“Oh, it's quite possible,” said the Old Demon. “How did you think Malrag Queens were created?” He gestured at the massive holes in the walls. “The corruption in your flesh has made you vulnerable to more than mental assault. That corruption, coupled with a bit of Demonsouled blood and a certain magical artifact of Old Dracaryl...and you will be instrumental in the creation of a Malrag Queen. You won't enjoy that at all.”
Lucan said nothing.
“So, you see,” said the Old Demon, “you're almost out of time, and all but one path leads to your destruction...or worse. You really need my help.”
“Then why help me?” said Lucan. “If this...Corvad is going to turn me into a Malrag Queen, isn't that what you want?”
The Old Demon laughed. “You children. So very shortsighted. You think there is only one path to victory. But in the unlikely event that you live long enough, you'll come to understand that it's best to rig the game. The best battles are the ones where you win no matter what the outcome.”
“So you're manipulating me,” said Lucan.
The Old Demon spread his hands. “That should be obvious, I hope.”
“Fine,” said Lucan. “You want to make a bargain. What do you offer me?”
“I can help you defeat the Demonsouled manifestation,” said the Old Demon. “That is within my power. By yourself, you might, perhaps, get lucky and defeat the manifestation. But more likely than not you will be crushed and transformed into a monster like Ultorin. But with my aid, victory is certain, and you can return to your body.”
“Such a generous offer,” said Lucan. “I doubt you would do it for free.”
The Old Demon shrugged. “Is anything free?”
“And what price would you demand?” said Lucan. “My soul?”
The Old Demon laughed. “Your soul? Are you jesting? What would I possibly do with your soul? Especially one so tarnished? Do you think I am some comic devil out of a song, promising to rid a peasant's cabbage field of caterpillars in exchange for his soul? Why don't you ask me for riches and the most beautiful woman in the world to be your bride?”
“What price?” repeated Lucan.
“Only your conscience,” said the Old Demon.
Lucan blinked. “My...conscience?” He had been expecting a demand of servitude. “Why?”
The Old Demon shrugged. “Why not? Perhaps I have a good use for your conscience. Or perhaps I merely plan to keep it as a curio. And would you really miss it all that much?” He grinned. “It's not as if you listened to it very often.”
“So you would...remove my conscience?” said Lucan. “How is that even possible?”
“This is the spirit world,” said the Old Demon. “Things are possible here that are not in the material world.”
Lucan hesitated. Right and wrong were blatantly obvious, were they not? Did he really need his conscience to sort between them? It seemed like a small price to pay.
And yet...
He wanted to kill his father, his brother, Tymaen, everyone who had ever wronged him. He had been dreaming about it as he climbed the sides of the mountain. Yes, he wanted to protect others from dark magic, to keep them from suffering as he had suffered. But it would be so very sweet to make them pay for all the pain he had endured...
“I simply wish to claim your conscience,” said the Old Demon. “It is such a small thing, such an unimportant thing, and you've ignored it for all these years, anyway. Would the loss inconvenience you at all? A small price to pay. And exchange for that price, you shall have my aid. With my help, you can expel the Demonsouled essence from your spirit, and return to your body.”
“No,” said Lucan.
The Old Demon lifted his eyebrows. “That is unwise.”
“Perhaps,” said Lucan, “but I care not. You said my problems are my own fault, and you were correct. I used Demonsouled power, and I found myself trapped here.” He took a deep breath. “And you cannot attack me. You cannot kill me. You cannot force me to do anything. You can only persuade me...or make a bargain with me. And I will not listen to you.”
He expected the Old Demon to fly into a rage.
Instead, the ancient creature only smiled.
“I have only told you the truth,” said the Old Demon.
“I don't care,” said Lucan. “I don't want your help.”
The Old Demon's smile widened. “We'll see.”
Lucan turned and walked away, making for the black city's heart.
He felt the Old Demon's eyes on him with every step.
Chapter 25 – Dragon Fire
“Gods and devils, it's cold,” said Gerald.
