Soul of Swords (Book 7)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  And with his new power, he would bring the world to eternal order.

  His carrier strode through the Door of Souls.

  ###

  “In here,” said Riothamus, pointing with his staff.

  Mazael stepped through the stone doorway and into a great vaulted hall. It reminded him of the High Elderborn architecture he had seen atop Mount Tynagis, the same polished white stone, the same soaring walls and arched ceilings.

  And a Door of Souls, identical to the one atop Mount Tynagis, sat in the center of the hall, wreathed in silver light.

  “It’s still open,” said Riothamus.

  Mazael swept his eyes over the hall, the eerie silver light throwing peculiar shadows everywhere, though a dull crimson glow throbbed in the center of the Door. He saw no trace of anyone, neither Lucan nor Skalatan nor the Old Demon himself. “They must have entered Cythraul Urdvul already, all of them. I thought we would have to fight our way to the Door, but they must have been in too much haste …”

  “Mazael,” said Romaria, voice quiet. “Over there.”

  He followed her gaze and saw a burned corpse slumped against the wall. A misshapen lump of black metal clung to the corpse’s head, and as Mazael walked closer, he saw that it had once been a diadem. A cracked, dull emerald rested in the center of the twisted mess.

  The diadem had once been the Banurdem.

  Which meant the corpse was Lucan Mandragon.

  Mazael starred at the charred form. Lucan had betrayed him, wrought the Great Rising, unleashed the runedead, and twisted Caldarus and Lord Malden into leading a mad war against half the realm. If ever a man had deserved to die like this, it had been Lucan Mandragon. Yet Mazael still felt…regret, perhaps? Grief? Lucan had been his friend once, had stood with him against powerful and dangerous foes.

  Could Mazael have prevented this? Romaria and Molly had both told him to kill Lucan when he had the chance, and he had refused. Yet perhaps there had been another way. If he could have changed Lucan’s mind, warned him of the folly…

  Mazael shook his head. What was done was done, and he could not linger here.

  “Looks like after the Door opened,” said Molly, “the Old Demon didn’t need him any longer.”

  She lifted her sword to prod at the twisted remains of the Banurdem.

  “Don’t touch him,” said Riothamus. “There’s still a spell on him. Not strong, but it could be dangerous.”

  “What is it?” said Mazael.

  “The…remnants of a broken ward, I think,” said Riothamus. “The Old Demon must have destroyed it when he killed Lucan.”

  “Or Skalatan,” said Molly, looking at the Door of Souls.

  “No,” said Mazael, “it would have been the Old Demon. Morebeth said he entered Cythraul Urdvul, and she would not have been wrong about that.” He turned from the corpse. “We had best…”

  “Father!” said Molly, stepping back.

  Mazael whirled and saw green fire climb up Lucan’s corpse. He raised Lion’s burning blade, ready for an attack. Had the Old Demon left a trap for them? Or had Lucan been playing possum?

  But the corpse did not move.

  “What was that?” said Mazael.

  “That spell activated,” said Riothamus. “But I don’t know what it…”

  “Mazael.”

  The voice was a wheezing rasp, little more than a whisper, and it came from the corpse.

  Lucan’s voice.

  “What is this?” said Mazael.

  “My last spell,” said Lucan’s voice. “You slew me atop Swordgrim, and the Old Demon destroyed the revenant that I became, but I bound my soul to my flesh ere the spells unraveled.”

  “Why?” said Riothamus. “You have no power like this, no strength. You cannot even move. And the spell is weakening, I can see that plainly enough.”

  Molly scoffed. “To escape his fate. Why else?”

  “No!” said Lucan, his voice full of pain. “I must undo it. Some of the damage I have done. You were right, Mazael. I was a fool. Lady Romaria tried to warn me. I should have listened. I should have…I should have done so many things differently…”

  “It is a bit late for regret,” said Mazael. A spike of rage went through him, sharp and hot, and had Lucan not already been dead he would have struck the wizard down on the spot. “Thousands died in the first moments of the Great Rising. I saw the slaughtered villages, Lucan, I saw the women and children torn to shreds. Or the butchery in Knightreach and Greycoast. I saw what Caldarus did to those villages. All that blood is on your hands, Lucan. And you regret it? It is far, far too late for that.”

