Soul of Swords (Book 7)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  ###

  “Again,” said Skalatan, and the dragon obeyed, unleashing more fire upon Malden Roland’s dwindling host. The creature never tired of destruction, and for all of the dragon’s vast intellect and strength of will, it took a childish delight in destroying the runedead. No matter. The dragon would burn Lord Malden’s armies, both living and dead, to ashes until Lucan interfered.

  And then Skalatan and the dragon would destroy him.

  The dragon descended for another pass, more fire erupting from its jaws, and Skalatan felt a wave of mental pressure.

  The dragon’s jaw snapped shut. Skalatan looked at the drachweisyr in his carrier’s hands, puzzled, and then back at the dragon. The mental pressure redoubled, and then redoubled again. Yet for all its strength, the mental pressure seemed…ineffective, like a club of hardened clay beating against a shield of steel.

  “Ah,” hissed Skalatan as understanding came to him.

  “What is this?” snarled the dragon.

  “The Banurdem,” said Skalatan, “a relic forged by the high lords of Dracaryl, designed to enslave dragons.”

  The dragon’s laughter boomed like thunder. “Mortal men seek to enslave me with their petty magic? The fools!”

  “Their petty magic would be effective,” said Skalatan, “but you are already bound by a greater magic, the power of the drachweisyr, and the high lords of Dracaryl never commanded dragons with the skill of the Dark Elderborn of old. And our foe has given away his position.”

  Skalatan focused his will, seeking the source of the mental pressure washing against the drachweisyr. He followed it to a blue banner with the silver greathelm sigil of the Rolands in the heart of the runedead host, a band of horsemen waiting below it.

  And before the horsemen, Skalatan saw a rider in a black cloak.

  “Destroy him,” said Skalatan.

  The dragon beat its wings and dove towards the horsemen.

  ###

  Lucan bent his will upon the dragon, using the power of the Banurdem to command it to destroy the rider upon its back.

  But the dragon kept circling over the runedead, and then Lucan heard a strange booming sound.

  Laughter.

  The dragon was laughing at him.

  Again he focused his will upon the dragon.

  And again nothing happened. His will and the Banurdem’s power slid away from the dragon like raindrops from an oiled cloak.

  “What is happening?” said Malden.

  “I,” said Lucan, watching the great black shape hurtle through the air, “I don’t know.”

  How had Skalatan found magic able to counteract the Banurdem? Lucan searched Randur’s memories, Marstan’s memories, and found nothing. A dozen different strategies flickered through Lucan’s thoughts, plans to break Skalatan’s control over the dragon…

  “Lucan!” shouted Malden.

  A far more important fact forced its way into Lucan’s thoughts.

  The dragon was diving right at him, its maw yawning wide, a flare of white light appearing deep in its gullet.

  The necromancy that had transformed Lucan into a revenant made him impervious to normal weapons and all but the most powerful magic, but a dragon’s fire would shred that necromancy and reduce his bones to coals.

  And for the first time since his death and rebirth as a revenant, Lucan had the alarming feeling that he was overmatched.

  He flung out his hands, summoning all the power that he could muster. A ward flared to life around him, a dome of pulsing blue light that covered both him and Lord Malden and some of the surrounding knights.

  An instant later the dragon’s fire hammered into the dome.

  Rivers of flame roared around them, and even over the deafening noise Lucan heard the screams as the fire devoured both men and horses.

  The screams did not last long, but the fire continued. Lucan watched in astonishment as his dome flickered and shrank, the ward collapsing beneath the raw power of dragon fire. He had thrown all of his strength into that spell.

  And still his ward buckled.

  The fire winked out as the dragon shot overhead, and Lucan’s ward collapsed. He, Malden, and a few other knights stood untouched in a circle of green grass surrounded by a field of glowing embers. Heaps of twisted char draped in glowing, half-melted armor surrounded them – all that remained of dozens of knights.

  And the dragon banked overhead for another pass.

