Soul of Swords (Book 7) (44 page)

Korvager had cut his own throat in despair, as had many of the seidjar, and Hugh contemplated joining them. But he suspected that even death would not permit him to escape from the dark power. 

They had lost.

The world was lost. 

He wanted to ride north and see Adelaide one last time, but knew he would never make it, not with that horrible gloating voice in his head. Malice and cruelty filled the voice, and he knew that the new master of the world would delight in tormenting its subjects. It would kill Adelaide in front of Hugh again and again, forcing him to watch as she suffered and died. 

Then the voice fell silent.

Hugh blinked, startled, and a murmur went through the terrified Aegonar earls.

Then the thing in the sky began to scream.

###

The Glamdaigyr loosed a hideous metallic shriek. Through the pain choking his mind, Mazael realized that the Old Demon had created the sword to drain vast quantities of power, but he had not built the sword to handle two forms of magic attempting to destroy each other. Lion’s magic devoured Demonsouled power, and then surged down the Glamdaigyr and into the Old Demon.

The Old Demon’s scream of pain and horror filled Mazael’s mind. The red haze in his father's eyes sputtered, blue flames curling around his mouth and fingers. The Old Demon tried to release the sword hilt, his fingers smoking as the weapon grew hot, but Mazael grabbed the Old Demon’s hands, pressing them against the hilt.

For a moment he met his father’s terrified eyes.

“You wanted the power of the Demonsouled, father?” spat Mazael. He felt his clothes smoking, felt his flesh charring as Lion’s power ate through him. “Then have it! Have it all!” 

###

The Old Demon stared at his son in stupefied incomprehension.

This could not be happening.

This could not be happening!

He was a god. Already he felt the vast power flowing through him, felt his expanding mind touching every corner of the world and reshaping it in his image. More and more power poured down the Glamdaigyr and into him…

…along with the wrath of Lion.

The Old Demon screamed as agony unlike anything he had ever experienced filled him. He tried to pull away, tried to throw down the Glamdaigyr, but Mazael’s hands held him fast, his son’s teeth bared in a rictus snarl. 

LET GO, FOOL! LET GO OR YOU SHALL PERISH!

Mazael laughed at him.

“Yes, father, I shall perish,” he spat, “but I shall take you with me!”

###

Mazael gripped his father’s hands with all his strength, forcing them to remain in place against the black hilt. 

The Glamdaigyr’s metallic shriek turned into a low roar, the sword vibrating within Mazael’s chest. Lion shone like a shard of blue light, sending wave after wave of hideous pain through him. The Glamdaigyr’s green glow turned blue, and then harsh white, the sword shining like molten metal as Lion’s power flooded into the Old Demon.

The Old Demon screamed once more, his eyes wide with terror, and then a shaft of blue fire tore through him. The hideous mantle of power around him shredded into nothingness, and the flame devoured his flesh and blood and bone, burning coals scattering across the floor.

An instant later the Glamdaigyr, overloaded by the competing powers, exploded into a thousand molten shards.

###

Gerald looked up, unable to take his eyes from the spectacle raging in the sky. 

The dark god shuddered, screaming, and the column of flame rising from Knightcastle changed from crimson to a deep blue, the same color as Lion’s fire. The column stabbed into the nightmare, and the creature screamed, Gerald’s head threatening to split from the pressure. The earth shook and heaved, and he saw one of Knightcastle’s inner towers groan and collapse with a plume of dust. 

Perhaps the world would simply rip apart. Certainly it would be a better fate than an eternity enslaved to the creature overhead. 

But the column of blue fire stabbed into the nightmare, and the creature wailed, cracks of blue light spreading through its form.

And then it exploded.

A wall of blue fire rushed in all directions. The tide of flame hurtled towards him, and Gerald wondered if this was the end.

But the flame passed through him, and those around him, without touching them.

Stunned, he turned in the saddle and watched the fire sweep across the field. Bands of runedead still wandered outside the walls of Castle Town, and they disintegrated as the fire blazed through them.

In a heartbeat, the remaining runedead crumbled into dust.

Gerald watched the blue fire sweep away to the north and east and south. The earth stopped shaking, and a stunned silence fell over the battlefield. The crimson light faded from the sky, and the reeking, burning wind stopped.

It now looked like any other day. 