  His shout of anger echoed off the walls.

  “I was deceived,” said Lucan.

  “A fine argument,” said Mazael. “You’ve said what you’ve had to say. I wish you joy of it.”

  He turned to go.

  “Wait!” hissed Lucan. “You must listen to me. You must! I did not linger to beg forgiveness, not for what I have done. But you must listen.”

  “To what?” said Mazael.

  “The Old Demon,” said Lucan. “You cannot defeat him.”

  Mazael growled. “And you suggest we fall down and worship him, since he’s going to become a god?”

  “No,” said Lucan. “He has no weaknesses. He is too powerful, too strong, too clever. Too old. You cannot overcome him. But the Glamdaigyr is his weakness.”

  “How?” said Mazael.

  “I didn’t understand the Glamdaigyr,” said Lucan. “It steals life and power from the victim and bestows it upon the bearer. But…it does not discriminate. It will steal any power, even if the power will harm the bearer. That is the only way you can hope to defeat him. The power the Glamdaigyr steals will enter his heart and spirit, bypassing his wards and defenses. That…that is the only way, Mazael, the only way…”

  “And just how am I to do that?” said Mazael. “Lion’s fire could harm him, as can the staff of the Guardian, but I doubt he’ll be stupid enough to stab them.”

  “Tymaen?” said Lucan.

  “What about her?” said Mazael. “She’s dead.”

  “Tell her…tell her that I love her,” said Lucan. “Please. I can…I can speak to my father, I can convince him to send Marstan away. He will heed me. He needs a wizard, Tymaen, please…”

  “His mind is going,” said Riothamus. “The spell is about to unravel.”

  “Tell her,” whispered Lucan. “Tell her…”

  The corpse shuddered, the flare of green fire fading into nothingness.

  And then Lucan Mandragon was dead at last.

  “Poor damned fool,” said Molly.

  “Aye,” said Mazael. After a moment he lifted his eyes from the dead man. “We’ve lingered here long enough.”

  He crossed the hall and stopped before the Door of Souls. The silver haze danced before his eyes, and he had the sensation of staring into a chasm of great depth. Far in the distance, he glimpsed a crimson glow and gleaming black stone.

  He had never been there, but he knew it from his nightmares.

  Cythraul Urdvul. Where the demon god had died and the Demonsouled had been born…and a new demon god would be born, if Mazael did not stop his father.

  “Blood,” said Riothamus.

  Mazael looked at him.

  “You and Molly can step through the Door and go to Cythraul Urdvul,” said Riothamus. “Your blood will pull you to the gathered power of the Demonsouled. But you’ll need to touch Lady Romaria and me with your blood if we are to accompany you.”

  Mazael nodded and cut his hand on Lion’s edge, and let a few of the droplets fall onto Romaria’s outstretched hand. Molly pricked her finger and did the same for Riothamus. Mazael flexed his hand, his Demonsouled power healing the wound, and hesitated.

  “You do not have to go with me,” said Mazael. “None of you do. This is between me and the Old Demon, in the end.”

  “No,” said Romaria, a sad smile on her face. “We are husband and wife, Mazael Cravenlock. We shall
be joined together until death, and if we die together on this day, then so be it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Molly. “Grandfather turned me into a killer. He would have turned me into a Malrag Queen, and he murdered Nicholas. He might kill me today, but by all the gods, I am going to spit in that wretched bastard’s eye before I die.”

  “And I am the Guardian of the Tervingi,” said Riothamus. “The Guardian of the Tervingi nation, aye…but the Guardian’s office is to oppose the Old Demon. If we fail today, if the Old Demon becomes a new god…then I will have failed, three thousand years of Guardians will have failed, and the world will fall into an endless darkness.” He smiled. “I think, hrould, that if you want to go alone, you will have to tie us up first.”

  “Bah,” said Mazael. “Molly would just walk the shadows to get loose of the ropes.” He smiled. “So be it.” He turned back to the Door of Souls, his smile fading. “Then let us put an end to this at last.”

