terrified to oppose him.

For a long moment Souther stared at him, face expressionless. Malaric fingered his sword hilt. If Souther refused, Malaric would have to kill them all. Destroying the Skulls would be inconvenient, but…

Then Souther smiled. 

“We shall have to work out the details,” said the First Dagger, “but I believe we can reach an accord.”

Malaric grinned back. “Good.”

###

That night Malaric walked to the Old City and the gates of the Prince’s Keep, a dozen Skulls trailing after him. 

The Prince’s Keep stood at the western end of the Old City, past the grand mansions of Greycoast’s highest nobles, its curtain wall part of the Inner Wall itself. The ancient castle had been rebuilt and expanded a dozen times over the centuries, and now a massive drum tower rose from its heart, ringed by lesser towers. Siege engines topped the towers, ready to rain fireballs and steel-tipped bolts upon any malefactors in the harbor. 

Malaric strolled up to the barbican. Two armsmen in the Prince’s colors stood guard there.

“Hold, fellow,” grunted an armsman. “The castle is closed. If you have business before the court, come back…”

Malaric stepped into the shadows. He reappeared behind the armsman, a dagger in hand, and cut the man’s throat. The second man started to yell, but the Skulls swarmed over him and killed him before he could raise an alarm. 

“Remember,” said Malaric, wiping his dagger on the dead man’s tabard, “make it look as if the San-keth slew these men.”

Rosala grinned at him beneath her hood. “It shall be as you command…my Prince.”

She was clever enough to see which was the wind was blowing, and ally herself with the victor before the blood started to flow. Perhaps Malaric would make use of her in the future.

He strode through the shadows, making for the great central tower of the Prince’s Keep. 

###

“Where?” said Malaric, “are my brothers?”

He stood in one of the central keep's corridors, the arched ceiling high overhead. Banners lined the walls, and pieces of armor and scarred shields from ancient battles decorated the bare stone. A middle-aged serving woman gaped at him, eyes wide with recognition.

“Lord…Lord Malaric,” she managed, “your father the Prince banished you…”

“I’m aware of that,” said Malaric, resisting the urge to kill the idiot woman. “Where are my brothers? The San-keth are attacking the castle, and I must warn them.”

“The southern hall,” said the woman, “but…”

A few strides through the swirling darkness brought him to the southern hall. It was smaller than the castle’s great hall, with hearths on each of the four walls, and the Prince and his family used it for private dinners. A long table laden with food ran the length of the hall, and six of Malaric’s seven half-brothers sat at the table with their wives. 

They gazed at his sudden appearance in shock.

“What is the meaning of this?” bellowed a man at the head of the table, heaving himself to his feet. Rodric Chalsain was Prince Everard’s eldest son and heir to Barellion. He was only a year younger than Malaric, yet indolent living had left him fat, his sweaty face flushed. “Name yourself.”

Malaric drew back his hood and smiled. “Greetings, Rodric.”

“Malaric,” spat Rodric. 

“So you do remember me,” said Malaric. “I thought you’d all forgotten the bastard, cast out and spurned.”

“You murdered our mother,” said Rodric, his green eyes bright with anger.

“The fool woman killed herself,” said Malaric. “If she had known to leave well enough alone, perhaps she would be sitting at this table now, dismayed at what a fat slug her eldest has become.” 

The other men shouted in outrage, and a few of their wives, too. 

"Little wonder you should turn up like the carrion bird you are," said Rodric, "when the Aegonar fall upon our shores. Leave, Malaric. I will give you one chance. Leave now, or I shall tell Father, and by all the gods..."

Malaric's rage boiled over.

Gods and devils, but he had forgotten how much he hated his brothers. He was the eldest son, the firstborn of Everard Chalsain, but because of the archaic laws of Barellion, he would not inherit the throne of Greycoast. Malaric had fought and scrabbled for every piece of power he possessed, stolen it from Lucan, from Marstan, from Corvad, from Skalatan, from the Skulls, from those who would give him nothing. 

And to see his brothers sitting here, fat and well fed while he fought and struggled, enraged him beyond control.

He strode into the shadows and reappeared atop the table.

"Father will see you dead!" said Rodric, but his voice trailed off as he saw Malaric appear atop the table. "What sort of devilry..."

