Soul of Swords (Book 7) (28 page)

Chapter 21 - Roads of Ice

Again the Justiciar trumpets rang out. 

The runedead advanced at a slow, steady pace, a wall of dead flesh and crimson flame. The Justiciar knights on the wings began to move to the sides, following the runedead advance. No doubt Caldarus wanted them to engage the knights and horsethains waiting on either side of the shield wall. If the knights broke through Mazael’s horsemen, they could circle behind the shield wall and attack the footmen from behind.

Mazael watched the enemy maneuver, Lion burning in his fist. His heart thundered in his ears, his blood ablaze with the Demonsouled rage he knew so well. He had struggled with it, had managed to keep the fury under control for years. But now he welcomed it. He needed every edge against Caldarus and his runedead horde. Caldarus had come to invade Mazael’s lands and kill Mazael’s people…and Mazael was going to stop him, or die trying.

“Riothamus,” said Mazael, his voice icy calm. He tugged off his left gauntlet and extended his hand to the Guardian of the Tervingi. “Now.”

It was time to put the darkness in his blood to good use. 

Riothamus nodded, drew a dagger, and scraped the tip across Mazael’s palm. Blood welled up, and Riothamus let the drops fall upon the staff of the Guardian. The staff flared with golden light, and Riothamus struck the staff against Lion’s blade, shouting the words to a spell.

A wave of dizziness went through Mazael as the Guardian’s spell drew upon the power of his Demonsouled blood. The fire sheathing Lion’s blade flickered, danced…and then erupted in all directions. The weapons of the knights and horsethains nearest to Mazael burst into blue fire, and he saw a rising blue glow as the fire spread through the army, until thousands of men held weapons that burned with Lion’s fire. 

A thunderous cheer rose from the army, the armsmen raising their burning swords high, the spearthains and swordthains slamming their weapons against their shields in a steady drumbeat. Mazael shook his head, the dizziness fading, and tugged his gauntlet back onto his hand. The power of his blood, aided by Riothamus’s magic, had spread Lion’s fire throughout the army. 

The sword trembled in Mazael’s hand, like a wolfhound ready to spring upon its prey. 

“It seems almost eager,” said Mazael.

“It is,” said Riothamus, voice low. “That sword was forged to fight the Old Demon…and these creatures are servants of the Old Demon, even if Caldarus is too blind to see it.” 

“Then let us give the sword its chance,” said Mazael. “Join Toric. You are ready for what needs to be done?”

Riothamus gave a sharp nod, his expression hard. 

“I didn’t choose the man my daughter decided to marry,” said Mazael, “but even if I had, I could not have chosen anyone better.” 

Riothamus smiled. “You are too kind, my lord.”

“Go,” said Mazael. “Save the kind words for after the battle.”

Riothamus nodded again and hurried through the lines of Earnachar’s horsethains, making for where Toric and the other skythains waited with the wizards and the Elderborn druids. 

“Shall we charge into the foe, hrould?” said Earnachar, shifting in his saddle.

“Not yet,” said Mazael.

Earnachar hefted his mace. “My men are eager for killing!” 

“They’ll have their fill of it within the hour,” said Mazael. 

Or they would perish themselves.

Earnachar grinned. “Good.”

###

“What the devil is that?” demanded Caldarus. “That blue glow?” 

He sat on his horse with the reserve infantry behind the advancing mass of the runedead. It was beneath the dignity of the Grand Master of the Justiciar Order to participate in the fighting himself. The Order itself would act as the Grand Master’s weapons.

Next to him, Sir Commander Hadraine was astonished. “I…their weapons, Grand Master, their weapons have caught fire!” 

Caldarus saw that Hadraine spoke the truth. A blue glow rose from Mazael Cravenlock’s army. Every spear, every sword, every mace in the host now crackled with a halo of azure flame. 

“The witchery of that cursed sword of his,” said Caldarus. “Lucan Mandragon warned us of this.” 

“Perhaps we should withdraw, Grand Master,” said Hadraine. “The runedead will be vulnerable.”

Caldarus gave him an incredulous look. “Withdraw? Of course the runedead are vulnerable! That is their purpose. They are expendable tools in the service of our righteous mission. The runedead will pin the foe in place, both their horsemen and their footmen. And once they do, the knights will circle behind and smash their lines utterly.” The Justiciar knights were the finest heavy cavalry in the world, and they would crush Mazael’s rabble of peasant spearmen and barbarian savages. “Then the lands of the Grim Marches will belong to the Order, and we shall cleanse them of all wickedness.”

