Soul of Swords (Book 7)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  Adelaide shrugged as she tugged on her gown. “The credit goes to my father, the Lord Lieutenant of the city.”

  “I gave him that position as a sop to his pride,” said Hugh. “You’ve done all the real work, I am sure.”

  “It is no less than I have done before,” said Adelaide. “I tended the refugees at Castle Stormsea after the Great Rising.” She sighed. “I have more experience at it than I would like. And now I am the Lady Consort of Barellion. While my husband is at war, it is my duty to tend to the people of his lands.”

  “And you have never shirked your duties,” said Hugh, watching as she adjusted her belt. It was one of the things that had drawn to her. He had enjoyed numerous romantic conquests before leaving Barellion, and he had intended Adelaide to be simply one more. But she had been different from the minor noblewomen and wealthy merchant’s daughters infesting his father’s court. There was steel in her, mixed with compassion, and she would not yield.

  He loved her…and he would need such a woman at his side in the dark days to come.

  “Nor have you shirked yours,” said Adelaide, and he saw the strain on her face. “Every day I feared a messenger would come to the Keep with news of your death.”

  He took her in his arms again. “I’m not dead yet.”

  He felt her smile against his chest. “I noticed.”

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  “I should rejoin the others,” said Hugh at last, reluctant to go.

  “A moment,” said Adelaide, stepping away from him. “You should eat and drink first.” She ran a critical eye over him. “I swear you have lost ten pounds since I saw you last.”

  Hugh sat and laughed. “If you had to eat Montigard’s cooking, you would lose weight too.”

  “Everyone has had to tighten their belts,” said Adelaide. “No one is starving, though it has been a close thing.”

  Hugh nodded as he ate. Gods, but it tasted good. “I hope to change that soon, and gain aid from the other liege lords.” He sighed. “Perhaps Greycoast will yet be as it was when my father ruled, before the runedead and the Aegonar came.”

  Adelaide looked away. “I had hoped to gain some weight, as it were, but…”

  “But you are not with child,” said Hugh.

  She nodded.

  “It’s still early,” said Hugh. “The gods know I have not been here much.” He smiled at her. “And I shall be here at Barellion for at least a week, before we gather for the march.”

  “You must have an heir,” said Adelaide, her voice deadly serious. “You are the last of the House of Chalsain, Hugh. I’m sure it has occurred to more than one of your vassals that if you were slain in battle, the Prince’s diadem would go to any lord strong enough to seize it.”

  “It is a risk, aye,” said Hugh, “but if I am killed and the lords turn on each other, the Aegonar will swallow up Greycoast in one great bite. Even the most ambitious of my lords knows that.”

  “Ambition and stupidity,” said Adelaide, “often overlap.” She looked away. “And, Hugh, if you are slain…I do not know what I will do. I do not know.”

  He pushed aside his plate and grabbed her hands. “Then I will do my best to see that I am not slain.”

  She managed a little laugh. “I would lock you up in the Keep if I could, but even that would not help, not with the Aegonar coming.” She took a deep breath. “But the sooner you get me great with child, the less reason anyone has to kill you.”

  “Yes,” said Hugh. But he knew that an unborn child would only lessen the risk slightly. If he was killed while Adelaide was pregnant with his heir, then a bold lord might seize Barellion and reign as the child’s regent, thus holding the lords of Greycoast together against the Aegonar.

  Or his foes simply might have both Hugh and Adelaide killed at the same time.

  It was the sort of thing Malaric would have done.

  “I wish,” said Adelaide, “that the Aegonar had never come. Then we could have wed, and your father would still rule Barellion.”

  “Aye,” said Hugh. “Though there is still one dark spot in all that.”

  “What is it?”

  “I would have had to take commands from your father.”

  Adelaide laughed. “Father means well. He is a handful to manage, but he truly means well.”

  “Of course,” said Hugh, though he was certain Adelaide was the only person in all of Greycoast who thought that.

  “But these duties have fallen to us,” said Adelaide, “and we will not shirk from them.”

  “Regrettably not,” said Hugh. “Though if you want to ride east with me, pretend to be a landless knight and his wife, it’s not too late. I can have my horse saddled, and we can be twenty miles from Barellion by dawn.”

