Soul of Dragons

by Jonathan Moeller

  ###

  Romaria sprang forward, jaws yawning wide.

  The first Malrag did not even have time to lift its spear. Romaria crashed into its chest, driving the creature to the ground, and her jaws closed around its throat. Black blood spurted from its wound, the sickening taste filling Romaria's mouth. The second Malrag raised its axe and swung. Romaria dodged and the black axe buried itself in the dead Malrag's chest.

  Her claws raked out and she hamstrung the second Malrag. It fell to its knees with a grunt, and Romaria sprang upon it, knocking the Malrag from its feet.

  The Malrag just had time for a bellow of pain before she tore out its throat.

  ###

  Molly spun, sword in hand.

  “What was that?” she said.

  Corvad laughed. “It sounded like one of the Malrags getting killed.”

  “Then Mazael has come,” said Molly, heart racing faster at the prospect. She understood Corvad and her grandfather's plan, their desire to make Mazael suffer. But if she could kill him here and now...

  “Doubtful,” said Coravd. “Most likely it's Romaria.”

  “Who?”

  “Mazael's woman,” said Corvad. “A half-breed. Like us, somewhat. The one our grandfather told us about. She was born of an Elderborn mother and a human father, and apparently she has the ability to take the shape of a great wolf.”

  “Then what do we if she comes after us?” said Molly.

  Corvad grinned. “Why, we kill her, of course. Her death would cause Mazael great pain. Grandfather was quite clear on that.”

  The Malrag warlocks finished their spell. A patch of gray mist swirled on the ground before the warlocks, and rose up to become a pillar. The pillar rose ten feet, twenty feet, thirty, stretched past the branches of the towering trees. Then it widened, light shining from its depths, and Molly felt the warm breeze upon her face.

  ###

  Romaria raced past the dead Malrags, circling to the left. A tingle went through her as the deformed Malrags cast their spells, and she watched the pillar of mist rise from the earth. And then, before Romaria's eyes, it changed.

  Through the wall of mist she saw the rolling plains and low hills of the Grim Marches and the white-capped peaks of the Great Mountains, hundreds of miles away. Corvad shouted an order, and the Malrags marched into the mist, striding through it to the plains of the Grim Marches.

  A portal.

  That was what the Malrags' magic had summoned. Somehow they had conjured a gateway to the Grim Marches, covering hundreds of miles in a single step. Romaria had heard legends of spells like that, but she had never seen one. Whatever Corvad had done to those Malrag shamans, it had given them the power to conjure that portal.

  Romaria watched as the Malrags marched through the portal to the Grim Marches.

  WhateverCorvad wanted, whatever he planned, this fight wasn't over.

  ###

  The Malrags carrying Lucan walked through the mistgate, and a single step carried them two hundred miles to the north. Much as Molly loathed Corvad's pet Malrags, she had to admit the mistgates were useful. Her power to walk the shadows could carry her no more than a few hundred yards at a time, and travelling long distances was draining.

  “Come, sister,” said Corvad. “We have the first piece. But there is more work to do.”

  He strode through the mistgate, followed by the Malrag warlocks. Without their combined power to hold the gate open, it began to collapse. It would last no more than another minute.

  Molly returned her sword to its scabbard and followed.

  Then she stopped.

  She felt eyes on her back.

  Molly turned, and saw the great black wolf watching her.

  ###

  The woman in black turned, gray eyes widening as she saw Romaria.

  Romaria released the power. One moment she was the great black wolf. The next she was a human woman again, clad in leather in wool, her bow in hand.

  Along with an arrow.

  In one smooth motion, Romaria drew back the string and released.

  ###

  Romaria Greenshield moved faster than Molly thought possible. Molly reached for the dark power and walked the shadows, moving six feet to the left, and Romaria's arrow whistled past her ear. Romaria brought up another arrow, and Molly jumped back through the mistgate.

  She saw Romaria draw the arrow, and the mistgate collapsed an instant later.

  Corvad laughed. “Cutting it close, sister.”

