Soul of Sorcery (Book 5)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  Yet she had never been in a fight like this.

  For a moment the battlefield seemed suspended, frozen.

  Then the Tervingi smashed into the halberdiers.

  Dozens died on both sides in a matter of heartbeats. Men screamed and shouted and sobbed, blood falling upon the grass. Richard Mandragon’s footmen were disciplined and skilled, yet the sheer ferocity of the Tervingi drove them back step by step, their lines trembling. The huge barbarian in black armor led the assault, killing with every step he took.

  Molly moved.

  She jumped into the shadows, reappearing behind a knot of Tervingi threatening to break through the halberdiers. The barbarians never saw her coming. Her sword and dagger flashed in a blur, and she killed one, two, three of them before they realized the threat. The halberdiers firmed up their lines, and Molly disappeared back into the shadows as the barbarians turned to face her.

  She danced through the melee, reappearing wherever the Tervingi threatened to break through Lord Richard’s lines. Soon her sword and dagger dripped with barbarian blood.

  Then she drew closer to the barbarian in black armor, and froze in sudden alarm.

  Corvad. It was Corvad.

  The Tervingi warlord wore the armor of Old Dracaryl, the plates of black steel covered in ornamental reliefs of dragons and robed sorcerers. But that was impossible. Mazael had killed Corvad in Arylkrad, had left her brother’s bones to molder forever beneath the black dome…

  Then the black-armored Tervingi whirled, his sword cutting a halberdier in half, and Molly caught a glimpse of his face. Hard and scored with deep lines, shaded by a gray beard, gray eyes that burned with mad battle rage…

  Not Corvad.

  But the black-armored Tervingi fought with the same sort of wild fury as her brother.

  Clearly he was the leader of the barbarians, perhaps the one who had led them over the mountains and into the Grim Marches. And if Molly took him, perhaps the Tervingi would break and flee…

  She slipped into the shadows and reappeared behind the black-armored barbarian, blades angled to stab into the gap below his cuirass.

  And somehow, he sensed her coming.

  The black-armored Tervingi whirled with terrifying speed, his greatsword plunging like an avalanche of steel toward her face. Molly managed to snap her sword and dagger up in a cross-parry, and the greatsword slammed into her blades. The force of the blow hurled her back, sent her sprawling to the ground. The barbarian sprang forward like a panther, sword plunging for her heart.

  She dropped into shadows an instant before the blade would have found her flesh.

  Molly reappeared a dozen yards away, and found the barbarian’s cold gray eyes upon her, as if marking her for future killing.

  Then he plunged back into the fray, his black-cloaked bodyguards surrounding him as he tore into the halberdiers.

  Molly threw herself back into shadows, flickering in and out of the melee, cutting down Tervingi with every step. But her efforts were not enough, and the lines of the halberdiers started to buckle.

  The barbarians were going to break through.

  Then a war horn rang out, and Molly heard the thunder of hooves against the earth.

  ###

  Mazael struck again and again, his arm aching with the effort. A Tervingi swordsman fell with every blow, and more threw themselves at him, and then…

  And then they were all gone.

  Mazael blinked. The remaining Tervingi swordsmen fled into the village. Yet the spearmen had moved. Somehow the trenches had filled themselves, and the great mass of Tervingi spearmen had smashed into the ranks of Lord Richard’s halberdiers.

  And they were on the verge of breaking through.

  The horse archers and militia riders still wheeled and danced around the mammoths, driving them into a terrified frenzy. Toraine’s horsemen still dealt with the remaining swordthains.

  There was no one else to rescue the footmen.

  “Aulus!” shouted Mazael. His standardbearer still rode at his side, the Cravenlock banner tattered from the melee. “Sound the charge!”

  Aulus managed a nod and lifted the horn, the blast ringing over the mayhem of the battle. Mazael raised his sword, and the knights behind him surged forward with a yell, urging their tired horses forward. Only a fool charged cavalry at a wall of spears, but the Tervingi spearmen struggled against the halberdiers.

  Besides, their backs were to the horsemen.