He stroked the handle of his black dagger, smiling at the thought. 

“But the runedead…” said Hadraine.

“Are tools to achieve our purpose, and nothing more,” said Caldarus. “But put your mind at ease, Sir Commander. We will lose some runedead…but not as many as you fear, thanks to Caraster and his disciples.”

He turned his horse and rode a short distance to where the burning wizards awaited. Fifty of the vile creatures stood with the reserves, the infantry making sure to keep well away from them. Flames sheathed their charred bodies, crackling and hissing. The runedead that had once been Caraster stood at their head, still clad in his ragged black robes. Unlike the others, his flesh was mostly intact. Apparently Lucan had not burned him to death with the others. 

“Grand Master,” hissed Caraster, the crimson sigil on his pallid forehead pulsing. “You will burn when the new order arises. You and all the other lords and priests shall perish in fire, and no one shall ever be hungry in the new world I will build…”

“Be silent,” said Caldarus. He could not deny the burning wizards were useful, but Caraster never shut up. “At my command, you and your disciples will join your powers and unleash your spells. The lesser runedead will pin the foe in place, and you will rain fire upon their heads.”

“They will burn,” whispered Caraster. 

“Indeed,” said Caldarus, turning to Hadraine and the other officers. “You see? A simple matter of holding the enemy in place, and then using the burning wizards to hammer them until they break. Then the knights can hunt down the shattered remnants of Mazael’s host. Proceed to your commands. Today we shall win a great victory.”

Caldarus rode back to the reserve, Hadraine at his side, while the other officers dispersed to their commands.

The runedead moved towards the enemy like an inexorable tide.

###

Romaria strung her composite bow, the mixture of wood and horn creaking in her fist. A quiver of steel-tipped arrows waited at her belt, and a blue glow rose from the arrowheads within the quiver. Around her, behind the curved shield wall, stood both the militia archers of the Grim Marches and the hunters of the Elderborn. The militia archers wore studded leather, short bows ready in their hands. The Elderborn hunters, tall and lean, wore fur and wool and leather, their great composite bows ready. 

The fear was plain on the militia archers’ faces, while the Elderborn kept themselves cold and aloof. Yet Romaria understood the Elderborn well enough to see the strain in the alien lines of their expression. Some of them were old enough to have fought the undead armies of Old Dracaryl five centuries past and knew the strength of the runedead. 

A drum boomed, followed by the blast of a war horn.

“Release!” shouted the sergeants in charge of the archers.

“Release!” said the captains of the Elderborn.

Romaria fitted an arrow to her string, the tip ablaze with flame, drew back her bow, and released with the others. A storm of blue-burning arrows hurtled into the air, overshooting the heads of the men in the shield wall, and fell like a storm among the advancing runedead. 

Romaria saw some of them fall, pierced by the magic clinging to the arrows.

But not very many, and the runedead continued their steady advance.

Romaria set another arrow to her string.

“Release!” the men shouted, and she loosed another arrow.

###

Molly gripped her sword in her right hand and her dragon’s tooth dagger in her left. 

The blue-burning arrows from the Elderborn and the militiamen stabbed into the runedead, but only a few of the creatures fell. There were simply too many of the damned things. It reminded Molly of a storm she had witnessed as a child, a great wall of storm-churned water crashing into Barellion’s harbor to overturn ships like toys and flood the dockside warehouses.

The runedead were a storm that threatened to wash away the Grim Marches. 

“Hold fast!” shouted Arnulf son of Kaerwulf as he walked through the lines of the shield wall, Sir Hagen Bridgebane at his side. “Hold fast!” The big Tervingi headman carried a massive axe and a round wooden shield, his face grim behind his ragged yellow beard. “Cover the man to your left with your shield, and strike with your spear! Aim for the hearts of the runedead, or the sigils upon their heads! Fight valiantly!” 

Many of the Tervingi began to sing, bellowing one of the battle-hymns of legendary Tervingar. Molly remembered the Tervingi singing before the Battle of Stone Tower, and shuddered with the recollection.