  Molly stood on the rolling plains of the Grim Marches, the landscape dotted with the occasional tree and boulder. In the distance rose the massive stone wall of the Great Mountains, tall and grim. The Malrags, infused and otherwise, waited for Corvad's orders.

  “Yes,” murmured Molly. “Close.”

  She suspected Romaria would prove a dangerous opponent. The sort of woman who would fight to the death to protect Mazael.

  Well, Molly would just have to kill her, too.

  ###

  Romaria released the arrow, and the strange portal vanished. Her arrow sped through the empty air and slammed into the trunk of a tree. She lowered her bow, looking around. The Malrags were gone. Romaria sniffed at the air. She smelled nothing, save for trees and plants and animals around her.

  Corvad and his Malrags had gone to the Grim Marches.

  Mazael had to know about this.

  She hurried back to the ruined castle.

  ###

  “My lord,” said one of the archers. “Lady Romaria returns.”

  Mazael nodded and walked to the gate, trying to keep his relief hidden. Men looked to their lord for purpose and resolution. It would not do to let them see him running to Romaria's side. He reached the gate just as Romaria climbed over the barricade, bow in hand, expression grim.

  Gerald and Circan joined Mazael.

  “The Malrags are returning?” said Gerald.

  Romaria shook her head. “They're gone.”

  “Gone?” said Mazael. “So Corvad's fled?”

  “No. They're gone,” said Romaria. “Corvad had Malrag shamans with him. But...deformed, with crimson veins, like his Malrag warriors. The shamans conjured up a...portal, a doorway, out of gray mist. He went through it, along with his sister and Malrags, and then the portal vanished.”

  “Lucan?” said Mazael.

  “Corvad took him,” said Romaria.

  “A mistgate,” said Circan, voice awed.

  Romaria blinked. “You know what that portal was?”

  “Aye,” said Circan. “Great magic of old, now lost. The wizards of the ancient world had the power to open magical doorways from place to place. They could travel hundreds of miles in the blink of an eye. That knowledge was lost, long ago.”

  “But not to a Malrag,” said Mazael. A Malrag could be killed, but the demon spirits that animated their corrupt flesh were reborn over and over again. “A Malrag shaman might have knowledge of a long-lost spell.”

  “So it would seem,” said Circan.

  Mazael's right hand closed into a fist. Was that why Corvad had taken Lucan? For his knowledge? Lucan knew a great deal of necromantic lore. Did he know some secret that Corvad needed?

  “Wait,” said Mazael. “You said sister?”

  “Aye,” said Romaria. “The woman in black was Corvad's sister, I'm sure of it. They may even be twins.”

  “That would explain her ability to disappear and reappear,” said Circan. “I know little of the Demonsouled, but it is said the dark power in their blood manifests in strange ways.”

  Mazael gave a slow nod. He knew that very well. And a Demonsouled brother and sister? That sent a cold finger down his spine. He remembered Amalric and Morebeth Galbraith, both children of the Old Demon, like Mazael. Amalric had almost killed Mazael. And Morebeth had almost seduced him, almost twisting him into a creature of darkness like herself.

  But why the devil had Corvad and his sister taken Lucan?

  “Did you see,” said Mazael, “where the m
istgate went?”

  “Somewhere in the Grim Marches,” said Romaria. “I don't know where. The Great Mountains looked about two or three days distant, though.”

  “East of Castle Cravenlock,” said Gerald, “but west of the Great Mountains.”

  “A large territory, much of it deserted,” said Mazael. Especially after Ultorin's Malrags had slaughtered so many of the villagers living near the Great Mountains. “Finding Corvad will be difficult.”

  “So you mean to pursue him?” said Gerald.

  “Aye,” said Mazael. “Corvad plans more mischief, I'm sure of it. We didn't defeat Ultorin and Malavost only to endure more Malrag attacks. And Lucan is one of my men. I do not suffer attacks on those who have sworn to me. I will find him and get him back.”

  Gerald and Circan nodded, while Romaria said nothing. She had never trusted Lucan, claiming he smelled of dark magic, and urged Mazael to kill him. Perhaps she was right – Mazael trusted her more than he trusted anyone. But Lucan was one of Mazael's men, and he would not lift his hand against one of his men unless given cause.