  Lion blurred in Mazael’s fist, and he took the head from a Tervingi spearman before the enemy could react. Around him the knights and mounted armsmen smashed into the barbarians, swords and maces rising and falling. Mazael’s knights hewed their way through the barbarian lines, splitting the Tervingi in half and pinning them against the halberdiers.

  Mazael killed and killed, his fatigue forgotten as the Demonsouled rage thundered through him.

  ###

  Molly blinked sweat from her eyes.

  All around her the Tervingi formation collapsed. The spearmen died beneath the halberds of Lord Richard’s men or the swords of the rampaging knights. The rest turned and fled back into the ruined village, joining the scattered mammoths and the remaining swordthains.

  She looked around, seeking any remaining resistance.

  But there were none. The Tervingi were in full flight.

  The battle was over.

  ###

  Riothamus stared at the chaos in the village, dread gripping his heart.

  Ragnachar had gambled that he could break the knights and their army in one decisive battle, and he had lost.

  Badly.

  Riothamus’s mind whirled, running through plan after plan. Could the surviving thains flee back to the mountains? No, not enough time – the horsemen would ride them down with ease. Perhaps they could rally around the mammoths? That might work, but the enemy had driven the mammoths into a terrified frenzy. The Tervingi could fortify themselves in the ruined village, but they lacked the supplies for a siege. The knights would need only to sit and wait until the Tervingi starved.

  The enemy host was in disarray, but he heard trumpets blare and saw men move as they rebuilt their formations. Soon they would roll right into the ruined village – and Riothamus and Aegidia would be trapped atop the tower.

  “Guardian,” said Riothamus. “We must go.”

  Aegidia said nothing. She leaned against her staff, eyes fixed on the battlefield. Had the effort of her spells been too much for her?”

  “Guardian!” said Riothamus. “We must go before we are trapped.”

  “It is him,” whispered Aegidia, her pale eyes wide.

  “Who?” said Riothamus.

  “The man I have seen in my visions,” she said. “The man in the golden armor.”

  Riothamus frowned, followed her gaze, and spotted him.

  Even at this distance, the man was distinctive. A large knight, sitting atop a fine horse, clad in armor of palm-sized golden scales. Next to him rode a man carrying a black banner adorned with three crossed swords. The golden-armored man gave a steady stream of orders to his companions, who hastened to obey. A hrould, then, or whatever the equivalent was among the folk of the Grim Marches.

  “That is him,” said Aegidia. “The man who holds the destiny of the Tervingi in his hands. The man who shall face the Urdmoloch.”

  “Him?” said Riothamus. “He doesn’t have a sword of blue flame.”

  “But it is him,” said Aegidia. “I have seen him a thousand times in my visions. Again and again the Sight has shown him to me. He is here. And we must move quickly, if the Tervingi are to be saved.”

  She hastened from the tower, Riothamus following.

  Chapter 16 – Embassies

  Mazael steered Hauberk through the ruins of Stone Tower, making for the plaza below the keep.

  Dead bodies carpeted the cobblestoned street.

  So many dead bodies.

  Lord Richard’s dragon banner flew from the village's tall keep, rippling in the
wind. Scorch marks marred the tower's stonework. Timothy had said that the Tervingi wizard had escaped, had somehow possessed the power to fight off the combined strength of the wizards of the Grim Marches.

  Mazael looked at the corpses littering the village.

  Little good their wizard’s power had done them.

  Hooves tapped against the cobblestones. Mazael turned and saw Romaria riding towards him, both her quivers empty.

  He smiled, dropped from his saddle, and caught her in his arms. She smelled of sweat and blood and mammoth.

  “You’re alive,” he said.

  “You, too,” said Romaria. She grinned, teeth white in her grimy face. “Though I think it will take more than a furry elephant to kill you.”

  Mazael shook his head. “They put too much trust in their mammoths.” He looked again at the dead. “So many of them.”

  She touched his cheek.

  “I enjoyed it,” said Mazael. “I enjoyed fighting them, and I enjoyed killing them.”

  “You are Demonsouled,” said Romaria.

  “I am,” said Mazael. “And I did this.”