  “Do not tempt me,” said Adelaide with a laugh. “And if we ride all day, you will be too tired to get me with child tonight.”

  Hugh smiled. “I look forward to it.” He stood “I need to go to the great hall. The lords in the city will have gathered by now, and they’ll want to know what I have in mind for dealing with the Aegonar.”

  He hoped they did not take it too badly.

  “I will join you as soon as I can,” said Adelaide. “Have one of the pages send up my maids when you go, will you?”

  “Why?” said Hugh.

  She smiled. “You left my hair a frightful mess. The Lady Consort must comport herself with dignity.”

  ###

  An hour later Hugh sat at the high table in the great hall of the Prince’s Keep, his mind churning with memories.

  Adelaide had been bound to the chair here when he had cut his way into the hall with Mazael Cravenlock and Molly. Malaric had died there, a few yards away, ripped to shreds by the terrible winged spirit he had tried to enslave.

  He took a deep breath and shook aside the memories.

  The future had to concern him now, not the past.

  He squeezed Adelaide’s hand under the table, stood, and silence fell over the hall.

  News of his return had spread through the city, and most of the prominent merchants and local knights and lords had arrived. The lords that had accompanied him from the River of Lords had arrived as well. Every eye turned to Hugh as he stood, and he stared at a sea of gleaming armor and fine coats and robes.

  “My lords,” said Hugh, raising his voice. “Thank you for coming. As you know, Greycoast has faced many dangers in the last year. First the runedead and the chaos of the Great Rising, and then the brutality of the Aegonar invasion. Even now the Aegonar hold the northern half of Greycoast.”

  He stepped around the table, standing at the edge of the dais.

  “We have just returned from our first campaign against the Aegonar,” said Hugh, “and we have stopped them from crossing the River and assailing the southern half of Greycoast. But we shall not have peace until the Aegonar are driven from our lands forever!”

  Some of the lords cheered. Others remained silent, their faces grim. Those who had faced the Aegonar in battle knew how difficult it would be to dislodge them.

  “But reclaiming Greycoast will not be the work of a single battle,” said Hugh. “The Aegonar are too many, and have entrenched themselves too strongly in their stolen lands. Therefore our first task is to establish a strong point on the northern bank of the River of Lords, a castle we can use as a base for the reconquest.”

  The lords rumbled agreement to that. Hugh took a deep breath and kept talking.

  “But we need men, far more men,” said Hugh. “The Aegonar match our numbers, and may even exceed them. Mazael Cravenlock promised to aid us, but mischance and ill fortune may keep him from riding to battle alongside our banners. And if Greycoast is to be freed, better that we do it with our own hands. And welcome new hands to aid us.”

  One of the lords narrowed his eyes. “You mean to say…”

  “I shall send a call to every corner of the realm,” said Hugh, “asking for knights and armsmen to join our fight against the Aegonar. Ma
ny lords of northern Greycoast fell in the fighting, along with all their heirs, and their lands are now held by the foe. Or some lords betrayed their oaths and swore allegiance to the High King of the Aegonar. Their lands are now forfeit…and shall instead go to those who serve loyally.”

  Some of the lords, mostly those who had escaped from the north, shouted in outrage. Others nodded in approval. With northern Greycoast in chaos, lands and manors would go to whoever was bold enough to seize them, whether the Aegonar, the returning northern lords…or the southern lords.

  Hugh had just made himself some new friends and new enemies. Though every decision he had made since becoming Prince had done the same.

  “That is all,” he said. “Within one week, my vassals shall have gathered with their retainers, and we will launch the campaign to seize a strong spot on the northern bank of the River of Lords. My messengers shall carry word of my offer to every corner of the realm, and come next spring, we shall have a far larger force to oppose the Aegonar.”

  He saw the plotting and the scheming break out among the nobles and the merchants at once, and kept the annoyed contempt from his face. Already they plotted to divide the lands between them, without first attending to the minor detail of defeating the Aegonar. Skalatan claimed that he wanted to take Knightcastle, but to get to Knightcastle, the Aegonar had to go through Barellion and southern Greycoast.

  And once Ryntald had Barellion, Hugh doubted the Aegonar would give it back.

