Soul of Swords (Book 7) (33 page)

But then a dragon had destroyed his army outside of Barellion.

And now the news that the squire had carried. 

Malden looked up and was not surprised to see Lucan Mandragon standing in the shadows next to the dais. Part of him felt relief. Another part of him wanted to draw his sword and cut off Lucan’s head. Lucan had saved his life, had given him renewed youth and vigor. But perhaps it would have been better if Malden had died in his bed. 

His wife and son would still be alive.

And Tobias and Rhea would not have led Knightreach to folly and destruction, as Malden had.

He and Lucan stared at each other for a moment. 

“Word has come from the east,” said Malden at last. “Caldarus is slain.”

“I know,” said Lucan. “I saw the runedead from his host coming to join yours.”

“There won’t be many,” said Malden. “Only a few survivors escaped the battle. Mazael Cravenlock and the Tervingi barbarians almost totally crushed Caldarus’s force. The Justiciar Order has been destroyed.”

“Lord Mazael is a capable commander,” said Lucan, “and the Tervingi are formidable warriors.”

“He also destroyed the Dominiar Order,” said Malden, remembering the dark days of Amalric’s invasion of Knightreach. “He was my most capable knight before he returned to the Grim Marches.” He stared at Lucan. “If he had remained here, I wonder how he would have counseled me, once you arrived and promised eternal life.”

“He would have counseled you,” said Lucan, “to cut off my head. And you would have died of your illness a few days later.” 

“Perhaps,” said Malden, “that would have been for the best.”

“You would give up so easily?” said Lucan, taking a step closer. “When victory is at hand?”

Malden barked a laugh. “Victory? How? Mazael is marching on Knightcastle. Hugh Chalsain’s army is coming south, and apparently the Aegonar are marching with him. They regard the runedead as such a threat that they have put aside their differences to assail Knightcastle. Between the three armies, they’ll have nearly eighty thousand men, maybe as many as ninety. I have thirty thousand runedead left, and barely five thousand armsmen and knights. And that number dwindles as they flee to join Gerald.”

That ought to anger him, he knew, but he understood why they would betray him.

“Victory can yet be yours, my lord Malden,” said Lucan. 

Malden laughed. “How? Through your magic?”

“Yes.”

Malden got to his feet. “Your magic was useless against that dragon. What shall you do if Skalatan summons the beast again?” 

“My tactics against the dragon were…insufficient,” said Lucan.

“Insufficient?” said Malden, his voice rising to a shout. “It destroyed two-thirds of the runedead! It threw such disarray into my lines that Hugh Chalsain drove us from the field.” The rage flooded through him, and he wanted to attack Lucan. “I think your tactics were more than merely insufficient.” 

“Agreed,” said Lucan. “But this time, I have a better plan.”

“What is it?” said Malden.

“We’ll simply kill them all,” said Lucan.

Again Malden laughed. “Such genius! If I only I had thought of that myself.”

Lucan showed no response to the mockery. “Once the armies converge on Knightcastle, they’ll be gathered together in one place. That will make it much easier to kill them.”

“Gods,” said Malden. “You’re serious.” He hesitated. “How will you accomplish this?”

“With your black daggers,” said Lucan. 

“There are only a few hundred of us left with the black daggers,” said Malden. “Do you expect us to stab our foes to death? That might take some time.” 

“Nothing so inefficient,” said Lucan. “There are powerful spells bound upon the daggers, designed to transfer the life force stolen from your victim to your body. Expanding the function of the spells is simply a matter of…volume, as it were.”

“What are you saying?”

“There is a spell upon each of the daggers,” said Lucan, “that if activated, will kill everyone standing within twenty or thirty yards. While keeping the dagger’s wielder safe, of course.” 

“Everyone?” said Malden.

“Every living thing,” said Lucan. “The application should be obvious. Disperse your knights along your battle line, and send them to charge into the foe. Then I shall activate the knights’ daggers.”

“Thousands of the enemy would die at once,” said Malden.