  “But in defense,” said Romaria. “They invaded your lands, and you fought back. You didn’t seek them out.”

  “With the Malrags,” said Mazael, “it was so much easier.”

  Romaria laughed. “You call fighting Malrags easy?”

  “Easier on the heart,” said Mazael. “The Malrags are demon spirits housed in corrupted flesh. I felt no guilt about killing them. But these,” he gestured at the Tervingi, “these were men. Men with mothers and wives and sons.” His voice dropped to a quiet rasp. “And I killed them all.”

  “You regret it?” said Romaria.

  “I should,” said Mazael. “I know I should. But I regret…I regret not killing more of them. Because I enjoyed it so much.”

  “I know,” said Romaria.

  “Why do you stay with me?” said Mazael.

  “Because,” said Romaria, “if you were not Demonsouled, the San-keth would rule the Grim Marches. Amalric Galbraith would have destroyed the Old Kingdoms. The Malrags would have killed everyone in the Grim Marches, burned Deepforest Keep to the ground, and Malavost would have opened the Door of Souls. You are Demonsouled, but you are the master of your blood, not the other way around.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Mazael.

  Darkness swirled, and Molly stepped out of the shadows.

  Molly looked them over, her lip twitching in a sneer, or perhaps a smirk.

  “Sorry to disturb this tranquil moment,” said Molly. “But Lord Richard has called a council of his lords and knights.”

  “Why?” said Romaria.

  “The Tervingi are regrouping a few miles east of the village,” said Molly. She smiled, but Mazael saw the weariness in her eyes. “They’re in bad shape. And Lord Richard wants to decide how to kill them all.”

  ###

  Chaos reigned among the Tervingi.

  Swordthains and spearthains shouted at each other. Wounded men lay slumped upon the ground, blood trickling from their wounds. Yet they still made way for Aegidia as she hurried through the mass, her staff in hand.

  “Witcher!”

  Arnulf shoved through the swordthains.

  “You’re still alive,” said Arnulf. “Both of you. When I saw the fire hit the tower, I thought the knights’ witchers had burned you down to coals.” He clapped Riothamus on the shoulder. “Good you’re not dead. I suppose you can die with the rest of us, then.”

  “Who is in command here?” said Riothamus. “Are Athanaric or Ragnachar still alive?”

  “Both of them,” said Arnulf. “A pity Ragnachar didn’t fall in the battle. Athanaric and Ragnachar are at each others’ throats. Odds are they’ll draw swords upon each other before too much longer. Then the knights can finish us off as we fight.”

  “That must not happen,” said Aegidia. “Where are they?”

  “This way,” said Arnulf.

  The big swordthain shoved his way through the crowd, clearing a path for them. They pressed on, and Riothamus heard a man’s voice, raised in rage.

  Athanaric.

  “This is your fault!” shouted Athanaric.

  A cleared ring lay in the center of the Tervingi. Athanaric and Ragnachar stood within, staring at each other. Athanaric’s face was crimson with rage. Ragnachar remained icy as ever, but every line of his body radiated fury.

  “The battle did not go as I wished,” said Ragnachar. “I would dearly like to know how the knights drove the mammoths mad. But that is of no concern. We must regroup and prepare to face the knights once more.”

  “To what end?” said Athanaric. “To perish in futility?”

  “If necessary, yes,” said Ragnachar. “The strong survive and the weak perish. And if the Tervingi are not strong enough to survive, then we deserve to perish.”

  An angry mutter went through the Tervingi, even among Ragnachar’s thains.

  “No!” said Athanaric. “We have listened to your counsel for too long, Ragnachar son of no one! We traveled to the Grim Marches at your suggestion. We fought the knights at your urging. And your words have brought the Tervingi to the edge of ruin! I will not allow you to destroy us!”

  “Speak more softly, you craven fool,” said Ragnachar, “or else…”

  Athanaric bellowed a curse and yanked his broadsword from its scabbard.

  Ragnachar drew his greatsword in one smooth motion.

