She frowned, and then chagrin flooded her face. “Your mother and father. Of course. I’m sorry. I…spoke hastily.”
“If you did, it was because I provoked you,” said Riothamus.
“But you’ve known pain,” said Molly. “Why do you not see the world as I do? As Ragnachar does?”
“I have been tempted, often,” said Riothamus. “But my life has not been all cruelty. Nor has yours, I suppose.”
“No,” said Molly, her eyes distant. Riothamus knew she was thinking about Nicholas Tormaud, the lost love murdered by her brother. “No, it hasn’t.”
She looked at him and smiled.
###
The festivities wore on, and the hour for the grand melee arrived.
Much to Riothamus’s surprise, Molly grinned.
“Oh, that is clever,” she said. “Sometimes my father is smarter than I think.”
“Lord Mazael is a warrior of great renown,” said Riothamus. And if Aegidia’s Sight held true, the fate of the Tervingi nation, and all the world, rested in his hands.
“Any idiot can swing a sword,” said Molly, “but it takes a clever man to win without wielding a sword at all.”
Riothamus had no argument with that.
The knights and the thains formed into two teams. Riothamus had expected that the thains would fight the knights. But Mazael’s heralds and Athanaric’s loresingers had mixed the groups, forming two teams composed both of knights and thains. The Tervingi and the folk of the Grim Marches would fight side by side against each other.
“Warriors of the Tervingi!” Aegidia’s voice rolled over the field, enhanced by her magic. “Fight with honor and renown, and earn a place in the songs of our people! Knights of the Grim Marches! Fight with valor and courage, and be victorious!”
The fighters cheered.
“Let the combat begin!” said Aegidia.
The two mobs surged at each other with enthusiasm, attacking with blunted wooden weapons.
Molly frowned, craning her neck for a better view. “Why doesn’t Athanaric fight?”
“In a Tervingi melee,” said Riothamus, “the hrould traditionally observes. The thains will fight with more vigor, if they are under their hrould’s watchful eye.”
Molly snorted. “And they won’t strike their own hrould.”
“Well,” said Riothamus. “There is that.”
The melee surged back and forth, wooden swords rising and falling.
“This is good,” said Riothamus. “To see Tervingi and knight fighting side by side.” He smiled. “I see this…and I think that perhaps Ragnachar will fail, that perhaps my hope is true and that the future need not contain only darkness and despair. Perhaps we can build a new life here, a new home.”
Molly stared at him.
“What is it?” said Riothamus.
“You really believe that, don’t you?” said Molly.
“I do,” said Riothamus.
She hesitated, as if debating with herself, and then stood up.
“Walk with me,” she said.
“We’ll miss the feast,” said Riothamus.
“Walk with me,” repeated Molly, holding out her hand.
Riothamus made up his mind.
He took her hand and led her from the melee field. They walked around the base of the castle’s crag, the grasses rustling against their boots. Her hand felt thin and tough in his, the fingers thickened with sword calluses.
Soon they were alone, without another living soul in sight.
“It cheers me,” said Molly at last, “to hear you talk like that. You could have killed everyone on that field with your magic. Yet you don't. You hold yourself in check. And not…and not because you want to kill them and know it’s wrong. You think, you really think, that we can make something better.” She shook her head, a single lock of brown hair sliding over her face. “I’ve never met anyone who thinks that way before. Mazael and Romaria talk of peace, of making the Grim Marches safe and prosperous, but even they don’t seem to believe it can happen. Yet you do.” She lifted her chin and looked at him. “I admire you for it.”
“And I admire you,” said Riothamus.
Molly laughed. “Whatever for?”
“There is such…darkness in you,” said Riothamus. Molly swallowed. “I think some of it is your own nature, true, but much of it was put inside you. From the Skulls and your brother, what they did to you. But you do not yield to it.”
“I did yield to it,” said Molly, voice quiet, “for a long time. For years.”
“But you stopped,” said Riothamus.