  He sat back down with a quiet sigh.

  “You did well, my lord Prince,” said Lord Bryce on his left, his voice quiet. “For now, they’ll all be too busy bickering and claiming the lost lands rather than uniting against you.”

  “For now,” said Hugh, glancing at Adelaide, who sat speaking with some of the lords’ wives. He had seen many corpses since the Great Rising and the Aegonar invasion, and for a horrid instant he saw Adelaide’s face among them, her chest torn by a dagger.

  Or her corpse lying motionless and pale, slain by the poison of the Skulls.

  “Lord Prince?”

  Hugh shook away the grisly thoughts. “And soon enough, the lords won’t have time to scheme. We are moving against the Aegonar, and I doubt Skalatan and the Aegonar have been idle.”

  “Where do you hope to force a crossing?” said Bryce.

  “Perhaps the Castle Bridge,” said Hugh. “The piers are still there, and the Aegonar might not expect that after we burned their bridge. Or perhaps where the canal enters the River of Lords. If we raise a stronghold at the river’s mouth, we can keep the Aegonar from sailing warships up the river, and perhaps even harry the northern coasts with ships of our own.”

  Bryce nodded. “I fear that you are right. It will be the work of generations to dislodge the Aegonar, or even to come to terms with them, much as Lord Mazael did with his barbarians.”

  “Aye,” said Hugh. “The work of generations. Well, we had best get started then, hadn’t we?”

  ###

  Lord Karlam Ganelon rode through the Gate of Knights, Barellion’s southern gate, surrounded by his knights and armsmen.

  And by a dozen assassins of the Skulls disguised as his armsmen. The fat First Dagger rode in their midst, a placid smile on his calm face.

  “When will you take action?” said Karlam.

  “Oh, soon, my lord, very soon,” said Souther. “My brethren in the city report that the new Prince has made himself unpopular with some of the surviving northern lords.” He smiled. “I fear one of them will soon lift his finger against our lawful Prince, alas.”

  “Which one?” said Karlam, curious which lord would take the blame for Hugh’s murder.

  “Why, Lord Alberon Stormsea, of course,” said Souther.

  Karlam blinked. “But the old fool is one of the brat’s strongest supporters. He…”

  Souther’s gentle smile did not waver, but he raised a hand. Karlam fell silent, cursing himself for his cowardice. He was the Lord of Castle Rutagne, not some peasant cowering in fear of the Skulls.

  Yet the light in Souther’s eyes chilled him.

  “Lord Alberon is notoriously prickly,” said Souther, “and the blacker the lie, the more likely men are to believe it. You shall need to prepare yourself to seize the diadem quickly. Once the Prince and the Lady Consort have fallen, chaos will reign…and my patron and your master will not brook any delay.”

  Karlam lifted his chin. “I am no man’s servant.”

  The look Souther gave him was almost pitying. “Indeed, my lord.”

  But that wasn’t true, was it? He had sworn himself to the San-keth, had sold his soul to the serpent god, though he had received great power and wealth in return. He looked at the mansions and towers of Barellion, the greatest city in the realm, and smiled.

  In exchange for his obedience, the city would be his.

  ###

  Someone hammered at the door.

  Hugh opened one eye, lifting his head from the pillow. Adelaide lay sleeping at his side, snoring softly. Only a few faint rays of sunlight leaked through the closed shutters over the windows.

  “My lord Prince!” came the voice of his squire Roger through the door. “My lord Prince!”

  Adelaide blinked. “Hugh? What’s happening?”

  “Nothing good, I fear,” said Hugh, pushing aside the blankets and getting to his feet. Had the Aegonar launched an attack? Had one of the lords risen in rebellion? He pulled on a robe, picking up the sword he always kept by his bed.

  He had not forgotten how the Skulls had tried to kill him in the Aegonar camp.

  Hand on sword hilt, he opened the door. Roger Spearshore stood there, fear on his face.

  “What is it, lad?” said Hugh.

  “Lord Bryce requests your presence in the great hall at once,” said Roger. “The foe…”

  “The Aegonar,” said Hugh. “They come from the north.”

  “No, my lord Prince,” said Roger. “The south.”

  “The south?” said Hugh, surprised. “How did the Aegonar get to the south?”