She felt the power of her Demonsouled blood pulsing through her veins, felt the battle rage rising within her. She might wish it otherwise, but she was Demonsouled, a grandchild of the Old Demon. He had tried to turn her into a weapon, and he had succeeded.

But now she was a weapon against him. 

The runedead crashed into the edge of the shield wall.

A shock went through the lines, and many of the men took a few steps backward. Molly saw why Mazael had insisted on forming a curved shield wall. The sheer mass of the runedead forced the lines backwards. If the runedead continued pushing, perhaps the end of the infantry lines could wheel around them and envelop the runedead horde.

Or, more likely, Caldarus simply had enough runedead to roll right over the footmen.

The Tervingi battle-hymn came to a ragged end, replaced with shouts and screams and howls as men fought and died. Spears stabbed and broadswords rose and fell, destroying runedead after runedead. The Tervingi thains and the armsmen of the Grim Marches gave a good account of themselves. Yet there were far too many runedead, and man after man fell as the runedead threw themselves against the shield wall. New men rushed to fill the gaps, yet the runedead pushed the lines backwards. The men were valiant, but they could not stand forever. Sooner or later they would break, and the runedead would have them. 

Molly hoped that her father knew what he was doing. 

In the meantime, she had work to do.

She saw a group of runedead hammering at a line of spearthains, and stepped into the shadows. Darkness swallowed her, and she reappeared behind the runedead. Her sword and dagger danced in a blue blur, and two of the runedead fell to the ground. The runedead turned to face her, and Molly cut down another one. The spearthains yelled and thrust their weapons, destroying almost all of the runedead.

“Lady of the Shadows!” shouted one of the spearthains. “Lady of the Shadows!”

Molly vanished back into the shadows.

It was a tactic she had used against the runedead over and over again. She was an assassin, not a spearthain or a knight, and she preferred to stab her foes in the back. But thanks to the power of her Demonsouled blood, she could travel through the shadows with ease. The fight along the wavering shield wall was a hundred different melees, and Molly jumped from skirmish to skirmish, distracting the runedead long enough for the thains and the armsmen to regain their footing and cut down their foes. 

She blurred through the battlefield, cutting down runedead after runedead, and helped a dozen different groups hold against their foes.

Yet there seemed to be no end to the runedead.

###

“We should charge, hrould,” said Earnachar, watching the fight.

“Not yet,” said Mazael.

The shield wall had engaged the massive bulk of the runedead horde. Mazael had spread his lines far enough to meet the massive wave of the runedead assault, but the men had been stretched thin. Sooner or later the runedead would force their way through the lines. 

“Hrould,” said Earnachar.

“I said not yet,” said Mazael. “If we charge now, the Justiciar knights meet us, and our horsemen will be useless to the footmen. If the runedead try to encircle the footmen, we’ll act. If the knights charge, we’ll act. But if we move now, we waste our advantage.”

“Advantage?” said Earnachar. “What advantage? The advantage of watching our countrymen perish?”

“I fear I see the honorable headman’s point,” said Lord Astor Hawking. “Caldarus needs only wait until his runedead grind through the footmen.”

“He won’t,” said Mazael. “He wants to smash us and start butchering the people of the Grim Marches. He isn’t patient enough. He’s going to bring the burning wizards into the battle. And then we will be able to act.”

“And if he does not?” said Earnachar.

“He will,” said Mazael, forcing a confidence he did not feel.

Because Caldarus’s best choice was to hold the burning wizards back until the runedead ground through the shield wall, and then send both the Justiciar knights and the wizards to destroy Mazael’s knights and horsethains.

If Caldarus did that, the battle was over.

Mazael watched the fighting, his fingers tight around Lion’s hilt.

###

“The battle goes well, Grand Master,” said Hadraine. “The barbarian infantry will not be able to stand for very much longer.”

“Good,” said Caldarus, watching the bloody chaos beyond the lines of his reserves. “Send word to Caraster. The wizards are to use their powers against the infantry at once.”

Hadraine frowned. “Is that wise, Grand Master? The foe has wizards…”

“Aye,” said Caldarus, “their court wizards, feeble old men in black coats. And whatever sorcerous powers that fool of a Guardian commands. Caraster and his creatures will draw out the enemy wizards, and Caraster and his creatures will destroy them. Then the burning wizards can turn their power against the foe. Better to destroy Mazael’s wizards now, before he can use them in some cunning trick.”