For a long moment Gerald sat motionless in the saddle, staring at the sky.

“What happened?” said Lord Agravain at last, his voice strained.

“I think,” said Gerald, “I think we won.”

###

The wave of blue fire washed through Castle Cravenlock, leaving them untouched. 

Rachel looked around in bewilderment, stunned. The horrible presence had vanished from her mind. The ghastly nightmare forming in the sky had vanished. 

It was if it had never been.

And she knew that blue fire.

“Mazael,” whispered Rachel.

###

The Glamdaigyr’s explosion ripped through the Chamber of Blood and knocked Molly from her feet, Riothamus landing at her side. The column of flame shuddered and trembled, and Cythraul Urdvul began to shake. The remaining fragments of the dome collapsed and fell in a black rain of jagged stone. A web of cracks spread across the floor, and Molly saw more cracks climbing the massive walls.

Cythraul Urdvul was about to tear itself apart. 

The pillar of fire widened, devouring the dais, and Molly saw that in a matter of moments it would expand to consume the entire Chamber of Blood. 

Riothamus heaved himself to his feet, leaning on the staff of the Guardian, and grabbed Molly’s wrist. 

“We’ve got to get out of here,” said Riothamus. “When the blue fire destroyed the Old Demon…the power of the Demonsouled has nowhere to go. When it explodes…”

“Where’s Romaria?” said Molly. “And my father?”

“We’ll find her,” said Riothamus. “And Lord Mazael…I fear he is dead. We…”

Molly spotted Romaria stumbling around the edge of the column of flame, moving as fast as she could despite a limp. 

“There!” said Molly.

She threw herself into the shadows and reappeared at Romaria’s side. The older woman’s face was haggard with pain, her blue eyes bloodshot. She had taken wounds, and she had also just seen her husband die in front of her.

Molly knew what that felt like.

“Leave me and go,” said Romaria. “I…”

“Shut up,” said Molly, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her into the shadows.

They reappeared next to Riothamus. Molly took his arm, and pulled both Riothamus and Romaria into the shadows. The effort strained her, but the fear was an excellent motivator. They reappeared at the edge of the ruined hypostyle hall, the broken columns trembling around them. 

“Where’s the Door?” said Molly. 

“Outside the temple,” said Riothamus, pointing at an archway. 

Molly took another step, urging Romaria along, and then the column of bloody flame exploded. 

Red fire slammed into her.

###

Romaria fell through the void, an eternity of darkness speeding around her. 

She struck something hard and smooth and cold, and her eyes opened. 

She lay on a floor of gleaming white stone, a sputtering, crackling noise ringing in her ears. She sat up, the silver light from the Door of Souls falling over her.

Or what was left of the Door. 

The stone frame was charred, and melted in places. The silver light in the Door’s sigils flickered and dimmed, and even as she stood, the lights winked out. Apparently the Door, much like the Glamdaigyr, had been unable to handle that much competing magical force.

The silver haze in the Door vanished, the stone frame going dark.

The Door of Souls had closed.

She saw Riothamus and Molly standing nearby.

“What happened?” said Romaria.

“Mortals cannot physically enter the spirit world, not without an open pathway back to the material world,” said Riothamus. “When the Door closed, it forced us back to the mortal world.” He sighed. “And Lord Mazael’s blood brought us to Cythraul Urdvul. With his death, we lost the connection that allowed us to stay there.”

Mazael.

A wave of grief rolled through Romaria, and she closed her eyes. He had been triumphant one last time. He had vowed to defeat the Old Demon, even at the cost of his own life, and he had kept his word. 

“He came back with us,” said Molly, voice quiet.

Romaria turned, and saw Lion’s broken hilt upon the floor, the blade melted away a foot above the crosspiece. Mazael himself lay nearby, his golden armor rent and torn, a charred crater marring his chest where the Old Demon had stabbed him with the Glamdaigyr. 

He had, indeed, kept his word.

Chapter 33 - A Final Sacrifice

Romaria went to one knee alongside Mazael and took his hand, gazing at his motionless face.

He had seen her die, the day they had confronted the Old Demon in Castle Cravenlock’s chapel. And he had seen her almost die a second time, when Malaric had struck her down with Skalatan’s poison. 

Was this was how it had felt for Mazael?