“I was so weary of that life,” said Molly. “And then Nicholas showed me a better way. He was slain and I tried to kill Mazael…I thought I would spend my life trying to avenge Nicholas. Then Mazael killed Corvad, and now…I don’t know what to do next.” She smiled. “And then I hear you talk about forgiveness and mercy and enemies becoming friends, and perhaps I do know what to do next.”
She took his other hand.
Molly might have known what to do next, but Riothamus didn’t. The Tervingi women feared magic just as much as the Tervingi men did, and he had taken it for granted that he would never wed or even take a lover. This was the longest he had ever touched a woman, save for the desperate ones who had come to him to have an illness cured. And then his mind had been focused on the task at hand.
This was something different entirely.
“Riothamus,” said Molly.
He lowered his face and kissed her lips, gently at first, and then harder.
###
A short time later they wound up in Molly’s room.
Molly pulled off the last of her clothes and threw them in the corner, the air cool against her skin. Riothamus’s eyes grew enormous, and Molly grinned at his reaction. She stepped closer, letting him see her.
“I don’t,” said Riothamus.
“What?” said Molly, sudden doubt running cold down her spine. “You don’t want to do this?”
“I’ve never done this before,” said Riothamus.
She took his hands and kissed him, pressing herself against him.
“I have,” she said. “Just do what I tell you.”
He did.
Chapter 23 – The Hive
Tymaen had never dreamed that such a world existed beneath the mountains.
A world filled with both wonders and horrors.
Lucan and Malaric could both conjure magical lights with ease, so they had no trouble finding their way. Sometimes they walked through vast galleries of stone, the walls glittering with crystals. Elaborate stalactites of many colors hung from the ceilings, looking almost like sculptures. In places pools lay on the floors of the caverns, as clear and still as glass. From time to time they crossed fields of man-sized mushrooms, the caps glowing with a pale blue radiance.
Once they walked through a cavern where a series of waterfalls fell from the ceiling, cascading to a rippling lake that filled half of the floor.
It was one of the most beautiful things Tymaen had ever seen.
And then there were the horrors.
Human skulls heaped in pyramids filled one cavern. Lucan assured her that no spells lay upon the skulls, that they were merely a trophy raised by the Malrags or the Dark Elderborn or one of the other myriad creatures that lived in the underworld. Yet Tymaen could have sworn that the empty eyes watched her.
A few days later they forced their way through a crooked maze of narrow tunnels. Thick, ropy spiders’ webs clung to the walls, almost like sheets of greasy white snow. Dead things hung suspended in the webs. Human skeletons, dried skin clinging to their bones. The black husks of Malrags. Long, serpentine shapes that Lucan told her had once been San-keth serpent priests.
“What made these webs?” said Tymaen, shivering. “Some monstrous spiders?”
“Of a sort,” said Malaric. His tone was light, as always, but his sword was in his hand. “They’re called the soliphage. Or spider-devils, as their foes name them. They have the torso, arms, and
head of a human woman, but the lower body of a gigantic spider. They’ll eat anything they can catch in their webs, man or Malrag.”
“The high lords of Dracaryl had terrible wars with them,” said Lucan. “Some of the soliphage matriarchs were necromancers of fell power. But the high lords prevailed, and drove the remaining soliphages into the dark places below the earth.”
Tymaen looked at a web-wrapped husk and tried to keep her stomach settled. Suddenly spending her days in Castle Highgate’s solar, tending Robert’s affairs, did not seem so unpleasant.
No. She had made her choice. And Lucan would do a great thing by ridding the world of the Demonsouled. She could hardly expect the path to be easy.
“No need to fear, though,” said Lucan. He picked up a bone and raked it through one of the webs. The web collapsed in a puff of dust. “These webs are dry. Centuries old, probably. The only soliphages down here would be undead.”
“That,” said Malaric, “is hardly reassuring.”
Lucan gave him a mirthless grin. “It ought to be. A wizard of sufficient skill can command the undead. I hope you’ve been paying attention during our lessons.”