“Indeed,” said Lucan. “Perhaps even Skalatan and his dragon, if they get close enough. The death of so many troops would throw the enemy into disarray. If you flung all your remaining runedead into the fray, you could break the enemy and drive them from your lands.”

“Thousands,” said Malden again.

“Does that trouble you?” said Lucan. “These men are enemies, traitors marching to remove you from your rightful place as Lord of Knightcastle.”

“Yes,” said Malden. “Yes, you’re right.” 

He turned away, haunted by the thought. Thousands of men dead in an instant?

“Why didn’t you tell me of this before?” said Malden. “That the daggers had these capabilities?” 

“There was no need,” said Lucan. “Before, with so many runedead, victory seemed assured. Then we suffered…reverses.”

“Reverses,” said Malden with a bitter laugh. “A good word. Reverses. We have indeed.” 

He rubbed his face. His wife dead, his son dead, and thousands more fighting men would die below the walls of Knightcastle. 

All because he had not died in bed at his appointed hour. 

“This is the only way,” said Lucan, his voice urgent. “If you wish to spurn my help, then spurn it. Face your enemies alone and see what happens. But with my help, my lord, you can still be victorious. You can purge the realm of evil and rule in peace and justice.”

“You promised me that once before,” said Malden. “Now the power of Knightreach is broken and three different armies are marching on Knightcastle. What will happen if I listen to you this time?”

“Will you allow a few reverses to shatter your determination?” said Lucan. 

Malden didn’t know.

He had believed Lucan, trusted in a vision of a realm purged of evil, a realm peaceful beneath his firm hand. But had that been a delusion all along? Something he had believed because it would allow him to remain young and strong for centuries? 

So many had died because he had listened to Lucan…and he might yet lose Knightcastle. Malden no longer believed he could rule the realm. Now he was simply fighting to keep Knightcastle.

Was that enough?

Or should he have died in his bed months ago?

“So be it,” said Malden. “Do what you must.”

###

Lucan strode from the Hall of Triumphs, considering.

He doubted he could control Malden for much longer. The Lord of Knightcastle had been right to say a defeat shook a vassal’s loyalty to his liege lord…and Lucan’s defeat outside of Barellion had broken Malden’s confidence in Lucan. Still, Malden was desperate, and would turn to any source of help. 

But Lucan wondered when Malden would turn on him. 

No matter. Lucan had not been entirely truthful. He had told the truth when he described how the daggers could harvest vast quantities of life force at once.

He had omitted how the resultant explosion would likely blast the bearer of the dagger to smoking chunks. 

Lucan left the High Court to make his preparations. 

Chapter 24 - A Homeland

“Well,” said Montigard, scratching his beard, “another day, and we haven’t killed each other yet.” 

Maurus snorted. “A triumph of diplomacy.”

“You heard the Prince,” said Lord Bryce, pointing with a piece of jerky. “He wishes for peace with the Aegonar until we have dealt with Lucan Mandragon and Lord Malden. Then we shall repay the Aegonar for what they have done.” 

That was not what Hugh wished, not at all. He wanted to turn around, march back into Greycoast, and drive the Aegonar from the strongholds they had seized. He wanted to reunite Greycoast, return the displaced peasants to their lands, and let his lands know peace and prosperity. 

Instead, he had to march alongside Ryntald and his army.

“Yes,” said Hugh at last. “Yes, that is what I wish.” 

He sat with his vassals in his tent, his camp chair creaking beneath him. A table filled the tent, holding the meagre fare of their dinner. While on the march, even the lords and knights did not eat well. A few his of vassals had grumbled about their new alliance with the Aegonar, but none had disobeyed. The fate of Karlam Ganelon had put some fear into them. 

At least for now.

That, Hugh amended, and the dragon that had destroyed the runedead host. Fighting the Aegonar was one thing, but no sane man wanted to face Skalatan’s pet dragon. 

“We should reach Knightcastle itself in another six days,” said Bryce, “unless Malden sends a force to intercept us.”