  He took a deep breath, and then he strode through the Door, the others following.

  ###

  The Old Demon stopped, the sky overhead writhing with black clouds, crimson lightning leaping through the darkness.

  He titled his head for a moment, as if listening, the Glamdaigyr shivering with eagerness in his hand. The bloody glow ahead threw his shadow behind him, long and black against the black stones of the ancient temple.

  “Ah,” he said, smiling. “So they’ve chosen to begin their suffering early.”

  Chapter 30 - Cythraul Urdvul

  Chaos swallowed Mazael.

  The Door of Souls vanished, and he felt himself hurtling through an endless dark void. Scattered visions flashed before his eyes, faces of men and women, some screaming in torment, others howling in fury.

  The Demonsouled.

  All of them, a hundred generations of the Old Demon’s children, all tainted by the demon magic of their patriarch’s blood. He saw them live and die and love and fight, spreading violence and chaos through generation after generation.

  And he saw them perish, their power flowing into Cythraul Urdvul.

  A crimson light appeared in the void, and Mazael fell towards it. He felt the power of the light, the awful might, and he struggled against it.

  But it pulled him towards it, and the light swallowed him whole.

  ###

  Mazael Cravenlock found himself standing in Castle Cravenlock’s chapel, clad in steel mail and plate, Lion’s blade burning with crimson fire in his hand.

  No, not Lion.

  He lifted the sword, saw that it had been wrought from red gold, the pommel shaped like a snarling demon’s head.

  The sword of the Destroyer.

  He turned his head and flinched.

  Rachel lay dead upon the steps to the altar, her torso opened from throat to groin by a single massive blow. Her green eyes gazed at the ceiling in frozen horror, her blood drying around her. Romaria lay slumped next to her, her body twisted and bent, caught halfway between wolf and human forms.

  “No,” said Mazael, “no, this isn’t…”

  “You killed them.”

  Mazael looked up and saw the Old Demon standing atop the chapel’s altar.

  “Don’t you remember?” His father grinned. “You cut your traitorous sister down, just as I commanded. And Romaria tried to stop you, but…ah, her Elderborn soul ripped her apart from the inside out. So very, very tragic. But wasn’t it worth it? I gave you the sword of the Destroyer, just as I promised…and you will now go forth and destroy the kingdoms of men in my name.”

  “No,” said Mazael. This could not be happening.

  “I’m afraid it is, my son,” said the Old Demon. “You are mine, now and forever.”

  ###

  Romaria Greenshield Cravenlock turned in a shocked circle, her composite bow in hand.

  The ruins of Deepforest Keep smoldered around her. The Champion’s Tower had been smashed and lay in broken wreckage across the city. The houses burned, flames dancing inside their stone shells. Everywhere the dead lay, ripped and torn by swords, their heads mounted on stakes and their bodies pinned to walls like macabre trophies.

  “No,” said Romaria, “no, this can’t be…”

  “You did this, my dear.”

  She turned and saw the Old Demon staring at her, a gentle smile on his bearded face.

  “What?” said Romaria. “No, I didn’t do this. I…”

  “You allowed it to happen,” he said, still smiling. “You wed Mazael Cravenlock. You knew what he was, the darkness in his soul…and you wed him and took him into your bed nonetheless. You always yearned for a man stronger than yourself, and you found him at last…and he turned into a monster.”

  “No,” whispered Romaria.

  “Yes,” said the Old Demon. “You were at his side as he butchered his way across the Grim Marches. As he raised pyramids of skulls in Knightcastle. As he burned Barellion to the ground with its people trapped within the walls. You are nothing but the Destroyer’s concubine…and you will follow him as he bathes the world in blood.”

  “This…this can’t be happening,” said Romaria.

  “I’m afraid it is, my dear,” said the Old Demon. “You are mine, now and forever.”

  ###

  Molly Cravenlock stumbled backwards, unable to believe the horror before her eyes.

  She stood in her bedroom in Castle Cravenlock, and Riothamus lay upon the bed.

  Or what was left of Riothamus.

  Blood soaked the blankets, dripped down the walls, squished in the carpet beneath her bare feet.