Mazael couldn't argue.
His men, along with Gerald's and Kjalmir's, marched through the High Pass. The Great Mountains rose over them, the craggy peaks crowned with ice and snow. Some rose so high that the peaks disappeared into the gray clouds. A cold wind whistled from the heights, tugging at Mazael's heavy cloak.
Osric snorted. “Hah! This is nothing, sir knight. A mild breeze, nothing more. Visit the mountains in the depths of winter. You'll see snowdrifts a dozen yards deep. Avalanches that can seal the pass under a hundred feet of snow and ice.”
“Little wonder the lords of Old Dracaryl perished, if they thought to make their homes here,” said Gerald. “If we live through this, I am never leaving Knightcastle again.”
Osric laughed and thumped his chest. “The cold gets your blood moving. Makes you feel alive.”
Mazael turned his head, saw Romaria heading towards him.
“And the snow makes it easier to track footprints,” said Romaria. “We're on Corvad's trail. I think he's no more than two days ahead of us. If that. Now that he's lost access to his mistgates, he can't move very fast. At least, he can't move any faster than his zuvembies or Malrags.”
“And the mountains will slow anyone down,” said Kjalmir. The big Arminiar did not look the least discomforted by the icy air. No doubt it got rather cold in Northreach.
“Then let's keep moving,” said Mazael. “Corvad still has a lead. No sense in letting him increase it.”
They resumed their journey through the narrow pass.
###
That night Mazael sat close with Romaria, wrapped in a cloak, huddled before a small campfire.
Necessity dictated small fires. No trees grew in the Great Mountains, so they had to carry firewood with them. The wind blew out of the mountains, making the flames dance and flicker.
“This isn't so bad,” said Romaria, pulling her cloak tighter. “At least it isn't raining.”
“Or snowing,” said Mazael, watching his breath puff in the air.
“The Great Southern Forest is inhospitable in winter,” said Romaria. “Snow covers the ground, and you can't see the roots. Much easier to trip. Though it is easier to track...deer aren't clever enough to hide their prints.”
“Or Malrags,” said Mazael.
She laughed. “All the easier to shoot them, Malrags and deer both. Though the deer certainly taste better.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“You were right,” said Mazael.
“About what?” said Romaria.
“Lucan,” said Mazael. “When we found him, in the Garden of the Temple. You said I should kill him, that if he woke up, he might not be sane. I thought his...condition was something Malavost had done to him, something he had suffered.”
Romaria said nothing.
“But you were right,” said Mazael. “He did it to himself. And because of that, Corvad could destroy the Grim Marches, could destroy half the world. Because I didn't kill Lucan when I should have.”
Romaria hesitated. “Perhaps you should have killed Lucan, but I'm glad you didn't listen to me.”
Mazael snorted. “Had I slain Lucan, Corvad would not have kidnapped him, and we would not face our current peril.”
“I know,” said Romaria. “I was right to tell you to kill him...but I fear I did so for the wrong reasons.” She took a deep breath. “He
was one of your men, under your protection. And you go to great lengths to defend the men and women under your protection. So killing Lucan might have been the wise thing to do. But it would not have been the right thing to do. Not for you. I should have just killed him myself.”
“It was one more mistake,” said Mazael. “No one else will pay for my mistakes. I'll stop Corvad and Molly. And when I find Lucan...I'll decide what to do then. Not before.”
Romaria nodded, resting her head against his shoulder.
Mazael gazed into the fire. People had paid for his mistakes. Rachel. Lucan. The men and women killed in Corvad's attacks.
Corvad and Molly themselves. His children.
What would they have been like, Mazael wondered, if he had never left Elizabeth? Romaria thought they would have been no different. But what if Mazael could have raised them? Would Corvad and Molly have become what they were?
Did the Old Demon know about them? It had been hard enough for Mazael to resist the Old Demon's manipulations. For two children to defy him would have been almost impossible.
He let out a deep breath. The past was done. He would make up for his mistakes, would keep his children from hurting anyone else.