  Twisted knots of dark metal lay near the remains of the knights, the remnants of their black daggers. Lucan cursed in rage. The dragon’s fire could well destroy the household knights and their black daggers, and then Lucan would have no way to gather the necessary life force to open the Door of Souls.

  The dragon turned, fresh fire glimmering over its black fangs.

  It occurred to Lucan that he may have underestimated Skalatan.

  “Destroy that dragon!” said Malden. “If it hits us again, we’re…”

  “Go!” said Lucan, pointing at the Outer Wall. “Resume the assault and take the city. The defenders will not have much strength left.”

  “It will take time to get the runedead back into battle formation,” said Malden, “and…”

  “Go, damn it!” snapped Lucan. “Take the city and purge it of the wicked. I shall deal with the dragon myself!” Perhaps Malden would break into Barellion and gather enough life force to open the Door of Souls. Then Lucan could slip away from the battlefield, leaving Skalatan and his dragon to deal with Malden and the runedead.

  Malden turned his horse, shouting orders at his knights, at the runedead, at anyone who would listen. But it had little effect. The dragon’s fire had destroyed too many runedead, throwing their lines and formations into chaos. And most of Malden’s living soldiers fled the field in terror. The men had never seen a dragon before, and had no idea of how to fight one.

  For that matter, Lucan had never seen a dragon before.

  But he had fought San-keth clerics. And once he slew Skalatan and broke the San-keth’s control over the dragon, he could use the Banurdem to dominate the beast.

  Lucan sent his horse galloping towards the dragon, green fire burning around his fingers as he summoned power.

  ###

  “Turn,” said Skalatan.

  The dragon came about in a tight circle, the hurricane gale of its passage throwing runedead to the ground. Skalatan spotted Lucan riding towards them, dark cloak billowing behind him.

  “The wizard survived my fire,” said the dragon, annoyed.

  “His strength is not infinite,” said Skalatan.

  “He is working a spell,” said the dragon.

  Skalatan summoned magic. “I shall deal with his spell…and he cannot attack us if his strength is warding away your fire.”

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than Lucan raised his hands, and a bolt of emerald lighting fell screaming out of the cloudless sky. The blast was not aimed at the dragon, but at Skalatan. He knew better than to block that much raw force, so instead he deflected it, the blue light of a warding spell shining around him. The blast struck Skalatan and rebounded to the earth, tearing a dozen runedead to shreds.

  The dragon swooped lower and breathed its flame, and again a river of white-hot fury drowned Lucan Mandragon. Skalatan looked backwards as the dragon passed, and saw Lucan Mandragon and his horse surrounded by the pale glow of a half-collapsed warding spell. Lucan’s magic was sufficient to turn aside the dragon’s wrath, but only barely.

  Lucan turned his horse as the dragon banked over the smoking battlefield, and unleashed his attacks in earnest. One, two, three bolts of green lightning howled out of the sky in rapid succession. But Skalatan had fought Malrag shamans before, and knew how to handle this kind of attack. He deflected each of the blasts, sending the bolts thundering into the runedead.

  Lucan began the spell again, and Skalatan anticipated the direction of the attack. He worked his wards again, angling the power, and the blast of lightning hurtled out of the sky. Skalata
n flung out his carrier’s skeletal hands, caught the blast, and threw it back at Lucan himself.

  Lucan’s own wards turned aside the strike.

  His horse had no such protection, and the lightning sizzled through the animal, killing it in an instant. Lucan fell backwards off the saddle and hit the ground, rolling away.

  “Now!” said Skalatan. “Strike before he recovers!”

  The dragon dove, unleashing its fire.

  ###

  Lucan got to one knee, dazed.

  His undead flesh felt no pain, of course. But the sheer power of the deflected spell stunned him, clouding his thoughts and slowing his reactions. He pushed aside the discomfort and forced himself to stand.

  The dragon dove towards him, fire lancing from its maw.

  There was no time to cast a spell, no time to summon power, no time even to dodge.

  Lucan had only one defense left.

  He raised his right hand and summoned the Glamdaigyr.

