“We do not,” said Corvad. “She is weak and stupid. I am strong enough to become the Destroyer!”
“Perhaps,” said the Old Demon, a hint of irritation in his voice, “but you will not become the Destroyer without your sister. I told you to wait, and to keep her with you. Can you not even do this simple thing? The Destroyer shall crush the realms of men and rule over the earth. And you cannot even keep control of one young woman!”
“She will return to us,” said Corvad. “I swear it.”
“Good,” said the Old Demon. “It won't be enough to simply kill Tormaud. Your sister has to trust us. If she fears us, she might flee, or worse, get herself killed before we can make proper use of her. She must trust you.” He shook his head. “And if you cannot manage that...then perhaps you are not worthy of becoming the Destroyer after all.”
“I will succeed,” said Corvad. “I vow it. I will kill Nicholas Tormaud, and Molly will return to us.”
The Old Demon regarded him in silence for a long moment.
“We shall see,” he said at last.
###
The world blurred, and Molly found herself standing in the bedroom of an inn.
Specifically, the inn of Castle Arminus's town. Nicholas had stayed here while riding with the Arminiars. She had visited the room many times, and often spent the night there.
Nicholas himself stood near the fireplace, drinking from a pewter cup of wine.
Molly's heart soared when she saw him. He looked just as he had in life, tall and strong, with a mischievous glint in his eye. He wore a blue tunic and black trousers, cloak thrown back. The last time Molly had seen those garments, they had been heavy with bloodstains...
She realized what was about to happen.
“No,” she said. “No, I don't want to see this.”
“You wished to know,” said the oracle spirit, “how Nicholas Tormaud died.”
“No!” said Molly. “I don't want to see...”
The door banged open, and Corvad strode into the room.
“Nicholas!” screamed Molly. “Run!”
“Who the devil are you?” said Nicholas, one eyebrow raised.
Corvad did not speak. He walked across the room, drew his sword, and attacked. Nicholas seized his sword and fought back. He was a capable fighter, but Corvad had Demonsouled strength and speed on his side. Molly drew her sword and attacked, screaming, but her blade passed through Corvad without touching him.
This was only a shadow of the past.
In the end, Nicholas lay dying on the floor, his blood pooling around him, and Corvad cleaned his sword on the blankets.
“Pathetic,” said Corvad. “A useless weakling.”
He stalked from the room without another word, leaving Nicholas to his fate.
The past replayed before Molly's eyes. She watched as she entered the room, as she held Nicholas as he died.
“Stop,” said Molly, weeping. “Stop. I don't want to see any more.”
“But you wished to know,” said the oracle spirit's voice, “how Nicholas Tormaud died.”
The world dissolved into mist.
###
Again Molly stood on the hilltop outside Castle Arminus.
This time she saw herself, gazing at the distant shape of the town. Corvad stood at her past self's shoulder, speaking in a low and urgent voice.
“Mazael Cravenlock killed him, sister,” said Corvad. “He came to slay you, and when he could not find you, he slew Nicholas and left him to die.”
“Why?” said Molly's past self, voice thin with pain.
“Vengeance,” said Corvad. “Mazael rebelled against our grandfather. And our grandfather is too strong for Mazael to attack. So instead he kills those of our blood who remain loyal to our grandfather.”
“But,” said Molly's past self, “but I wasn't loyal to him. I washed my hands of you. I only wished to live in peace with Nicholas.”
Corvad sneered. “Do you think Mazael cared?”
Molly's past self said nothing.
“Come with me, sister,” said Corvad. “You know what our grandfather plans. We need your help.”
“I don't care about your plan,” said Molly.
“Very well,” said Corvad, “but do you want to punish Mazael? Do you want to avenge Nicholas's death?”
Molly's past self looked up, gray eyes blazing.
“Then come with me, sister,” said Corvad, his voice a purr, “and I promise that Mazael will suffer as no one has ever suffered.”
The world dissolved into gray mist.
###
Molly found herself standing before the oracle statue once more, shaking with fury.
“And that is how Nicholas Tormaud was slain,” said the oracle statue. “Your brother slew him, to gain your allegiance.”