  “We'll leave at once,” said Mazael, “and ride for Castle Cravenlock.”

  “Perhaps we should spend the night here,” said Gerald. “The walls are strong, and we can fend off any additional attacks.”

  “No,” said Mazael. “Corvad's gone. He won't attack us again until he's ready. We're only five or six days from Castle Cravenlock, and the sooner we get back, the better. If Corvad means to do my lands harm, I will stop him.”

  They left the ruined castle, and managed another five miles before the sun went down.

  Chapter 4 – Ruins

  After night fell, Molly wandered alone through the ruined village.

  Or, at least, as alone as she could manage.

  Corvad kept some of his Malrag warriors prowling around the burned-out houses, keeping watch for enemies. He needn't have bothered. Ultorin's Malrags had scoured this part of the Grim Marches, killing every last man, woman, and child they could catch. Any survivors had long ago fled west to Castle Cravenlock or Swordgrim. Some remnants of Ultorin's horde might still wander the plains, but they hardly mattered. Corvad could take control of them, the way he had the others.

  Molly supposed she could take control of her own Malrags, but the vile things hardly seemed worth the bother.

  She wandered along the dead village's main street. Bones lay scattered everywhere, the bones of men, women, and children. Molly could see what had happened easily enough. The Malrags had attacked, setting the houses afire. The villagers fled into the street to escape, and the Malrags cut them down without mercy. Molly wondered if the women had lived long enough to see their husbands and children die.

  She wondered if they had wept, the way she had wept.

  She touched her sword hilt, wondering what it would feel like to throw herself upon the blade...

  No. Not yet. She would plunge it into Mazael’s heart, watch as the life drained from his eyes. The thought of killing him was the only thing that kept Molly on her feet.

  And then, after Mazael was dead, perhaps she could join Nicholas.

  Molly walked to the ruins of the village's manor house. The roof had burned away, but the stone walls still stood, and she saw the glow of firelight through the yawning doorways. Inside she found Corvad, sitting at a table that had survived the attack, pouring through a pile of books and scrolls. A fire crackled in the soot-stained hearth. Lucan lay against the wall, while the Malrag warlocks lurked in the shadows.

  They liked the dark. Like spiders.

  “Sister,” said Corvad, not looking up from his books. She had never been able to sneak up on him. Not even before their mother had died, and they had been handed over to the Skulls. “So good of you to join me.”

  “Brother,” said Molly. “You know how I yearn for the pleasure of your fine company.”

  He looked at her, and she saw the hatred in his eyes. Well, she hated him just as much. After meeting Nicholas, Molly had turned his back on him, on his endless cruelty and bloodlust. But then Mazael murdered Nicholas, and Corvad returned, promising revenge...

  Yes, Molly could put up with Corvad, if she could kill Mazael.

  Corvad snorted. “Yes. You're such fine company, sister. But...useful. I will concede that. You are useful.”

  She smirked at him. “How very gracious.” Corvad's Demonsouled nature had given him supernatural strength and speed, battle prowess beyond the reach of normal men...but it had not given him the ability to walk the shadows. He could never have gotten his hands on Lucan Mandragon without Molly's help.

  “So,” said Molly. “Who do we kill next? Or do you need me to kidnap another unconscious wizard?”

  “No one to kill in particular,” said Corvad. “Only those who get in our way. We need to find the sword. The third piece.”

  Molly sighed. She had heard this speech from Corvad before.

  “The blood of a Demonsouled,” said Corvad, either unaware or indifferent to her scorn, “the first piece. The corruption in Lucan Mandragon's blood, the second piece.” He grinned. “And the third piece.”

  “The sword,” said Molly.

  “Yes. The sword,” said Corvad. “Once we find that sword, sister, the world is ours. No one will be able to stop us. We shall be the rulers of the earth.”

  Molly suspected that Corvad planned to kill her well before that. She didn't care. So long as she got to kill Mazael Cravenlock first.

  But she couldn't resist nettling him. “Of course, you have to find the sword first. And you've been unsuccessful so far.”