  “Oh, dear. What a mess you’ve made.”

  She whirled, and saw her grandfather standing in the corner.

  “You did this!” said Molly.

  “Me?” said the Old Demon, smiling. “Not at all. You did this to him, Molly. You’re a killer, a monster, and you always have been. You knew what you would do to Riothamus, but you let him betrothe you anyway. And now look at what you’ve done.” He clicked his tongue. “The poor servants will have to burn those blankets.”

  “I didn’t hurt him!” shouted Molly. “You did.”

  “You’re lying to yourself,” said the Old Demon.

  She snarled and reached for her sword, and realized that she was naked.

  And the skin of her left hip felt leathery and thick and gnarled beneath the fingers of her right hand.

  “You are a monster, you know,” said the Old Demon. “Look at yourself.”

  He pointed to a mirror against the wall, and Molly turned.

  A misshapen hulk stared back at her, with leathery, gray skin, blank white eyes, and limbs swollen with muscle and fat. Tumors bulged on her torso, the creatures growing with the tumors writhing and twitching, ready to tear free of her corrupted flesh and kill.

  Corvad had turned her into a Malrag Queen.

  The scream ripped out of her like a living thing.

  “Granddaughter,” said the Old Demon. “You are mine, now and forever.”

  ###

  Riothamus son of Rigotharic tried to lean upon the staff of the Guardian for balance.

  But the staff splintered to pieces in his right hand, and he fell to one knee.

  He was in the village of Stone Tower, the houses burning around him. Athanaric lay slumped against the stairs to the keep. Aegidia lay nearby, facedown in her own blood. The corpses of slaughtered Tervingi were strewn everywhere.

  Riothamus staggered to his feet and froze in horror.

  Beyond the ruined village the Grim Marches had been burned to ashes, glowing embers and smoke blowing in the wind. The sky overhead was the color of blood, and Riothamus saw more corpses scattered across the charred plains.

  The entire Tervingi nation, butchered and slain.

  “Oh, dear,” said a voice. “It looks like you failed.”

  Riothamus whirled, and saw a man in a black robe standing near Aegidia’s corpse.

  The Urdmoloch.

  “What did you do?” said Rio
thamus, his hands curling into fists.

  “What did I do?” said the Urdmoloch, putting one hand upon his chest. “Why, I did nothing! This was your failure, Riothamus. You were the Guardian of the Tervingi. You were supposed to defend them from dark magic! And look what happened.” He shook his head in dismay. “You failed them…and the Tervingi nation is ashes upon the wind.”

  Riothamus stared at the burnt plains, unable to take his eyes from the carnage.

  “And you, too, are mine,” said Urdmoloch. “Now and forever.”

  ###

  “I’m sorry,” whispered Mazael, gazing at the corpses of his sister and wife.

  “It’s your fault,” said the Old Demon, his voice a murmur. “You gave into the darkness within yourself. You let it conquer you…and it destroyed everyone you love.” He laughed. “Their blood is on your hands, your…”

  “Shut up.”

  The Old Demon frowned, and Mazael turned.

  A woman in a black dress stood next to the dais, her hair the color of blood, her eyes like gray steel. She seemed familiar, so familiar, yet Mazael could not place her.

  “You?” said the Old Demon, and there was a hint of surprise in his voice.

  “Mazael,” said the woman. “You know me.”

  Mazael frowned. He had never seen the woman before, yet he was sure he knew her.

  “Knightcastle,” said the woman in black. “I seduced you at Knightcastle. I offered to aid you in fighting against my father, and tried to kill you when you refused to be corrupted. You killed me instead.”

  “How can I be talking to a dead woman?” said Mazael.

  “Yes,” said the Old Demon, the crimson haze in his eyes brightening. “Yes, how can you be?”

  “Because,” said the woman, “none of this is real.”

  The recollection bloomed in Mazael’s thoughts, and his mind snapped back into focus, like grime wiped from a mirror.

  “Morebeth,” said Mazael. “Your name is Morebeth Galbraith.”

  The Old Demon snarled and lifted his hands, darkness swirling around him.