“Corvad,” whispered Molly. “Why did he need me so badly?” Her voice rose. “He killed Nicholas so I would steal a damned map?”
“He desires to use you as a weapon,” said the oracle statue, “to remake you, to fuse you with his own blood and the corruption of Lucan Mandragon, and forge...”
“Corvad!” said Molly, her voice rising to a scream.
He had killed Nicholas, and had lied about it. He had lied about it for months. Her hands curled into fists, the leather of her gauntlets squealing. Corvad and the Old Demon both, promising to avenge Nicholas's death, promising to slay Mazael...and laughing at her behind her back.
Mazael had been telling the truth the entire time.
Corvad and her grandfather would pay for this.
Molly drew her sword and walked into the shadows.
###
“You look terrible,” said Gerald, casting an eye over Mazael's battered armor.
“I've been better,” said Mazael, “but I've also been much worse. Corvad awaits. I think we've slain most of his Malrags and undead.”
“I didn't see any of the warlocks with the Seneschal,” said Timothy, wiping sweat from his brow. His face and Circan's had both taken on a grayish tinge. Deflecting the Seneschal's lightning bolts had drained their strength. “Circan and I can perhaps deflect a few more blasts. But the warlocks will need to be slain quickly.”
“I can do it,” said Romaria. “The Seneschal might have had the power to stop arrows, but common Malrag shamans do not, and I doubt Corvad's blood gave them that power.”
“Then let's finish this,” said Mazael. “Gerald, take your...”
Darkness swirled, and Molly appeared a short distance away.
She did not look pleased.
Her eyes were furious, her breath rasping through clenched teeth. Her sword trembled in her right hand, and rage poured off her in waves. Romaria lifted her bow, but Molly disappeared again. She reappeared, briefly, on the stairs leading up, and then she vanished again.
“Why didn't she attack?” said Gerald, baffled.
Mazael thought of the oracle statue. “I think she found out that I didn't kill her lover after all.”
“Corvad,” said Romaria. “He must have done it, and pinned the blame on you.”
Kjalmir growled. “A cheap trick. And one worthy of Corvad.”
Osric snorted, short bow in his hands. “Perhaps she'll do us a favor and kill the bastard.”
“Perhaps,” said Mazael. She might be strong enough to kill him, if she caught him off guard. But if Corvad had found the Glamdaigyr by now, Molly might not be able to defeat him. “In any event, she will distract him. Let's go.”
They marched through the pillared hall, weapons ready.
###
Molly reappeared atop the pyramidal dais of the throne chamber.
Lucan Mandragon lay across the stone block, his misshapen limbs thrashing. The three Malrag warlocks stood over Lucan, their third eyes fixed on him. A guard of the ebony dead and the surviving Malrags, both ancient and infused, waited at the base of the dais steps.
Corvad himself stood near the throne, arms clasped behind him, the Glamdaigyr in a scabbard against his
back. He looked...different. Stronger, certainly. A red haze glimmered in his gray eyes, as if a fire burned deep within his skull. Was this what the victims of Old Dracaryl had seen, in the final moments before the High Lord of Arylkrad destroyed them?
Molly looked upon her brother and felt fear.
But rage drowned the fear.
One of the warlocks looked at Corvad.
-The battle is over, great one. Your Malrags and undead have been defeated. And the ancient shaman, the one called the Seneschal, is slain. Mazael Cravenlock and his men shall arrive at any moment-
“Good,” said Corvad. His voice had grown harder. “Let him come. He shall see the power of the Glamdaigyr and...”
He turned, saw her.
“Ah,” said Corvad. “Sister. Good. Come to me, now.”
Molly grinned, reaching for her belt.
“As you wish, brother.”
She walked through the shadows and reappeared in front of Corvad, drawing a dagger.
Her hand blurred, and she buried the weapon to its hilt in Corvad's left eye.
He staggered back, stunned, mouth open in a silent scream. As he stumbled, Molly seized his right arm and lifted it, exposing his armpit. She plunged her sword into his flesh, blood flowing over the elaborate reliefs of his black armor. Corvad shuddered, going limp as the blade pierced his heart. She caught his weight, snatched another dagger from her belt, and opened his throat.