  Corvad sneered. “The records will be there. Somewhere. The Grim Marches were once part of the old kingdom of Dracaryl. Most of the nobility of the Grim Marches are descendants of the refugees from Dracaryl. Those refugees brought their treasures with them...and their books and scrolls as well. One of those books holds what we need.”

  “And how are you going to find that book?” said Molly.

  “Raids,” said Corvad. “Most of the books and scrolls of the Grim Marches are secured in the monasteries, in the churches, and in the libraries of the castles. With the mistgates, we can launch a quick attack and escape before any force capable of stopping us arrives. Sooner or later, we'll find a document telling us where to find Arylkrad.”

  “And then?” said Molly.

  “And then?” said Corvad, smirking. “And then we depart the Grim Marchesand claim Arylkrad. And when we do...and when we take the sword...” He flexed his fingers, eyes bright with glee. “And then we'll return to the Grim Marches, sister. We'll take what is rightfully ours. We'll have our revenge on Mazael Cravenlock, for what he did to us. For what he did to you and that pet of yours.”

  Molly shivered in sudden anger. “Nicholas was not a pet.”

  Corvad gave a lazy shrug. “I don't care what he was to you. But you'll have your chance to repay Mazael.”

  “Just as our grandfather promised,” whispered Molly.

  Corvad nodded, lip curled in a sneer. “Yes. Just as our grandfather promised.”

  With an effort, Molly pulled herself together, made her voice calm. “A fine plan, brother. But with one flaw.”

  “Oh?” Corvad's jaw tightened. He had killed men for questioning him. But he needed Molly. Besides, he might not have been able to take her in a straight fight, not with her ability to walk the shadows. “And what flaw is that?”

  “Mazael himself,” said Molly. “You bloodied his nose at the ruins. He'll hunt you to the ends of the earth. You should have sent me to steal Lucan away quietly. Mazael would have never known what had happened to Lucan.”

  Corvad snorted. “You question me?”

  “Are you so unsure of yourself?” said Molly. “One little question unmans you?”

  Corvad laughed. “Hardly.” He pointed at Lucan. “For I have what I sought, do I not?”

  “Mazael knows about us,” said Molly.

  “What of it?” said Corvad. There was a hint of amusement in h
is tone that Molly did not like. “He would have learned about us sooner or later, but it matters not. We have the mistgates. He cannot possibly find us. And once we find Arylkrad, he cannot possibly stop us.”

  “You've been wrong before,” said Molly.

  “Oh?” said Corvad. “When?”

  Molly knew it was a bad idea, but she said it anyway. “When we were children, and you thought our father would come and save us from the Skulls.”

  Corvad said nothing for a moment. “Do not ever call him our father.” His voice was flat and toneless and hard as steel. “Do not ever. Do you understand me?”

  Molly said nothing.

  “And you should trust my judgment,” said Corvad, voice soft. “Didn't I warn you?”

  “Don't,” said Molly.

  Corvad smirked. “I said you could never live in peace. Your Demonsouled blood would not permit it.”

  “Stop talking,” said Molly.

  “And I warned you about Mazael Cravenlock,” said Corvad. “But you ignored me, didn't you?” His smirk widened. “And so you ran off with your pet, but Mazael found you. He butchered Nicholas, left him choking and gasping in a puddle of his own blood...”

  Molly surged to her feet, the murderous rage of the Demonsouled filling her. She wanted to leap across the table and bury her sword to the hilt in Corvad's damned mouth. But she didn't know if she could defeat Corvad, and she desired vengeance against Mazael more than anything else in the world.

  And if she killed Corvad, or if Corvad killed her, then Mazael would escape.

  Molly embraced the black fire inside her and walked the shadows.

  She reappeared in the darkness outside the village. Yet she still saw the light from Corvad's fire. So she walked into the shadows again, and again, until the fire was only a distant speck of light.

  She was alone here...and could weep in peace, without anyone seeing her. Her breath hitched, and she staggered forward a step, and then another. She wanted to fall to her knees, to scream and weep and curse...