“Romaria,” said Molly.

“You should go,” Romaria heard herself say. “You are the Lady of Castle Cravenlock and the liege lady of the Grim Marches. Your vassals and the Tervingi headmen need to see you. Otherwise they will rip each other apart. Or the Aegonar will start a second battle.”

It was important, but Romaria could not bring herself to care.

Not after this.

“We should take his body from here,” said Riothamus.

“No. Leave us,” said Romaria.

Riothamus hesitated. “It must be seen, else the lords and headmen will never accept Molly. And…his valor saved us, Lady Romaria, his valor and his wisdom at the end.”

“He sacrificed himself,” said Molly. “If he hadn’t stabbed himself with Lion…my grandfather would have won. To think I wanted to kill him, when we first met…” She started to smile, but then her face twisted with a sob. “Gods…I never thought I would shed tears over him. Now look at me.” 

“And the people should see their deliverer,” said Riothamus.

Romaria found that she was too tired to care. “Do as you think best. The future of the Grim Marches and the Tervingi nation are in your hands, both of you. I…”

“No.”

The cold voice shocked Romaria out of her daze.

She opened her eyes and saw Morebeth Galbraith’s spirit standing over them, still clad in her red scale armor. There was a wild, almost exultant look in her gray eyes, a look of triumph.

Of freedom. 

“Morebeth,” said Romaria. 

“He won,” said Morebeth, “and I am free. My father is slain at last. No more will he raise generations of Demonsouled only to reap them like grain. No more will he make the kingdoms dance for his amusement while he bathes in the blood of the innocent. I can lay down my power and rest at last.” She smiled, the first true smile Romaria had ever seen on the dead woman’s face. “I can rest.” 

“Is that why you’re here?” said Romaria. “To take Mazael’s spirit back with you?”

“No,” said Morebeth, her eyes hard and fierce. “I will lay down my power now, and I will rest. My time in the mortal world is done. But before I depart, there is one last thing I can do. One last use for my Demonsouled strength.” 

“What do you mean?” said Romaria.

“I love him,” said Morebeth, “as do you. That alone gave me the strength to defy my father in death. But I am dead and you are not. I am a monster with the blood of the innocent upon my hands, and you are not. I do this for him, and for you…and remember me for it.”

Before Romaria could react, Morebeth stepped forward, her hands closing about Romaria’s shoulders.

And then she stepped into Romaria, entering her body.

Romaria screamed, and Molly lifted her weapons and Riothamus raised his staff. Morebeth’s spirit flowed through Romaria, filled with the fiery power of the Demonsouled.

Power that flowed through Romaria…and into Mazael.

“Remember me,” whispered Morebeth, and then her spirit was gone. 

An instant later the power was gone too, drained away.

Into Mazael.

Romaria opened her eyes, blinking. 

“What happened?” said Riothamus.

Blood filled the crater in Mazael’s chest, and Romaria saw the broken ribs regrow, saw muscle and skin crawl over the bones.

###

Mazael Cravenlock’s eyes swam back into focus. 

Bit by bit he realized that he lay upon the floor, a high arched ceiling over his eyes. He heard voices speaking, his damaged armor creaking as he drew breath.

He felt something wet fall upon his face.

Tears.

He grunted and lifted his head, and saw Romaria kneeling over him, tears in her blue eyes. 

“Romaria?” he said, his voice raspy.

She nodded.

Mazael sat up, and saw Lion’s hilt near his hand, the blade melted away. He picked it up and gazed at it. For three thousand years, that sword had fought the forces of dark magic, of the Demonsouled, of the Old Demon himself.

But now its purpose had been fulfilled at last.

Some of Mazael’s mind came back into focus.

“Why am I not dead?” he said. 

“Father,” said Molly, her voice quavering, “you look terrible.”

“I suppose I do, at that,” said Mazael. 

Romaria let out a sound that was halfway between a sob and a laugh, and kissed him so hard he almost fell back over.

###

Hugh Chalsain walked through the battlefield, the High King of the Aegonar at his side. 

He had walked through many battlefields, more than he cared to remember. He knew what he could expect to see. The men tending to the wounded. A few enterprising souls looting the corpses of the slain. Men standing with blank looks on their faces, or laughing and rejoicing in their survival. 