“I doubt it,” said Hugh. “Too many of his runedead burned below the Outer Wall, and we scattered his knights and armsmen. He’ll pull everything back to defend Knightcastle. I suspect we are in for a siege.”

“The prisoners claimed that Grand Master Caldarus and the entirety of the Justiciar Order marched to the Grim Marches with ninety thousand runedead,” said Maurus. “Malden likely hopes that Caldarus will return with his runedead to lift the siege.”

“That was my thought,” said Hugh.

Montigard shrugged. “Perhaps we can have the serpent priest summon his dragon.” 

“I’ll be sure to ask him,” said Hugh, “the next time that…”

Every man in the tent stood, reaching for their weapons.

A calibah stood in the entrance to the tent. The changeling looked like a lean, unremarkable Aegonar man, red-haired and clad in dark leather armor. An unremarkable Aegonar…save for his yellow, black-slit eyes, similar to the eyes of a San-keth serpent priest.

“Nizius,” said Hugh, and the lords and vassals relaxed. Somewhat.

The calibah offered a courtly bow. “My lord Prince. I hope this evening finds you well?”

“I’ve never been better,” said Hugh. “Why, I find that all this fresh air and exercise agrees with me.”

Nizius straightened up with a chuckle. “As do I, my lord Prince. The High King extends his compliments to you, and requests the honor of your presence.”

“The Prince of Barellion and the liege lord of Greycoast,” said Lord Bryce, “does not come at the beck and call of an invading warlord.”

“Certainly not, my lord Bryce,” said Nizius with smooth aplomb. “Rulers ought to treat each other with respect. The High King invites the Prince to meet with him at a point precisely between our two camps.”

“Alone?” said Hugh. 

“You may bring one companion with you, if you wish,” said Nizius.

Hugh thought it over. His first impulse was to bring Maurus, in case Skalatan or Korvager or one of the other seidjar attempted a spell. But Ryntald hated Korvager and the other seidjar. And if Skalatan wanted to speak with Hugh, he would do it without the bother of ceremony. Lord Bryce, perhaps? Bryce was his most loyal supporter…but Hugh could not show him too much favoritism. 

“Sir Philip,” said Hugh. “Accompany me.”

Montigard heaved himself to his feet with a sigh. “As you wish, lord Prince.” 

Nizius bowed again and led them from the tent. They walked through the camp, past the armsmen sharpening weapons and cleaning armor. All of them bowed as Hugh passed, and all of them shot murderous glares at the calibah, some reaching for their weapons. Nizius remained unconcerned by the attention, his demeanor relaxed. Hugh suspected that was a pose, and wondered how many weapons the calibah had hidden about his person.

Though with the poisoned fangs in his mouth, perhaps Nizius did not deed to rely on anything as mundane as a hidden dagger. 

They walked past the sentries and left the camp. Ahead Hugh saw the fires of the Aegonar camp, and heard the distant rumble of voices as the seidjar chanted praise to Sepharivaim. The seidjar liked to sacrifice victims to their serpent god on a regular basis, though Hugh had refused to cooperate unless they stopped the practice.

But once they defeated Lucan, he suspected the seidjar would resume their butchery.

Assuming they managed to defeat Lucan. 

Two figures awaited nearby, halfway between the camps. Hugh saw Ryntald in his scale armor, his face grim and forbidding beneath the close-cropped red beard. An Aegonar warrior waited at his side, an axe at his belt and a wooden shield on his back. 

“The Prince of Barellion, High King,” said Nizius with a bow, and then melted into the darkness.

Hugh and Ryntald stared at each other in silence. The serpent-shaped diadem of red gold glinted upon Ryntald’s brow, and Hugh felt the weight of his own diadem. 

“I trust,” said Ryntald, “that you are well?”

“The calibah,” said Hugh. 

“What about them?”

“It is disconcerting,” said Hugh, “how quietly they can move.”

A smile appeared for a moment on Ryntald’s face. “Indeed. Among the Aegonar, one does not displease the Heralds of Sepharivaim. For the Heralds never show anger, not openly. Instead the calibah arrange for a little accident, and all men marvel how those who displease the Heralds seem to die in such peculiar mishaps.” 