  Darkness swirled around his fingers, and the massive black sword appeared in his grip. Symbols of green fire marched up its long blade, its pommel carved in the shape of a grinning dragon’s skull. A haze of darkness swirled around the weapon like smoke, and Lucan felt the sword’s raw power, the cold hunger that yearned to devour all life and warmth and leave the world cold and silent.

  He hoped the sword had an appetite for dragon fire.

  Lucan seized the hilt in both hands and thrust the Glamdaigyr at the lance of dragon fire.

  The flame washed over him, heat enough to sear the flesh from his bones…and the sword drank the power. The Glamdaigyr pulled the entire blast of dragon fire into itself, the white-hot flame vanishing into the sword’s darkness like water pouring down a drain. Lucan laughed and let the sword drink the fire, preparing to unleash his power upon Skalatan.

  And then the power of the dragon fire poured into him.

  Agony erupted through Lucan, and he screamed and fell to his knees. He felt the fire ravaging through him, felt it devouring the spells upon his undead flesh. The Glamdaigyr drained power from its victims and bestowed it upon its wielder…including, it seemed, power that could destroy its wielder. Lucan felt his flesh start to burn beneath his clothing, smoke rising from his collar and sleeves.

  He lifted his left palm and screamed, forcing the stolen power into a spell. A bolt of white-hot fire leapt from his hand and shot skyward, wreathing Skalatan in flames. The fire could not touch the dragon, but Lucan saw the firestorm snarl around Skalatan, saw the San-keth’s wards fight to hold the attack at bay.

  He staggered to his feet, the Glamdaigyr clutched in both hands, the burns upon his undead flesh vanishing at the spells repaired themselves.

  And as he did, the sound of war horns rang out from the Gate of Merchants.

  ###

  “For Barellion!” shouted Hugh. “For Greycoast and Barellion!”

  Behind him a thousand knights and armsmen packed the plaza, and answered his shout with one of their own. Hugh raised his lance, a shield waiting on his left arm, and stood up in his stirrups.

  Horns rang from the gatehouse, and with the groan of iron gears and the creak of stressed timbers, and the Gate of Merchants swung open. Hugh whispered a quick prayer under his breath, put spurs to his horse, and galloped through the Gate, his men following.

  The fields east of the city were in chaos. The shattered runedead host swirled like a storm-tossed sea. Vast stretches of land had been reduced to glowing ashes, and the dragon still circled through the sky, carving lines of glowing fire through the runedead. Blasts of green lighting fell from the sky, rebounding from the gray-cloaked figure upon the dragon’s back, and Hugh knew that Skalatan and Lucan Mandragon were locked in a colossal duel of magic.

  But that, for now, was not his concern. Lord Malden’s banner still flapped overhead, a ragged force of armsmen and knights surrounding him. If Hugh could reach the Lord of Knightcastle and cut him down, it would break his control over the runedead. And with Skalatan keeping Lucan Mandragon busy, it would give the men of Greycoast a chance to drive the runedead from the field.

  Of course, they would then have to deal with Skalatan and the Aegonar.

  But at least they would be alive to do so.

  “Oil!” shouted Hugh, igniting the wizard’s oil coating the steel head of his lance. A flare of white fire shone around the lance’s head, and for a moment it looked as if he carried a giant torch. Montigard blew a blast on his war horn, and the knights and armsmen behind him lit their wizard’s oil, and for an instant it looked as if a wave of white fire rode towards the disorganized runedead.

  Then the enemy was upon them. Hugh dropped his lance, raised his shield, and set himself in his stirrups.

  And the men of Greycoast thundered through the disorganized runedead.

  Hugh speared one runedead with his lance, and then another, even as his horse trampled one underfoot. The runedead were powerful foes, but they were still essentially infantry. Footmen could stand against a charge of heavy horsemen, but only if they formed ranks, had the proper weapons, and stood their ground in the face of the charge.

  And the runedead were disorganized, their lines broken, and Hugh’s men tore through them.

  Lord Malden’s banner drew closer.

  ###

  Skalatan summoned more power, and a pulse of icy blue light surrounded him.

  The last of the dragon’s fire faded away.