Malaric's sword blurred, Demonsouled strength driving his arm, and Rodric's head hopped off his shoulders and rolled across the floor, blood shooting across the table. Rodric's wife shrieked with horror, and Malaric killed her, too, if only to shut her up. 

The fight began in earnest then. 

Malaric fought his half-brothers, dancing through them in flickers of darkness. He sealed the doors with a spell, keeping them from escaping. 

Then he killed their wives in front of them. 

In the end, every last man and woman in that room died on Malaric's sword. He made the last few survivors beg like dogs, made them promise their fortunes, their souls, everything they had, to Malaric's lordship. 

Then he killed them anyway. 

He looked over the carnage, wiping the blood from his brow. A dark, cold satisfaction filled him...but less than he might have thought. As much as he had hated his brothers, they were only obstacles. 

He had not yet repaid the author of his wrongs. 

Malaric strode into the shadows, making for his final target. 

###

A single slender tower stood next to the central drum keep, its turret rising a good fifty feet over the rest of the castle. This was the Study Tower, and the Princes of Barellion had kept their private study in that turret for centuries. The only access was through a narrow stone bridge, followed by a spiraling stairway that circled the exterior of the tower. 

Malaric climbed to the tower's top, the wind tugging at his cloak, and kicked open the turret door. Shelves lined the room beyond the door, holding the Prince's private collection of books and scrolls. Round windows offered a splendid view of the castle, the city, and the rippling sea beyond.

Everard Chalsain, Prince of Barellion, stood up from his desk. 

Unlike his late heir, Everard remained fit, despite his advanced age, though his blond hair had long since turned white. He wore only a tunic, trousers, boots, and a dagger at his belt. The simple golden diadem of Barellion rested upon his brow. 

"How dare you intrude?" said Everard.

Malaric threw back his hood, and Everard's eyes narrowed. 

"Malaric," he spat, his voice full of loathing.

"Father," said Malaric, lifting his sword. 

"I suppose you butchered your way in here?" said Everard. "How many of my armsmen did you kill? I should not be surprised. You were always ready to seize power, regardless of who you had to hurt to claim it."

"Your sons are dead," said Malaric. "I killed them all. Their wives, too." 

A spasm of fury went through Everard's limbs. 

"I'm sure you stabbed them in the back or poured poison in their cups," spat Everard. "You were always a coward, Malaric, a miserable coward! You summoned up that spirit and killed my wife, so you fled to the Skulls! You are not my son! I regret that I..."

"Shut up," said Malaric.

He slammed his fist into his father's face with as much strength as he could muster. Blood and teeth flew, and Everard fell with a cry. Malaric seized Everard's wrist and wrenched the arm behind his back, snapping bone and tearing tendons.

He shoved the old man forward, towards the doorway and the narrow stairs circling around the tower's exterior.

"What a shame, Father," said Malaric. "The San-keth surprised you in your study and pushed you off the stairs." He tugged the diadem from Everard's hair. "But don't worry. Once I am Prince, I will avenge your death."

He shoved Everard off the stairs and sent the old man tumbling towards the courtyard. 

A moment later the old man's scream ended in a ghastly crunch. 

Malaric gazed at the courtyard for a moment, listening to the screams echoing through the Prince's Keep. Perhaps the bodies of Rodric and the others had been discovered. Or perhaps the Skulls had gone to work - he had instructed them to kill a few of the servants to make it look as if the San-keth had gone on a rampage.

He lifted the diadem and wiped the blood from it.

Then he set it upon his head and laughed. 

###

"All has gone rather well," said the First Dagger, Rosala standing at his side.

"Yes," said Malaric, "I suppose it has."

He stood in the cavernous great hall of the Prince's Keep, watching the servants scurry about. The horrendous murder of the Prince and his sons had sent a shock through the city, and Malaric had found the terrorized nobles only too eager to follow his lead.

That would not last. But once they found their spines and revolted, Malaric would have the Skulls purge any traitors. 

"What of Hugh?" said Malaric. 

He was the only threat left to Malaric's control of Barellion.

"I have spread the rumor," said Souther, "that Sir Hugh was slain fighting the Aegonar. And to make certain of that, I have sent some men north. They shall be...discreet."