Yet now the men walked with looks of wonder on their faces, gazing at the sky. Marveling that the strange horror in the heavens had been defeated.

Marveling at their own survival. 

“I wonder,” said Ryntald, “if the Herald is slain.”

Hugh shrugged. “He must be. He almost certainly failed.”

They stopped halfway between Knightcastle and Castle Town, the breeze blowing past them, the afternoon sun slipping lower towards the western horizon. 

“Perhaps,” said Ryntald. “Either way, I do not think it matters now.”

“Indeed?” said Hugh. “He was your…prophet, your high priest. The one that converted your people to the worship of Sepharivaim.”

“And he failed us,” said Ryntald. “We crossed the sea at his bidding. He promised that we would release Sepharivaim into the mortal world. Though I always suspected that he planned to become a god himself, as proved to be true.” He shrugged. “I followed him because I thought he would be triumphant, and he failed. So his defeat is hardly a shattering blow to me. Yet I suspect others of my kin will feel differently.”

“I see,” said Hugh. The Aegonar had put their faith in Skalatan, had crossed half the world at his bidding to release Sepharivaim, and Skalatan had failed them.

How did one worship a god that failed?

Korvager had not been the only seidjar to cut his throat when the abomination filled the sky. 

“I wonder what truly happened?” said Ryntald.

“If I had to guess,” said Hugh, “the Old Demon slew Skalatan and seized the power, but Lord Mazael and the Guardian defeated him.”

He wondered if they had survived. He somehow doubted it.

“Perhaps,” said Ryntald. “More important is the question of what comes next.”

“Oh?” said Hugh.

“You could kill us all, if you wanted,” said Ryntald. “My folk are demoralized, their faith shaken, if not broken. And we are surrounded by the armies of the Grim Marches, Knightreach, and Greycoast. Certainly we cannot stand against those great Tervingi war beasts. It would be a sharp fight, but you would prevail.”

Hugh hesitated. He saw the logic in what Ryntald said, and he was sorely tempted. In one stroke, he could wipe out the Aegonar utterly. Generations to come would remember him as the Prince who reclaimed Greycoast from the invaders. 

But thousands would die, and there had been so much killing already.

And the Aegonar had been deceived. Skalatan had used them as a tool, and then discarded them once they had served their purpose. The archpriest had saved Barellion from Lucan Mandragon’s runedead…but Skalatan could just have easily burned Barellion to ashes, if it had served his purpose.

Hugh made his decision.

“No,” he said.

Ryntald blinked, puzzled.

“We had an agreement,” said Hugh. “Go in peace to the north of Greycoast, and we will not hinder you. Your men fought valiantly against the runedead.”

“You are certain?” said Ryntald. “You could kill us all.”

“There has been enough killing,” said Hugh. “And if we start a new war now, we will bleed each other until Greycoast is desolate.” He shrugged. “And after what we have seen today, after all that has happened…do we truly want another battle?”

“No,” said Ryntald. “I suppose not. You are a different man than I expected, Hugh Chalsain. You continually surprise me.”

“Who knows?” said Hugh. “Perhaps we can surprise each other for years yet.”

###

Gerald Roland returned home, surrounded by his vassals.

He stepped over the ruined timbers of Knightcastle’s gate and into the lower courtyard. The castle was deserted and silent. Not surprising, given that the remaining servants had fled Lord Malden’s tyranny. And the pulse of blue fire had destroyed any remaining runedead. 

All the runedead, perhaps? Had the Great Rising finally come to an end?

That would be a blessing beyond measure.

“The gate shall have to be rebuilt,” said Lord Agravain.

“More than that shall have to be rebuilt,” said Gerald. “But we shall do it, my friends. My father’s crimes have tarnished Knightcastle and the Roland name. But we shall rebuild our lands, make our peasants safe and prosperous once more, and…”

He saw movement across the courtyard.

Mazael walked across the flagstones, his golden armor in tatters, Romaria at his side. Riothamus and Molly followed them, the Guardian’s staff tapping against the ground. 

“Mazael,” said Gerald. “Gods, it’s good to see that you’re still alive.”

Mazael smiled. “It was…it was a very near thing.”

“What happened?” said Gerald. “Truly, what happened? That thing in the sky…”

Mazael fell silent, gazing at the towers of Knightcastle.

“We won,” he said at last.