  “Clever of him,” said the dragon, “to fling my own fire back at you.”

  “Indeed,” said Skalatan. “Lucan was always clever. Like a child discerning the operation of his father’s crossbow, only to shoot himself in the gut. But he is not strong enough to resist your fire. Finish him.”

  The dragon looped over the battlefield, coming around for another pass at Lucan. Skalatan saw the Gate of Merchants open, saw the Prince’s horsemen thundering towards Lord Malden. A bold move, indeed, and one that might well prove effective, especially if Skalatan destroyed Lucan.

  Below, the dark figure of Lucan stopped, and Skalatan saw the deeper darkness of the Glamdaigyr waiting in his hands.

  The dragon dove, more fire erupting over its fangs.

  ###

  Lucan cast a spell, armoring his body in layers of overlapping wards.

  An instant later fire poured from the dragon’s mouth.

  He raised the Glamdaigyr and caught the burning blaze upon the point of the blade. At once the black sword drank the dragon’s fire, its wrath and magic draining into the weapon.

  And pouring into Lucan.

  He screamed as the burning pain erupted through him, the fire threatening to devour the spells that maintained his undead state. His wards, designed to hold the fiery power at bay, sparked and hissed as the magic fought to consume them. Lucan pulled all the power into himself, shaping it despite the agony, and forced it into a spell.

  He pointed the Glamdaigyr, and green lightning ripped from the sword’s tip and stabbed into the dragon’s belly as the creature shot overhead.

  Skalatan had warded himself against the emerald lightning…but the dragon had not.

  The dragon bellowed in pain and fury, a spasm going through its limbs. Again Lucan struck, the last of the fiery power transforming into another jagged gout of green lightning. The bolt tore a smoking groove in the dragon’s flank, and its right wing twitched and went limp.

  The dragon circled once and crashed into the battlefield, digging a tremendous furrow into the ground as it crushed runedead and living men alike beneath it.

  Lucan staggered forward, intending to finish the dragon…and almost fell.

  He looked down, saw burns upon his hands, felt the smoke rising from his sleeves and collar.

  The dragon fire had done too much damage to the spells binding him, and they were beginning to unravel.

  ###

  Malden looked back and forth in rage.

  His mighty army had crumpled around him, torn apart by dragon fire. At least half
of his runedead had gone up in smoke, their ashes blanketing the ground. And most of his living troops had broken, fleeing in every direction.

  “Fight!” he roared, waving his sword overhead. “Stand and fight!”

  But no one heeded him, save for a few of his most loyal household knights.

  The charge from the Gate of Merchants drew closer, and Malden realized that if he had did not act at once, they were going to reach him.

  And they would kill him. He had thought to live forever, but if he did not act now, he was going to die.

  “Withdraw!” he shouted, the words bitter in his mouth. “Withdraw and return to Knightcastle.”

  He rode to the south as fast as his horse could manage, his household knights galloping after as they left the Roland banner behind.

  ###

  Skalatan’s carrier picked itself up, the spine creaking within his coils.

  The dragon thrashed and roared, badly injured by both Lucan’s attacks and its sudden landing. Skalatan lifted the drachweisyr and released the magic holding the dragon. At once the great creature dissolved into wisps of white light, fading back into the spirit world. It would take the dragon at least a few weeks to heal.

  No matter. He did not require the dragon to finish off Lucan Mandragon. He had dealt with the revenants of Old Dracaryl before, and he knew exactly how much damage the spells upon their undead bodies could absorb.

  Lucan had exceeded that limit.

  Skalatan strode across the battlefield, seeking his foe.

  ###

  Lucan stumbled, the world spinning around him.

  He had to get away. His spells were repairing themselves – he could see the burns on his hands and arms fading, the pain ebbing somewhat – but slowly, so slowly. It would take him time to recover.

  Time that he did not have. The dragon had vanished, but when Skalatan found him…

  He drew on the last of his power. A sheet of gray mist rose up before him and parted, seeming to form a pathway somewhere else. Through the mist Lucan saw a path of damp earth wending its way through a barren forest.