Soul of Skulls (Book 6) (32 page)

Another burst of flame shot towards him, this one purple instead of orange-yellow. Lucan recognized the spell, a strike designed to sap at his magical energy in addition to devouring his flesh. He altered his warding spells, the violet flames raging around him, and the attack dissipated. 

And still another attack came. 

Lucan refreshed his warding spell, plotting a counterattack. He could summon the Glamdaigyr, use it to absorb Caraster's spells, and fling the attacks back at him. But Caraster's attacks came too hard and too fast. If Lucan's wards wavered for even an instant, the flames would devour him. 

More fire hammered down out of the sky, forcing Lucan to throw further power into his warding spells. 

###

Gerald twisted, catching a runedead's fist upon his shield. The blow rocked him, the runedead striking with the force of a blacksmith's hammer. He lashed out with his sword and caught the creature upon the forehead, the green fire of his sword struggling against the ghostly glow of its sigil. The fire of Ataranur’s spell proved stronger, and the runedead collapsed into a motionless heap. 

He saw a runedead menacing Lord Adalar, and destroyed the creature with a sharp chop of his sword. Adalar managed a grateful nod before two more runedead charged him. Gerald attacked the undead, cutting down the first while Adalar took the head from the second.

And for just a moment, no foes threatened Gerald, and he risked a look around the battlefield.

The horde of runedead had smashed into the front of the square, attacking with unnatural vigor. He saw flares of green light as the runedead turned immaterial and strode through the river with ease, hardening into material form as they reached dry land. They circled around the sides of the host, attacking the sides of the square formation.

Very soon the army would be surrounded.

Another wave of runedead came at Gerald, and he got his shield up to block their attacks. He felt himself being forced back, even as he cut down undead after undead. Sooner or later they were going to run out of room to fight. The runedead would draw closer and closer until the army ran out of room to swing their swords and stab their spears.

And then runedead would crush them beneath the sheer weight of numbers.

A thunderclap rang out, followed by a flash of light, and Gerald saw a firestorm raging in the heart of the runedead host. Had Caraster and his disciples just killed Ataranur?

If so, all hope was lost.

Gerald fought on.

###

The next spell was a titanic hammer of psychokinetic force, power enough to crush flesh and bone to bloody mist. The ground shuddered beneath Lucan’s boots, and he raised his hands, his cloak billowing around him as he threw more power into his wards. The blue light of his defensive spells sputtered, but held against Caraster’s onslaught. The shock wave of the spell bloomed around him, spreading with enough force knock over hundreds of runedead like toys.

Lucan frowned as the obvious realization came to him. 

His defensive approach had been foolish. He had been trying to block Caraster’s attacks by sheer strength, but a clever warrior used his foes' strength against them. If he instead deflected Caraster’s spells, and flung the rebel's own power back at him…

A lance of purple flame hurtled for Lucan. 

He adjusted his defensive wards. Power screamed through him, and he drew on everything – his own strength, the stolen Demonsouled power, the knowledge he had taken from Randur Maendrag.

The blast struck him and rebounded from his wards like a thrown rock bouncing off a stone wall. The bolt of violet flame ripped through the runedead, turning a hundred of the creatures to dust. 

The smoke cleared, and Lucan caught his first glimpse of Caraster himself.

The rebel stood on a low hill that rose like an island from a dark sea of runedead. Lucan saw a tall man in a ragged black robe, his chest adorned with the sigil of a closed crimson fist. Around him stood nearly fifty men in black robes. All of them possessed magical power, but Caraster himself wielded the most might. 

Joined together, they made for a potent force. 

Caraster shouted, and the disciples began another spell. Arcane power spiked in the air, and Caraster flung a massive fist of psychokinetic force. Lucan worked his own wards, the air crackling around him, and cast his spell just as Caraster and his minions finished theirs. 

The psychokinetic burst struck Lucan, and his wards deflected it. The spell tore through the ranks of runedead, hurling the creatures dozens of feet into the air. For an absurd instant Lucan remembered his brother Toraine as a child, throwing a tantrum and flinging his toy knights in all directions. 