Even if it meant killing them.
###
At noon the next day, Corvad's trail left the High Pass and followed a razor-thin path clinging to the side of the mountains.
“If our maps are accurate,” said Timothy, squinting at a scroll, “that path shall lead directly to Red Valley.”
“Maps!” said Osric, spitting upon the cold ground. “If a man knows the mountains, wizard, knows it in his bones, he has no need of maps.”
“Is the map wrong?” said Timothy.
“Well, no,” said Osric.
Mazael nodded. “Then we follow the path. It will slow us considerably, but Corvad won’t be able to travel very fast, either.”
“There's a better way to reach Red Valley from here,” said Osric. “Faster, too. We might even be able to catch Corvad.”
“How?” said Mazael.
“A gully, going up the side of the mountain,” said Osric. “It's as narrow as the path, but with a gentler slope. We'll be able to go faster. It ends near the old road leading to Red Valley, five miles south of the Valley itself.”
“Why didn't Corvad use the gully?” said Romaria.
Osric chortled. “I'd wager he doesn't know about it. That old map you he stole from the serpents? No doubt it shows the roads the old lords built in the mountains. But will it show the gullies and canyons and glaciers?” He grinned. “The lords of Dracaryl thought themselves too good to travel off the roads, and your Corvad probably thinks the same.”
“Corvad's trail doesn't go anywhere near the gully,” said Romaria.
Mazael nodded. They had made good time, but Corvad still had a two-day lead. How long would it take Corvad to get his hands on the Glamdaigyr? No doubt the old high lords had left potent magical defenses around Arylkrad, and those would slow Corvad. For that matter, once Corvad claimed the Glamdaigyr, how long would it take him to transform Lucan into a Malrag Queen?
“If we take this shortcut of yours, what's the risk?” said Mazael.
Osric shrugged. “Avalanches, mostly. And we'll be exposed on the mountainside. If a rogue Malrag warband sees us, they'll attack. And dragons fly over the mountains.”
“Will a dragon attack us?” said Circan, huddled in his long black coat. Like Gerald, the young wizard hated the cold. “I've never encountered a dragon, but I'm given to understand that they hate humans.”
“They don't hate us,” said Osric. “They think we're vermin. Like mice. You ignore mice until they get in your way or start eating your food. Then you kill them. We see a dragon, odds are that it will ignore us. Unless we interfere with its hunt. Or if it's hungry – they prefer hunting the mammoths and giant sloths on the eastern side of the Great Mountains, but they'll eat men in a pinch.”
“That is hardly reassuring,” said Circan.
Osric laughed. “They're dragons, wizard. Nothing about them is reassuring.”
“We'll risk it,” said Mazael. “If we catch Corvad before he finds the Glamdaigyr, we'll have a better chance of defeating him.”
###
The gully was steep and narrow, but both mules and men found good footing. The weather remained cloudy and cold, but Osric said the lack of sun would prevent the snow from melting, which would reduce the risk of avalanches. Mazael kept his hand on his sword hilt, but he saw no sign of any Malrags.
“So how does one kill a dragon?” said Kjalmir.
Osric scratched his beard. “One does not, generally. One gets killed by the dragon.”
“But is has been done,” said Gerald. “Lord Richard Mandragon has done it, along with his son Toraine. I've seen the dragon scales on their armor.”
“Aye,” said Osric. “Dragon scale makes for damn fine armor. Harder and lighter than steel, and immune to fire. But it’s more trouble than it's worth. I was with Toraine when he killed that black dragon of his.”
“You were?” said Mazael.
Osric nodded. “He wanted to surpass his father and slay a dragon of his own. So he hired me as a guide, and I led Toraine and his men into the mountains to find a dragon. The dragon found us first. Wiped out half of Toraine's men. But Toraine killed it. Damnedest thing I ever saw, but he killed the dragon. Not a man I would want for an enemy.”
They did not call Toraine the Black Dragon out of love, Mazael knew. “So how did Toraine kill it?”