Malaric only smiled in response, his hand straying to his belt. A round leather bag hung there, and Tymaen suspected it contained the skull of Corvad. Though what Malaric wanted with the thing, she had no idea.
They kept going, and encountered no soliphages, either living or undead.
###
Lucan felt the currents of dark magic stirring in the air.
Quite a lot of dark magic.
“We may have a problem,” said Malaric.
The mercenaries crouched on a broad, high ledge overlooking a wide cavern. The cavern was huge, easily a mile across. A small forest of the blue-glowing mushrooms covered the cavern’s irregular floor, painting the walls and ceiling with the ghostly blue light.
A white ruin rose from the center of the cavern.
It looked like a castle, albeit one constructed by an architect of demented vision. Its lines were far more graceful than the castles of the Grim Marches, even the fortresses of Old Dracaryl, yet it had a strange and alien aspect. The castle was a thing of beauty, a pale jewel standing among the rough rock and glowing mushrooms of the cavern.
A thing of disturbing beauty.
Just looking at it gave Lucan a headache. Malaric’s mercenaries had barely flinched at the Malrag warband or the ancient webs, but now they muttered to each other, making signs to ward off evil.
“What’s wrong with that castle?” said Tymaen in a low voice. “Looking at it makes my eyes hurt.”
“The Dark Elderborn built it,” said Lucan, staring at the castle. “Their aesthetics do not make sense to a human mind.”
“Aye,” said Malaric, peering over a boulder, “but that’s not Dark Elderborn in that castle now, is it?”
He was right about that.
Malrags prowled the ramparts of the white castle, dozens of them. The fact that they were patrolling the walls and not killing each other meant they were under the control of something stronger. A balekhan, most likely, or a shaman.
Or something even more powerful.
“What are Malrags doing in a Dark Elderborn ruin?” said Malaric.
Lucan shrugged. “The wizards of the Dark Elderborn sometimes have enough power to command Malrags. But if their control wavers, the Malrags turn upon their masters. That’s probably what happened here. Some prince of the Dark Elderborn thought to enslave the Malrags and create his own little realm. Instead, the Malrags slew him.”
“So we sneak around them,” said Malaric.
“We cannot,” said Lucan. “The tunnel to Morvyrkrad is on the other side of the castle. We’ll have to fight our way through.”
“Fight?” said Malaric, incredulous. “You expect us to fight through hundreds of Malrags? And to judge from the aura around the castle, there are at least three shamans in there.”
“Probably five,” said Lucan. Malrags could live forever, unless they were killed first, which almost always happened. Yet sometimes the shamans lived for centuries, and became tremendously powerful over the passage of time. Even with the aid of his stolen Demonsouled power, Lucan might not be able to overcome five ancient Malrag shamans.
Fortunately, he had other resources.
“I recognize, my lord Lucan,” said Malaric, “that my life, and the lives of my men, mean nothing to you. But we will not march into certain death simply to slake your ambition.”
Lucan rolled his eyes. “Is this a negotiating tactic? If you want more money, you’ll have to wait until we return to the surface.”
“What good is gold if we cannot spend it?” said Malaric, and his men nodded in agreement. “What good are spells if I do not live to cast them? Attacking that place is certain death!”
“You’re afraid,” said Lucan.
“Only a fool would not be afraid,” said Malaric.
“Of course there is risk,” said Lucan. “But rewards only go to those bold enough to seize them. Which will be difficult if you go slinking back to the surface.”
“At least we shall be alive!” said Malaric. “Do you really think you can overcome five Malrag shamans? If…”
“Lucan!” screamed Tymaen.
He turned to her, intending to calm her down before he dealt with Malaric. But she was pointing at the ceiling, and he lifted his eyes to follow her gaze.
The white gaze of a Malrag stared down at him.
Lucan flinched. A narrow opening yawned in the ceiling six or seven yards overhead, and a Malrag crouched there, a black spear gripped in its clawed hands. The Malrag howled and jumped from the opening. Lucan lifted his hands, green sparks snarling around his fingers…
Malaric moved faster.