Even from this distance, he heard Caraster’s bellow of enraged fury. 

Lucan ran, his legs pumping as the runedead flowed around him. The low hill drew closer, and Caraster and his disciples began another spell. Lucan stopped, rebuilding his wards, and a volley of fire fell from the sky. Lucan thrust out his hands, deflecting the spells. The fiery bursts stabbed through the runedead, turning undead flesh and bone into smoking ash. 

Again Caraster and his minions cast a spell, and Lucan ran forward. He drew on his magic, filling himself with power. Caraster shouted a command, and all the disciples flung out their hands.

A storm of flame roared from their fingers and swept down the hill, devouring the runedead in its path. The burning wall rushed towards him, and he cast his own spell, holding his hand out to the fire. 

The wall of flames reached him...and began flowing into his hand.

Lucan gritted his teeth, his undead body trembling with strain. Neither pain nor exhaustion troubled him, but the sheer strain of his effort was considerable. His wards screamed around him, threatening to collapse, but Lucan summoned his full strength. He felt the power surge through him, and undead or not, it was enough raw force to melt his bones to molten slag.

The wave of fire yawned over him…and vanished into his fingers.

A heartbeat later he held a shimmering ball of orange-yellow light, his hand twitching with strain. The sphere trembled with the spell's vast power, all of it forced into a globe two inches across. 

Caraster and his disciples gaped at him in astonishment.

“Catch,” said Lucan, and he threw the sphere at the hill.

###

Gerald slashed the head from another runedead, fighting side-by-side with Tobias and Adalar. Blood streamed down his brother’s face from a cut, and Adalar winced every time he raised his arms.

They were losing. 

Endless waves of runedead came at them, an neverending assault of green flame and undead flesh. Gerald’s arms throbbed, his breath coming in a harsh rasp. He wanted to catch his breath, to rest his aching arms. But he dared not. If he lowered his guard for even a moment, the runedead would have him.

He felt another man jostle his back. They were almost out of room. Soon Gerald would have no more space to swing his sword or raise his shield. 

And then he would die.

At least Rachel and Belifane and Aldane were safe behind the walls of Knightcastle.

But not for much longer. Knightcastle’s walls had been warded against the immaterial forms of the runedead, but nothing would stop them from tearing down the gates. And then Rachel and the children would die as Caraster built his mad new order. 

Gerald wished he had stayed at Knightcastle. Then he could have died with his family, rather than…

A brilliant flash of white light flared over the runedead.

A moment later the thunderclap rang out, and Gerald saw a pillar of fire billowing from the heart of the runedead host.

###

Lucan got his feet, grateful that he no longer needed to breathe.

The stench of burning flesh would have made that quite unpleasant.

Raging flames covered the hill, and dozens of charred, twisted forms dotted its slopes, all that remained of Caraster and his disciples. They had warded themselves, of course, but their wards had been insufficient to stop their own redirected power. They would have…

A single figure stumbled out of the flames, surrounded by the sputtering glow of a ward.

“Ah,” said Lucan. “You survived. Splendid. That will make this easier.”

Caraster glared at him, eyes wild with rage.

Demonsouled rage. 

The wizard who had almost overthrown Knightcastle was a burly, barrel-chested man, his head encircled by a mane of ragged gray hair, a tangled beard hanging to his chest. His dark eyes flashed with fury, his thick hands knotting into fists. 

He looked insane beyond all reckoning. Like the sort of man who might murder children to pass a dull afternoon. 

“Who are you?” spat Caraster.

“Death,” said Lucan, “for the Demonsouled.” He took a step closer. “Which means your death.”

Caraster laughed, long and wild. “So you found my secret?” He spat, his spittle sizzling against the scorched ground. “The knowledge will not save you.”

“That’s how you're controlling the runedead,” said Lucan. “With your Demonsouled blood. A wretched little bandit wizard like you couldn’t have controlled so many runedead otherwise.”

“They attacked me first,” said Caraster. “I hid out with my band in a cave near Castle Dominus, robbing travelers. Then the runedead came for us. They killed all the others. They would have killed me. But my blood spilled upon them…and they obeyed me.” His face flashed from pleasure to rage and back again. “Then I understood my purpose. My greatness. The runedead had risen to serve me, and I would cleanse the world of the wicked.” 