“That was for Nicholas,” hissed Molly, “you lying dog.”
Her blades had pierced both his brain and his heart, and cut his windpipe. Not even Demonsouled power could heal that much damage.
And just to make sure, Molly shoved him over the edge.
It was a hundred feet stairs from the throne to the floor, and Corvad bounced down every one of them, his ancient armor clattering and clanking. He struck the floor, rolled a dozen feet, and did not move, his blood pooling beneath him.
Just as Nicholas's blood had pooled beneath him.
She turned, expecting the warlocks or the other Malrags to attack. But none of them moved. Why weren't they attacking? Surely they would come to Corvad's defense. Why...
She heard a metallic rasping noise.
Molly saw Corvad draw the Glamdaigyr.
Those wounds should have killed him. Yet he somehow he was standing. The symbols carved onto the Glamdaigyr's blade flickered and burned with green flame, reflecting in Corvad's good eye.
“Sister,” rasped Corvad, blood bubbling from the wound in his throat. He yanked the dagger from his eye socket, the blade glistening with more blood. Even as Molly watched, the gash across his throat shrank.
How? Molly knew the limitations of Demonsouled healing. Yet Corvad ripped her sword from beneath his armpit, the Glamdaigyr in one hand, showing not the slightest trace of pain as he did so.
The Glamdaigyr.
Somehow it was healing him. Both her grandfather and Corvad had claimed the weapon could drink life force, could drain away energy. Perhaps that meant it had a reservoir of power to heal the wounds of its bearer.
And if that was true, there was no way Molly could kill Corvad. Not without help.
She reached for the dark fire of her own Demonsouled power, preparing to walk through the shadows.
“No,” growled Corvad.
He slammed the Glamdaigyr into the floor, the blade sinking into the hard black stone like butter. One of the symbols near the greatsword's hilt blazed brighter, bathing the throne room in ghostly radiance. A sudden chill swept through Molly.
She didn't know what Corvad was doing, and she didn't want to find out. Time to escape.
She stepped into the shadows...and nothing happened.
Below, Corvad grinned, his face made gruesome by the blood.
“Going so soon, sister?” he said.
Again Molly tried to walk into the shadows, and again she could not. The dark power of her Demonsouled blood stirred within her, and she felt the shadows waiting for her. Yet they were just out of reach, as if a wall of glass had sealed them away. She looked at the Glamdaigyr in horrified astonishment. She had never before encountered anything that could keep her from entering the shadows. No wizard's spell, no magical ward, no enspelled relic, nothing.
Yet the Glamdaigyr could. Molly was trapped here.
And her sword lay at Corvad's feet, out of her reach.
She sprinted down the stairs.
“Take her!” bellowed Corvad, pointing the Glamdaigyr. “Take her alive!”
The Malrags and the ebony dead came for her, but the ebony dead, unencumbered by flesh, moved faster. She shoved the first one out of her way, and jumped over the second. A third grabbed her arm, and she ripped away from its grasp. But a fourth and a fifth seized her arms, and a sixth and a seventh her legs, holding them in place with the grim strength of the undead. More skeletal hands seized her, and Molly struggled and fought, but even Demonsouled strength could not break her free.
“Take her to the dais,” said Corvad.
The ebony dead bore Molly aloft, carrying her up the stairs. She strained, trying to break free, but the hands of the dead were like bars of iron, and she could not tear away.
“Bind her,” said Corvad.
The ebony dead obeyed, laying her on the stone block alongside Lucan Mandragon. The undead produced chains, wrapping them about her wrists and ankles. Molly pulled, her muscles straining with every spark of her Demonsouled power, but the chains were too massive, too heavy.
She was trapped. The fear made her heart flutter against her ribs, made her mouth dry up. She had been in many fights, and almost slain many times, but never before had she been so helpless.
The ebony dead parted, and Corvad stood over her. His left eye had healed, though it remained filled with blood.
