Soul of Swords (Book 7)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  “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.”

  Hadraine nodded, and gave the order.

  ###

  Gerald sat atop his horse and watched the fighting, his sword flickering with blue fire.

  Mazael had taken command of the horsemen on the northern wing of the shield wall, and Gerald of the southern wing, a mixed force of knights, mounted armsmen, defected Justiciars, and exiled knights from Knightreach. Across the battlefield he saw the southern wing of the Justiciar knights, thousands of horsemen in gleaming steel armor, their lances like a field of razors.

  “We must strike soon,” said Sir Commander Aidan, watching the fight. “If we don’t act, the runedead are going to break through the shield wall.”

  “I know,” said Gerald.

  He kept a calm face before his men, but his heart hammered against his ribs. They were outnumbered, massively outnumbered, and could not hold against so many runedead at once. Unless Mazael did something dramatic, soon…

  A pulse of fiery light rose from the Justiciar reserves, and a heartbeat later a fireball fell out of the sky and exploded into the shield wall. A hundred men died at once, the flesh burned from their bones, and a hundred more fell wounded, screaming as the flames chewed at their flesh.

  Adalar Greatheart cursed. “Caraster and his disciples.”

  Gerald nodded. He had seen Caraster and his wizards use similar tactics during the war in Mastaria. Caraster’s disciples had been masters of fire magic, and they had retained their skill even in their undead state. Fighting one of the burning runedead had been bad enough.

  But fifty of them at once would have the power to burn entire armies.

  Gerald hoped that Riothamus, the wizards, and the druids were up to the task.

  ###

  “Now!” shouted Riothamus.

  He stood with the assembled wizards of the Grim Marches and the druids of the Elderborn. Timothy had taken command of the wizards, simply by virtue of having survived the most battles, while the druids followed Ardanna’s orders without question. The wizards and druids began casting spells, lending their power to Riothamus.

  He slammed the staff of the Guardian against the ground, golden light flooding through the sigils as the borrowed power of the wizards and druids flowed through him. Riothamus swept the staff in an arc, and a thick blanket of white mist appeared over the heads of the shield wall, hardening into a layer of ice an instant before another fireball fell out of the sky.

  The sheet of ice shattered into a thousand glittering fragments, and Riothamus thrust the staff. The power of his will flung the shards forward, hurtling them into the runedead with enough force to tear dozens of the creatures to shredded chunks of meat.

  “Hurry!” said Riothamus. “The enemy will respond quickly. Go!”

  He ran to where the skythains waited with their griffins.

  ###

  “Ah,” said Caldarus. “You see? The enemy wizards revealed themselves, just as I expected.”

  Hadraine frowned. “The ice was a…fearsome spell, Grand Master. They are strong.”

  “No matter,” said Caldarus, riding to rejoin Caraster and the runedead wizards. “Mazael has gathered all his wizards in one place. Now it will be a simple matter for Caraster to kill them.” He reined up. “Caraster. Destroy the wizards of the foe.”

  “They will burn,” Caraster said, lifting his hands. Magical fire blazed around his fingers…and then Caraster’s slack features tightened into a puzzled frown.

  “What are you waiting for?” said Caldarus. “Destroy them!”

  “They are no longer gathered in one place,” said Caraster.

  Caldarus scowled and saw the griffins rise from the enemy host.

  ###

  Riothamus settled into the saddle behind Toric. The lean skythain adjusted the reins with easy confidence, his manner unconcerned. Riothamus had been on a griffin’s back several times, both before and after becoming Guardian, and he still had not gotten used to flight.

  “Ready, Guardian?” said Toric.

  “I still prefer my own feet,” said Riothamus.

  Toric laughed. “Some of us were born to fly, Guardian.”

  Nearby, Timothy coughed on the back on his own griffin. “I fear I am not one of them.”

  “Nor I,” said Ardanna, the druid scowling at both her skythain and griffin.

  “Go,” said Riothamus.

  Toric gave the reins a gentle tug, and the griffin leapt into the air, its massive white-feathered wings unfolding. Two hundred griffins and skythains rose from behind the shield wall, carrying the wizards and druids. The wind of their passage tugged at Riothamus’s hair, and he tightened his grip on the Guardian’s staff.

  The griffins soared above the melee, and Riothamus glimpsed a flicker of dark
ness as Molly moved through the battle. He felt a stab of guilt and fear. He wanted to be at her side, to defend her from any danger, even though he knew she was probably one of the more dangerous combatants on the battlefield.