“The dragon hit us with its fire from above, so we scattered and took cover,” said Osric. “It landed to hunt us down one by one. Toraine circled behind, sprang upon its back, and buried his sword to the hilt in the base of its neck. That killed the blasted thing, and Toraine claimed his dragon scales.”
“So they do have weak points,” said Kjalmir.
Osric shrugged. “Dragons are flesh and blood, like anything else. Hit them hard enough and they die. Their scales are as good as armor, so you have to strike their weak points. Behind the head, the mouth, the nostrils, the gaps between the scales on their spines. Not the eyes – they have a transparent inner eyelid that can stop an arrow. Wings are vulnerable, too – punch enough holes in them, and the dragon will have to land. Then you can hit one of the weak points. Ballistae would work best.” He grunted. “Pity we couldn't bring any siege engines into the mountains.”
“So if you can get the dragon to land,” said Gerald, “you can kill it.”
“Oh, aye,” said Osric. “But even on the ground, they're still dangerous. If you can't get it to land, you're finished, and even if it does land, it can still burn you away.”
“How many dragons have you seen slain?” said Mazael.
“Just one,” said Osric.
After that they walked in silence.
###
They encountered neither Malrags nor avalanches, and the next day the gully ended in a downward-sloping path.
As the path drew closer to Red Valley, it widened into a proper road. Reliefs in the style of Old Dracaryl adorned the mountain slope, showing the robed lords of Dracaryl destroying their enemies with magic and dragon fire.
“Charming artwork,” said Gerald.
“The lords of Dracaryl were not kindly men,” said Osric. “Lord Mazael, we're about five miles south of Red Valley.”
“Corvad passed this way,” said Romaria, sweeping her eyes over the ground. “I'm sure of it.”
“Then let's find him,” said Mazael, hand resting on Lion's hilt.
He led them along the road. It sloped downward, and as it did, Mazael felt the air grow warmer. Where the devil was that heat coming from? It made Mazael think of dragon fire.
At last the road rounded the curve of the mountain, opening into Red Valley.
Mazael saw pools of lava bubbling in the valley's floor, the air overhead rippling. Yet trees and bushes grew elsewhere in the valley, dotted with bloom of vivid color. The hot air f
rom the lava pools, Mazael realized. It kept the Red Valley warm enough for the plants to grow, even here amidst the mountains.
On a crag at the far end of the Valley stood Arylkrad.
Castle Cravenlock looked like the stronghold of a dark wizard from a child's story, but Arylkrad made Castle Cravenlock look like a hovel. The great black castle towered over the valley, an intricate maze of delicate towers surrounding an enormous dome. A thick wall encircled the entire castle, studded with massive bastions.
“Gods,” said Gerald. “Look at that place. It's larger than Knightcastle.”
“Corvad must be inside the castle already,” said Mazael. That was bad. If Corvad barricaded himself inside Arylkrad, he could hold off Mazael with ease.
“He's been this way,” said Romaria, pointing at the ground. “I don't see any sign of the Malrags in the valley. They must have reached the castle.” Her frown deepened. “Those trees look as if they were burned, recently.”
“A dragon?” said Mazael.
“Possibly,” said Romaria. “I don't know.”
Mazael looked from the castle to the valley. Perhaps Corvad had killed any dragons after his arrival. It would make it easier to catch him – but if Corvad was able to kill dragons with ease, defeating him would prove a challenge.
“Let's go,” said Mazael.
He led the way into the valley, a long line of men and mules following him. The strange, exotic smell of the valley's flowers grew sharper, along with the sharp, sulfurous odor of the lava pools. The road widened, a line of black basalt blocks marching to the base of Arylkrad's stony crags. Black steles stood amongst the trees, carved with scenes praising the glory of Old Dracaryl.
Twisted lumps of black char lay here and there along the road, the ground scorched to black ash beneath them.
“Are those burned trees?” said Gerald.
“I think,” said Romaria, tapping one with the toe of her boot, “I think that used to be a Malrag.”
Soul of Dragons Page 24