“Indeed. One final question,” said Lucan. “Did the Old Demon command this of you?”

Caraster’s soot-stained face twisted with contempt. “The Old Demon? The Old Demon is a legend! Another story those lying priests tell fools to trick them out of their money. I did this! I, Caraster, and no one else! Do you know why I did it?” His eyes bulged with madness. “She rejected me, you know, when we were young. Betrothed herself to Mathard because he had more money. I killed them both for it, of course. But then I understood. There are no gods, and the wealthy make the world evil. Someday I would kill them all. Every lord, every knight, every priest, every merchant, every last one of them. For when I kill them all, every man will be poor…and therefore every man shall be rich. And I will have remade the world in my own image.”

“What a fool you are,” said Lucan. “With your power and this army of runedead, you could have remade the world. Instead you have squandered your power pursing this fool’s dream. Perhaps you should have waged war on the rivers instead, and forced them to flow uphill.” 

Caraster snarled. “Do not mock me! Kill him!”

Every runedead on the field, uncounted thousands of them, turned and rushed at Lucan. 

###

Gerald blinked.

The runedead withdrew. All of them, simultaneously, turned their backs and ran towards the river.

Towards the burning hill to the south.

###

Caraster laughed, eyes wide with triumph.

Lucan held out his right hand and summoned the Glamdaigyr. 

Green fire and shadow swirled around his fingers and hardened into the massive black greatsword. The sigils carved in the blade shone with green flame, a haze of shadow writhing around the steel. The pommel had been fashioned into a dragon’s skull, and it grinned hungrily at Lucan. 

He sensed hunger from the sword’s aura, its strength like a tower of frozen iron. The weapon yearned to drink life and magic, to gorge itself on stolen warmth, to devour living things.

To devour all the world.

For the first time Lucan saw fear on Caraster's face.

“What is that thing?” he demanded.

“Did I not tell you?” said Lucan, walking towards Caraster. “Death.”

A hundred runedead charged at him, and Lucan flicked a wrist. Psychokinetic force lashed in all directions, driving the undead to the ground. Caraster shrieked and flung a spell, a blast of invisible force, and Lucan raised the Glamdaigyr. The sword drank the spell’s power and drained it into Lucan. 

Caraster stumbled back, the terror on his face growing, and Lucan struck.

The Glamdaigyr drained away Caraster’s defensive wards and plunged deep into his chest.

The Demonsouled shrieked in horror, clawing at the blade. Lucan felt his strength and power, the demon magic in his tainted blood…and the thousands upon thousands of bonds he had established with that magic to control the runedead. 

All of that power drained into Lucan.

Caraster sobbed in pain, his face turning gray, and Lucan watched as the Glamdaigyr drank away his life and power. 

Power that sang like a storm within Lucan. 

He kicked Caraster’s lifeless body off the Glamdaigyr, leaving it to crumble into dust, and turned to face Caraster’s runedead.

No. His runedead, now.

“Assemble,” commanded Lucan. 

He would put them to good use indeed.

###

“What’s happening?” demanded Tobias, wiping blood from his brow.

He asked the question of the wizards, but Gerald answered anyway. 

“I don’t know,” he said. 

The runedead arranged themselves into ranks, like an army on parade. Now they stood without moving, as motionless as statues. 

As motionless as Ataranur in his black cloak and mask. 

“They’re moving,” said Lord Nicholas.

The green fire on their blades winked out, and Gerald wondered if Ataranur had been defeated. If he had, they were truly doomed. 

But the runedead stopped moving, and Gerald saw they had parted to form an aisle. 

A moment later he saw Ataranur stride up that aisle, his black cloak blowing in the wind, something swinging from his right hand. He reached the river, and Gerald saw what swung from the wizard’s hand. 

Caraster’s head. 

Ataranur crossed the ford and climbed the bank, and stopped before Tobias and Gerald and the other lords. 

They stared at each other in silence.

“What?” said Tobias at last, voice hoarse. “What did you do?”