  But Riothamus had his own task, and if he did succeed, Caldarus and the runedead would destroy the Grim Marches.

  The griffins flew on.

  ###

  Caldarus glared at the sky. “What the devil are they doing?”

  He had dismissed griffins as mythical before coming to the Grim Marches. One day’s march across the plains had proven him wrong. Apparently the Tervingi tamed the beasts, and scouts flying upon griffins had shadowed the Justiciars’ every step. Not that it had troubled Caldarus. With so many runedead at his command, it hardly seemed necessary to conceal his movements.

  “The wizards,” said Caraster, his dead eyes looking up. “The enemy wizards fly upon their backs.”

  “That is troubling, Grand Master,” said Hadraine. “If the wizards work their arts, they can rain spells of destruction upon us from the air.”

  That was a disturbing thought.

  “No matter,” said Caldarus. “The griffins are staying in formation. Caraster, blast them out of the sky.” He smiled. “Perhaps some of our more valiant knights shall receive griffin talons as trophies of our victory.”

  Caraster and his burning disciples began casting spells in unison.

  ###

  Riothamus felt the surge of power, saw the sudden flare of fiery light as the burning wizards summoned magic.

  “Toric!” he shouted. “Now!”

  Toric lifted a war horn to his lips and blew a blast, loud enough to carry even over the wind.

  And as he did, the skythains broke formation, scattering in all directions. Toric’s griffin performed a wingover and dove to the north, the beast plummeting in a terrifying drop. Through his vertigo Riothamus saw the griffins perform a variety of maneuvers, some diving, some circling away, some soaring higher. The movements looked chaotic, even desperate, but Riothamus saw skill behind them. The skythains knew what they were doing.

  A heartbeat later a huge fireball erupted from the burning wizards and stabbed upwards. The blast caught two of the griffins, reducing the beasts, their skythains, and the black-coated wizards upon their backs to ashes. But most of the griffins eluded the blast, still wheeling and spinning over the Justiciar host.

  “Toric,” said Riothamus. “The second signal!”

  Toric blew a series of blasts on his horn, and the druids and wizards began casting spells.

  ###

  “Idiot! What are you waiting for?” said Caldarus. “Destroy them now!”

  Caraster looked back and forth, the hellish light in his eyes brightening. “I…cannot. There are too many of them and they are flying in too many directions. We cannot strike them all at once.”

  “Then blast them down one by one, idiot,” said Caldarus, glancing at the melee. The runedead continued to push the footmen back step by step. Victory was all but certain…unless those damned wizards caused a problem.

  “As you wish,” said Caraster. “I…”

  “Grand Master!” shouted Hadraine. “Look out!”

  Caldarus looked up, saw dozens of multicolored lights flaring overhead.

  The wizards were casting spells.

  All of them.

  No sooner had the realization struck him than he saw something white and shining fall from the sky, glittering at the sunlight. A shard of ice, similar to the one the enemy wizards had flung at the runedead.

  It was heading straight for him.

  Caldarus cursed and threw himself from the saddle an instant before the icy shard ripped Caraster in half.

  ###

  “There,” said Mazael.

  Explosions and shards of ice appeared in the midst of the Justiciar knights and footmen as the griffins circled overhead, the wizards and the druids unleashing their powers. Bursts of flame erupted from the burning wizards, but the griffins were moving too fast. Mazael had commanded the druids and wizards to target and distract the burning wizards…but they were also to target the Justiciar sergeants, preceptors, and commanders. The Guardian of the Tervingi could not take human life, but the other wizards had no such limitations.

  And an enemy without leaders quickly became a disorganized mob.

  “Now?” said Earnachar.

  “Yes,” said Mazael, pointing Lion. “Sir Aulus! Sound the charge!”

  Aulus nodded, and the thin knight lifted his war horn and blew a long blast.

  ###

  Gerald watched the griffins wheel and the wizards unleash their spells, fascinated by the horror and beauty of the sight. He had seen magic wielded in war, more often than he cared to remember.

  But he still could not tear his eyes from the spectacle.

  Then he heard the sound of a war horn ringing over the battle.

  “Lord Gerald!” said Adalar. “The charge!”