  ###

  The lords and knights of the Grim Marches gathered below the keep of Stone Tower, Lord Richard himself standing on the steps to the keep. All of Lord Richard’s principal vassals had survived the battle. Mazael saw Toraine speaking with Lord Astor, saw Sir Tanam hurrying his way to Lord Richard’s side.

  “Well fought, my lord,” said stout Lord Robert, clapping Mazael on the shoulder. “Those barbarians shattered like glass! If they have any sense, they'll back over the Great Mountains and return to the middle lands.”

  “We can hope,” said Mazael.

  “And you, my lady Romaria,” said Robert. “The way you threw their great beasts into madness! Aye, I’m glad that you’re on our side.”

  Romaria grinned. “Most kind of you, my lord.”

  “My lords!”

  Richard Mandragon’s voice rang over the nobles, and silence fell.

  “My lords,” said Richard. “We have won a great victory, but we must act quickly. Sir Tanam?”

  “My scouts have returned,” said Tanam Crowley, “and report that the surviving Tervingi have withdrawn about three miles east of Stone Tower. They are in disarray, and I suspect their chieftains are about to come to blows.”

  Lord Jonaril grunted. “What about their damned mammoths?”

  “Scattered,” said Tanam, grinning. “Lady Romaria’s stratagem proved most effective.”

  “We must decide what to do,” said Richard. “The Tervingi are vulnerable, and one solid blow might smash them utterly. Or if we wish to make peace, we can do so from a position of strength.”

  Toraine laughed aloud. “Make peace with the barbarian rabble, father? Why bother? If we destroy them, they will never threaten us again. A dead enemy is one who cannot threaten you. Let us kill them all, immediately.”

  A murmur of agreement went up from many of the lords.

  ###

  Ragnachar stepped toward Athanaric, greatsword coming up for an overhead slash, while Athanaric’s blade weaved back and forth like a serpent about to strike.

  Aegidia slammed her staff down, and a thunderclap rang out. Riothamus staggered, and every nearby Tervingi turned to look at her.

  “Cease this folly!” said Aegidia, her magic amplifying her voice to thunderous volume. “Shall we fight each other while our foes pursue us?”

  “Perhaps it would be best!” said Athanaric, pointing his sword at Ragnachar. “Then we can cut out the cancer in our midst!”

  “Enough!” said Aegidia. “Ragnachar, what do you propose?”


  “I propose victory,” said Ragnachar. “I propose that we crush the enemy and claim their lands for our own. The victory belongs to us, if we are strong enough to claim it.”

  “Madness,” said Athanaric. “It matters not how strong we are. We cannot stand against their horsemen on an open plain. I propose we send an embassy to the knights to discuss terms.”

  “Bah!” said Ragnachar. “You would have us surrender! You would ask free warriors to don the chains of slavery!”

  “I do not!” said Athanaric, voice hot. “We lost the battle, yes. But we inflicted heavy losses upon the foe. The knights will most likely prevail, if we face them again now. But they will lose many men, enough to make them think twice before facing us again. We can perhaps negotiate a peace.”

  “And if they refuse?” said Ragnachar. “If they decide to press their advantage and destroy us?”

  “Then we are no worse off,” said Athanaric. “If we fight again, I believe we will lose, though perhaps we might win through some mischance. Or perhaps we can flee to the mountains and take our chances with the Malrags and the spider-devils. But if we negotiate a truce with the knights, we can yet save the Tervingi nation.”

  “Simpleminded folly,” said Ragnachar. “Guardian, what say you?”

  Aegidia bowed her head.

  ###

  Mazael frowned, watching Toraine.

  The idea appealed to him. His blood had burned as he cut his way through the Tervingi. And he wanted to do it again, thirsted to kill again.

  Yet he remembered the corpses lying strewn along the streets.

  And those Tervingi men had wives and mothers and sisters. No doubt they waited at a camp some miles away.

  Would Mazael kill all of them?

  “Lord Toraine and I,” said Lord Astor Hawking, “have had our disagreements, as all men know. Yet in this, I believe, he speaks wisdom. These Tervingi have invaded our lands and raided our villages. Now is not the time to show weakness. If we exterminate them, we need never fear them again. And perhaps their fate will discourage other raiders from following in their footsteps.”