His sword blurred, and the Malrag’s body struck the ground with a clang of armor, its fanged head rolling away.
Malaric snarled and pointed his sword at Lucan. “You’ve led us into a trap, fool! They’ve been watching us all along. Men! Leave at once! Make for…”
Armor rattled, and a dozen more Malrags appeared in the opening in the ceiling. The currents of dark magic in the cavern surged, and Lucan risked a glance over his shoulder. Malrags boiled out of the ruined castle, charging through the mushrooms.
“Battle line!” shouted Malaric. “Swords in front, bows behind, now…”
The Malrags in the ceiling jumped, howling for blood.
Lucan grabbed Tymaen’s arm. “Stay behind me!”
The Malrags fell into Malaric’s men, swinging black axes. The mercenaries responded with sword and shield, and their formation fell into chaos. Malaric cut down a Malrag with a single smooth blow and wheeled to face the others, green fire snarling around his free hand. Lucan looked back and forth, mind racing. If Malaric’s men formed a battle line, they might have a chance of holding off the Malrags from the castle. Yet while the Malrags poured from the ceiling, Malaric’s men could not take formation.
And the mercenaries had no chance against the power of five Malrag shamans.
A Malrag lunged at Lucan, axe raised, and Tymaen screamed. Lucan thrust out his hand, summoning magic. Psychokinetic force erupted from his palm, slammed into the Malrag, and hurled it against the ceiling with enough force to crumple its armor and shatter its bones.
But more charged him, and Lucan began another spell without hesitation.
Gray mist swirled at his feet, and a dozen translucent beasts sprang forth. The creatures looked like a ghastly hybrid of wolf and squid, their tentacles lined with razor claws. The spirit beasts surged forward in ghostly silence, their translucent claws and flesh rending Malrag flesh with ease. The spirit beasts drove back the Malrags, but more poured from the breach in the ceiling.
And still the tide of Malrags from the castle drew closer.
Lucan cast another spell, his fingers hooked into claws. Psychokinetic force burst from his mind, and coiled around a boulder in the midst of the mushrooms. He beckoned, and the boulder rippe
d free, shot through the air, and slammed into the opening. The impact smashed a half-dozen Malrags to pulp, and sealed the entrance in the ceiling. A few moments later Malaric’s men cut down the remaining Malrags and began to form up.
“Well?” said Malaric, lifting his sword. Ghostly green flame flickered around the blade. “Any more clever tricks?”
The tide of Malrags, nearly five hundred strong, had almost reached the base of their ledge. Malaric’s archers began loosing shafts, but there were far too many Malrags.
Lucan stepped to the edge and lifted his hand. A rune of fiery light appeared on his palm, and he unleashed the power at the Malrags, intending to set them aflame…
But a wall of green light appeared before the charging Malrags, blocking his spell.
Lucan looked at the wall of the unearthly castle.
Five hunched, misshapen figures stood upon the ramparts, clad in robes of ragged black leather. Malrags, but smaller and thinner than the warriors charging the ledge. Each of the five Malrags upon the wall had a third eye in the center of its black-veined forehead, an eye that shone and flickered with green light.
Malrag shamans. Old ones, and powerful.
As one they lifted their claws and unleashed their power upon Lucan.
###
Tymaen watched as Lucan faced the Malrags, her heart pounding in her throat. The shamans upon the walls gestured, and green light flared. A shell of green light appeared around Lucan, holding him frozen like a fly in amber. Tymaen watched him, expecting him to break free, to unleash his wrath upon the Malrags, but he remained motionless.
“That’s it,” said Malaric. “Lord Lucan has bitten off more than he can chew. Withdraw! With any luck, the Malrags will amuse themselves with him while we escape. And take the girl with us. We can ransom her back to her husband.”
“No!” said Tymaen, but two of the mercenaries grabbed her arms, ignoring her struggles. “Let me go! I command you to let me…”
Darkness flickered within the shell of green light, and Tymaen saw something long and black appear in Lucan’s hands.
Soul of Sorcery (Book 5) Page 27