“So it is safe to assume they are spying on us?” said Hugh.

“Of course they are,” said Ryntald. “And even if they were not, the seidjars have their own spies, and the Great Herald can observe whatever he wishes.” He shrugged. “And what of that? I wish to serve Sepharivaim.”

“Though you cannot be pleased,” said Hugh, “to have the likes of Korvager spying upon you.”

“Korvager is zealous in his devotion,” said Ryntald. “But even the servants of Sepharivaim may disagree on how best to serve him.” 

“Truly,” said Hugh. “I assume that is why you are here? A…disagreement on how best to serve the serpent god?”

“Those of us who serve Sepharivaim and the Great Herald are of one purpose, of course,” said Ryntald. “We must defeat Lucan Mandragon and prevent himself from unleashing a horror upon the world. But after, though, after…there is some disagreement about what comes after.”

Hugh shrugged. “From what I’ve heard from your people, it seems that Sepharivaim shall reign over the world with the Aegonar has his chosen people.” 

“So the Herald says,” said Ryntald. “And I do not doubt him. But the Herald is San-keth, his mind and his thoughts alien to the mind and thoughts of men. Sepharivaim will rule the earth…but I suspect he will leave details such as governance to his servants.”

“Ah,” said Hugh, understanding. “And if we are victorious, if we do indeed stop Lucan from whatever he intends…you are making plans for the aftermath.” 

“You understand,” said Ryntald. “Korvager would have us fall upon you the moment Lucan is defeated, and destroy your army below the walls of Knightcastle. Some of my earls wish for us to march north as soon as Lucan is defeated and seize Barellion ere you can pursue us.” He snorted. “And a few of my bolder earls would have us destroy you, seize Knightcastle, and add all of Knightreach to our lands.”

“Then why don’t you follow their counsel?” said Hugh.

Ryntald shook his head. “Korvager is overbold. He believes our triumph inevitable. But a warrior never relies upon a victory until it has been won.”

“Wise words,” said Hugh. 

“Additionally, Korvager and the earls overlook one other factor,” said Ryntald. “Our armies and the runedead will not be the only forces upon the field outside Knightcastle.” 

“Mazael Cravenlock,” said Hugh. “He is coming for Knightcastle.”

“If he is victorious,” said Ryntald. “Perhaps the Justiciar Order will triumph. If it does, we need fear tens of thousands of additional runedead returning to Knightreach. If they catch us while we are fighting each one another, that would be disastrous.” 

“Why not just ask Skalatan to use his dragon to burn them to ashes?” said Hugh.

Ryntald grimaced. “The Great Herald says his dragon was…injured in the fighting, and needs time to rest before returning to the mortal world. Additionally, the Great Herald caught Lucan Mandragon unprepared. The necromancer will have prepared defenses this time. But I do not think we will face more runedead. I suspect Mazael Cravenlock will be victorious, and will come to make war upon us. Before you reclaimed your father’s throne, he put terror into the warriors who held northeastern Barellion. Had you not been so intent upon Malaric, I believe Mazael could have driven us out of northern Greycoast, and our host would have been trapped between the River of Lords and the city.”

“One more crime to lay at Malaric’s feet,” said Hugh, “that he lost half of Greycoast to the Aegonar.”

“He was not your equal as a commander,” said Ryntald. “But I will speak plainly. If he had not murdered your father and brothers, if he had not lost the great battle at Castle Bridge, we would not have conquered as much land as we did. Your father might have been able to keep us bottled up near Castle Stormsea, perhaps even driven us into the sea entirely.” 

“And you fear that happening now?” said Hugh.

Ryntald shrugged. “Do not all rulers fear defeat?”

“You have been speaking in hints and riddles, Ryntald,” said Hugh. “When I was your prisoner, you asked me for simple answers. Well, it’s time to return the favor. What do you want?”