  Gerald nodded. “We must keep the Justiciar knights on the southern wing engaged. Remember that, and make sure your men know it! We must keep the knights from circling behind the footmen.” Whatever plan Mazael had in mind, they had to keep the Justiciar knights from getting behind the footmen.

  Though how Mazael planned to deal with the ninety thousand runedead threatening to grind the infantry away, Gerald had no idea.

  “Today!” said Gerald. “My friends, we have been driven from our homes, seen our kin murdered, and watched as our lords have been corrupted by the dark magic of a vile necromancer. No more! Today we take the first step to reclaiming our homes, to driving out the evil that has infested our lands!”

  His men cheered, Aidan’s standardbearers sounded the charge, and Gerald put spurs to his horse. His wing of cavalry surged into motion, their hooves tearing at the ground. They galloped past the shield wall and the huge horde of runedead. Gerald felt a stab of concern. He did not know how much longer the shield wall could hold in the face of such pressure, and when the runedead broke through, they would turn and attack the horsemen from behind…

  Then they rode past the melee, and Gerald had no further time for worry.

  The wing of Justiciar horsemen wheeled, trying to get into formation even as fire exploded and shards of ice ripped through their ranks. Mazael had set the wizards to target the Justiciar officers, and Gerald saw the resultant chaos spreading through the enemy.

  Despite the fighting, Gerald could not help but smile at his friend’s cleverness.

  He hoped Mazael had a plan for dealing with the runedead.

  Gerald tucked his lance under his arm and braced himself for the impact.

  ###

  Earnachar bellowed a battle cry, calling upon his men to fight gloriously in the name of mighty Tervingar. The horsethains whooped and raised their weapons, while the knights and armsmen lowered their lances in grim silence.

  Mazael set himself in Gauntlet’s saddle, shield ready on his left arm, lance ready in his right hand. The Justiciar knights formed themselves into a line, raising their shields and dropping their lances, but it was too late. Mazael’s men smashed into the enemy, the deafening sound of clanging steel and tearing flesh and shattering bone drowning out all other noises.

  His lance slammed into a Justiciar knight’s cuirass with enough force to punch through the steel plate and sink into the flesh beneath. The knight flew backwards out of his saddle and disappeared beneath the stamping hooves of his comrades’ horses. Mazael’s next blow caught a Justiciar alongside the helmet. The knight staggered in his saddle, almost lost his balance, and one of the horsethains struck him across the face with an axe. Gauntlet slowed, losing his momentum as the bands of warring horsemen pressed against each other. Mazael drove his lance at another Justiciar, catching the man in the gap below his cuirass. The point sank home and the Justiciar toppled from his saddle, wrenching the lance from Mazael’s hand.

  He drew Lion, the sword bursting into fresh azure flame. Gauntlet crashed into the
horse of a Justiciar, biting and stamping his hooves. The Justiciar fought to keep his balance, raising his mace for a blow. Mazael whipped Lion around in a backhanded swing, his Demonsouled rage and strength driving his arm, and the strike took off the Justiciar’s head. The headless corpse toppled from the saddle, blood spurting from the stump of its neck.

  The Justiciar knights shied away from the corona of blue fire crackling around Lion’s blade. They were mortal men, untouched by dark magic, and the fire could not hurt them – but they didn’t know that. Mazael drove at them, the Demonsouled fury making him stronger and faster. The sky burned over him as the wizards unleashed their powers, and men screamed and fought and died around him, and he laughed as he slew, blood splashing across the golden scales of his armor as the dark joy of battle filled him. His foes landed minor blows on him, but he ignored the pain, the tainted magic of his blood repairing the wounds.

  He was Demonsouled, and he would drive these foes from his land or he would die in the attempt.

  ###

  “Reserves!” screamed Caldarus, grabbing Hadraine by the shoulder.

  Chaos ruled around them, the wizards circling overhead on their griffins. Blasts of ice and bolts of blue-white lightning had wiped out thirty more burning wizards before the damned runedead had finally managed to work wards.

  “Grand Master, we must withdraw!” said Hadraine. “Those wizards will whittle us down bit by bit until…”

  “No!” said Caldarus. “If we withdraw now, their cavalry will pursue. Their wizards’ powers are not infinite. Sooner or later they will exhaust their strength, and we still have many runedead to spare. Split the reserve footmen in two and send them to aid the knights on our wings. We will put the horsemen of the Grim Marches to flight, and then our knights can circle around the shield wall and take their infantry from behind.”