“Look at you,” whispered Corvad. “So easily trapped.” He stepped closer, the icy power of the Glamdaigyr making Molly shiver. “A grandchild of the Old Demon. Yet without your power to flit through the shadows, you're as easily subdued as any other mortal woman. Pathetic.” His face twisted with contempt. “You are not worthy to bear the power of Demonsouled blood.”
“I know everything, brother,” said Molly, spitting the last word as a curse. “You murdered Nicholas, you and our grandfather.”
Corvad laughed, and Molly spat at him. “Figured it out, did you? It took long enough! Ah. You must have spoken with the oracle statue. Little wonder you were so outraged.”
“You killed Nicholas!” shouted Molly, the chains clanking.
Corvad snorted. “Nicholas was an insect. And so are you, sister. Despite your Demonsouled blood. You are not worthy of it, and I am going to put it to a better use.”
“And what use is that?” said Molly. “Are you going to father a child on me, dear brother? Some pureblooded Demonsouled brat to become the Destroyer?”
“Don't be absurd,” said Corvad. “You shall help me become the Destroyer.” He smiled and bent closer, his blood-filled eye black in the Glamdaigyr's green light. “You're going to be the Malrag Queen.”
“But you're going to turn Lucan Mandragon into the Malrag Queen,” said Molly.
Corvad's smile widened. “I'm afraid I wasn't truthful with you. The Dragon's Shadow could no more become a Malrag Queen than a horse could become a man, or a sheep give birth to lion cubs. No. I needed three things to create a Malrag Queen. The blood of a normal mortal, corrupted by Demonsouled power.” He looked at Lucan. “A woman of Demonsouled blood, one who has never given birth to a child. That's you, sister. And a means to transfer the corruption from Lucan's flesh to yours.” He lifted the Glamdaigyr. “And when the Glamdaigyr pulls Lucan's corruption into your flesh, you will...change. Grow. Become something vast and hideous, so bloated with corruption that you will be unable to move under your own power. Malrags will grow in every inch of your flesh, and claw their way free from your skin. Hundreds of them a week. Thousands of them a year. The pain will be immense, and you will live for centuries.” He tilted his hea
d to the side. “I wonder how long it will take you to go mad. Not long, I expect.”
Molly wrenched at the chains.
“And I will infuse you with my blood,” said Corvad. “The Malrags born in your flesh will carry the power of my blood. Uncounted thousands of them, all bound to my will. I shall raise the largest host the world has ever seen, and I will destroy the realms of men, one by one. I shall be the Destroyer, and the world will be mine.”
“You're mad,” said Molly. “Do you think our grandfather will make you the Destroyer out of the goodness of his heart? Once you become strong enough, he'll kill you and take your power for his own.”
“Perhaps I am mad,” said Corvad. “But it is better to be a madman than a fool. And you, sister, are a fool. And as for our grandfather? He cannot become the Destroyer. His destiny prohibits it. He told me so himself. And I shall grow strong enough to destroy him, if he thinks to stop me.”
“I'll kill you,” said Molly. “I'll kill you for what you did to Nicholas, for...”
“No,” said Corvad. “You won't. Silence her. I am sick of listening to her.”
One of the warlocks stuffed a foul-tasting rag in Molly's mouth, tying it around the back of her head. She struggled, but the chains held her fast, and she could not break free.
Nor could she think through the growing terror in her mind. Corvad was going to turn her into a monstrous horror, and she could do nothing to stop him.
Nothing.
Molly screamed into her gag.
“Are you ready with the spell?” said Corvad.
The warlocks lifted their hands.
-We are ready-
“Then begin,” said Corvad.
The warlocks began gesturing with their clawed fingers, hissing an incantation in their growling language. The air stirred, and Molly felt currents of magical power flowing around her. The flame of the Glamdaigyr's symbols began to flicker, dancing in time to the rhythm of the warlocks' chant.
Corvad lifted the massive sword and rested the point on her chest, between her breasts. The cold power of the thing flowed into her, and she felt its terrible hunger, its desire to suck the life and warmth from her.
Soul of Dragons Page 31