  “Not the Aegonar,” said Roger. “The runedead.”

  A chill went down Hugh’s spine. “Runedead?”

  “Yes, my lord Prince,” said Roger. “Tens upon tens of thousands of runedead march north from Knightreach, flying the banners of Lord Malden Roland.”

  Chapter 12 - Warmoot

  The fighting men of the Tervingi nation filled the plain below Castle Cravenlock.

  Mazael waited atop the boulder that had once concealed the secret passage leading to the San-keth temple beneath the castle. Thousands upon thousands of spearthains and swordthains stood with their headmen and holdmistresses, holding their weapons with the easy grip of long experience. Earnachar stood with his proud new horsethains, the beasts groomed and brushed. Nearby the skythains waited with their griffins.

  The last time the entire Tervingi nation had assembled for war, Athanaric’s followers had faced Ragnachar’s men in the bloody battle outside the walls of Swordgrim. Mazael had cut down Ragnachar in the chaos, and Toraine Mandragon had planned to come forth and butcher the Tervingi and his disloyal vassals alike.

  Only the Great Rising had united the Tervingi headmen and the lords of the Grim Marches. The House of Mandragon had been destroyed, and Mazael had become both the liege lord of the Grim Marches and the new hrould of the Tervingi nation.

  But Lucan had returned, and Mazael hoped that threat would keep the Tervingi united.

  He climbed down from the boulder to where Romaria awaited him.

  “They’ve all come,” she said.

  “Aye,” said Mazael. “They saw what Lucan did the first time at Swordgrim. They know what he’ll do unless he is stopped.”

  “They will follow you.”

  Mazael looked to the side, and he saw Morebeth’s spirit standing in the shadows of the boulder.

  “The lords and the Tervingi hate each other,” said Morebeth, voice quiet, “but they will follow you, and no one else. It is in your
blood.”

  “Is this what you do?” said Romaria. “Appear to Mazael and whisper words of power and glory into his ear?”

  Morebeth scowled. “I only speak the truth. Mazael is ever at war with himself. That is necessary to keep him from falling to the blandishments of our father…or being consumed by his own power, as I was. But they will follow you, Mazael, if you lead them. But beware. Lucan may move against you before you can move against him. Our father will see to it.”

  She vanished.

  Romaria snorted. “If she appeared and said such nonsense to you, I can see why you thought you were going mad.”

  “But she is telling the truth,” said Mazael. “The lords of the Grim Marches, the lords of Knightreach, the Justiciars, the Tervingi headmen…they will follow me, and no one else.” He took a deep breath. “And I may lead to them to their deaths. But you and Riothamus and Morebeth are right. It is me against the Old Demon. It always has been.”

  She took his hand. “Perhaps. But you will not go alone.”

  Mazael smiled, but wondered about Morebeth’s warning.

  Would Lucan act first?

  The others approached.

  Riothamus came at their head, carrying the staff of the Guardian, Molly at his side, a shadow in her dark clothing. Gerald and Rachel came after, Gerald’s face grave beneath his blond mustache. Arnulf and Toric and Earnachar and the other chief headmen of the Tervingi followed, stern and proud in their chain mail. Ardanna the High Druid and Rhodemar the Champion of Deepforest Keep walked after them, along with most of Mazael’s vassals and knights.

  “Hrould,” said Riothamus. “We are ready.”

  Mazael nodded. “Begin.”

  Riothamus climbed atop the boulder and lifted his staff, the sigils flickering with golden light. He struck the staff against the boulder once, twice, three times, and the sound of a thunderclap rolled over the plain.

  Silence fell over the Tervingi.

  “Hear me!” said Riothamus, his magic carrying his voice. “Hear me, headmen steeped in renown! Hear me, holdmistresses wise and prudent! Hear me, ye valiant thains of sword and spear! Hear me, swift thains of the horse! Hear me, ye daring thains of the sky! Hear me, freeborn warriors bold and freeborn women valiant! Hear me, sons of Tervingar! I am Riothamus, the Guardian of the Tervingi nation, the bearer of the bronze staff, a trust that extends back to the dawn of ages! By my office, by my rights as Guardian, I call the Tervingi nation to moot!”