“A truce,” said Ryntald. “After the battle, if we are victorious against Lucan Mandragon. We shall allow you to return to Barellion in peace…and in exchange you will allow us to return to northern Greycoast in peace.”

Hugh scowled. “You expect me to simply surrender half my lands?”

Ryntald laughed. “Certainly not. In fact, I expect you to spend the rest of your life fighting us…however long that happens to be. But we already hold half of your lands, Prince of Barellion.”

“So I noticed,” said Hugh.

“You could spurn my offer,” said Ryntald. “The Great Herald commanded that we fight by your side, and we are obedient servants of Sepharivaim. But after, my lord Prince, after…who can say what will happen?” His eyes glinted in his hard face. “You are only one man, and you have no heir as yet. If you were to fall immediately after the battle…to a calibah’s blade, perhaps…your vassals would turn on each other. Then it would be so easy for us to conquer all of Greycoast.”

“Or,” said Hugh, “I could ask Mazael’s aid, and the combined armies of the Grim Marches and Greycoast will utterly destroy the Aegonar.”

“Or the Justiciar runedead could return and sweep both of us from the field,” said Ryntald. “All of these things could come to pass. Or we could allow each other to return home in peace to rest before renewing our conflicts.” He leaned forward. “I suspect you need a time of peace, Prince of Barellion. Your armies are bloodied, your people hungry, your lands ravaged. Unceasing war is to no one’s advantage.”

“So that’s what this is about,” said Hugh. “You want to return to Greycoast and recover. Your warriors are as exhausted as mine.”

Ryntald stared at him for a moment, and then shrugged. “It is useless to conceal an obvious truth. The Aegonar are hardly exhausted…but, yes, we are weakened. Our homeland is harsh, and parts of it are ruled by the Dark Elderborn and worse things. The Great Herald’s call found many willing volunteers due to our devotion to Sepharivaim, but the chance of finding a new homeland was an additional lure.”

“Then you want a homeland,” said Hugh. “Like Mazael’s Tervingi vassals.” 

“Indeed,” said Ryntald. “So, Prince of Barellion. What say you?”

Hugh considered. If Mazael arrived at Knightcastle with the assembled armies of the Grim Marches and the Tervingi, together they could crush the Aegonar and reclaim Greycoast. But that assumed they defeated Lucan. For that matter, Caldarus might well defeat Mazael and arrive with another horde of runedead. If the Aegonar and the lords of Greycoast were fighting each other when the runedead arrived, it would be utterly disastrous. 

And Hugh’s men needed a respite. The lords of Greycoast had held together, so far, save for Karlam Ganelon. But the strains of war had stretched the bonds. And Hugh had survived the Skulls’ assassination attempt, but he was not sure he could elude the knives of Skalatan’s calibah. If Ryntald had him assassinated in the aftermath of the battle, Greycoast would fall apart, and the Aegonar could conquer the remaining lords one by one. 

Once again, it seemed that he had little choice. 

But what if Skalatan was victorious? Hugh had only been able to divine a little of the San-keth archpriest’s plan, but it seemed Skalatan intended to loose Sepharivaim into the mortal world once more. That would be a disaster as dire as whatever Lucan planned, worse than the Great Rising. 

But whatever Lucan planned was likely worse than whatever Skalatan intended…and once again, Hugh found himself left with no choice. 

“Very well,” said Hugh. “You shall have your truce.”

A hint of relief passed over Ryntald’s face. “Your wisdom does you credit,” said Ryntald. “I…”

“It does,” said a hissing voice. “As does yours, High King of the Aegonar.”

Hugh whirled as a figure cloaked in ragged gray robes stepped from the shadows, green light flaring around its skeletal hands. Hugh saw a flicker of surprise cross Ryntald’s expression. The High King had been trying to make this deal behind the archpriest’s back. 

“Great Herald,” said Ryntald. “You knew of this meeting?”

“Of course,” said Skalatan, and Hugh glimpsed the yellow eyes in the depths of the cowl.

“And you approve?” said Ryntald. “Korvager would have us pursue endless war.”