Soul of Sorcery (Book 5)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  Ragnachar himself walked at their head.

  He wore his black armor of Old Dracaryl. His snarling dragon helm rested under one arm, and the hilt of his greatsword rose over his shoulder. His gray beard and lined face made him look like a living statue, though his gray eyes burned with hatred.

  He stopped before the high table and made a shallow bow.

  “Lord Richard,” said Ragnachar.

  Lord Richard rose. “Lord Ragnachar. Have you come to join the feast?”

  “No,” said Ragnachar. “I have not. I fear I have already eaten.”

  Richard raised an eyebrow. “Then, pray, why have you come to my hall, surrounded by armed retainers?”

  “Yes, Ragnachar,” said Athanaric, standing beside Richard. “Have you come to draw steel against our liege lord? I would have expected such a dishonorable act from you.”

  Ragnachar lifted a black-armored hand. “I have not come to feast, nor to start a war.”

  “Have you, Ragnachar?” Mazael saw Aegidia step out from beneath the balcony, leaning upon her staff. Riothamus trailed behind her, Molly at his side. For some reason she had been spending more and more time with the Guardian's apprentice. Perhaps she was teaching him to use a sword.

  Ragnachar glared at her, and the Guardian fell silent and looked away.

  “I have only come,” said Ragnachar, “to marvel. To see how low the Tervingi have fallen. Once other nations feared our wrath. And now look at us! We are dogs, cringing in our master’s hall and licking his fingers for scraps.”

  Silence answered his threats.

  “Do you insult our liege lord?” said a young knight in Lord Richard’s colors. “Do you dare to call Lord Richard the Dragonslayer a dog?”

  “Pay attention, boy,” said Ragnachar. “It is the Tervingi who have become dogs, who now whine and beg for whatever crumbs their master is willing to permit them.”

  “Do you wish to renounce your oath of allegiance to me?” said Richard, calm as ever. “Though if you do, Lord Ragnachar, I remind you that you will no longer be my guest and can no longer claim that protection of my roof.”

  A dozen lords and knights stood, hands on their sword hilts.

  “Is this what the Tervingi have come to?” said Ragnachar, his eyes flashing. “Cowering behind their master’s hounds for protection?”

  Suddenly Mazael understood. Ragnachar was hoping to shame the Tervingi into fighting, into siding with him.

  He stood. “Ragnachar!”

  Ragnachar glared up at him. “Lord Mazael.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” said Mazael, descending from the dais to stand a dozen paces from the Tervingi hrould. “Perhaps the Tervingi are cowards.”

  An uneasy rumble went through the hall.

  “Or perhaps,” said Mazael, “you’re simply an idiot.”

  Ragnachar’s eyes narrowed. “You insult me?”

  “Is it an insult to speak the truth?” said Mazael. “But let us put it to the test! I notice that you have entered your liege lord’s hall with only your orcragars at your back.”

  “What of it?” said Ragnachar.

  “I wonder,” said Mazael, “if they are the only supporters you have left. Would no other man follow you? Not even any of your loyal thains? Let us find out! Warriors of the Tervingi!” His voice rang over the hall. “The hour has come to choose peace or war! Those of you who support Ragnachar, Lord of Gray Pillar, stand and go to his side! Now!”

  No one stood.

  The silence stretched on and on.

  Ragnachar’s face remained calm, but Mazael saw the fury in his eyes.

  “Warriors of the Tervingi!” said Mazael. “If you support Lord Richard, stand!”

  The benches groaned and armor clattered as every man in the hall, Tervingi or not, stood.

  “You insult me,” growled Ragnachar, “with this mockery.”

  “If I have insulted you,” said Mazael, “then challenge me to a duel. We will settle this in the courtyard right now.”

  Mazael's blood burned within him. Yes, he would do it. He would face Ragnachar in a duel, and then cut him down. No one could blame him for that. And then the Grim Marches would have peace...

  Ragnachar glared at him, and then stalked away without another word.

  ###

  “It was a grave risk you took,” said Richard.

  Mazael shrugged. “Ragnachar led them to the brink of ruin. I doubt the Tervingi would side with him again, given a choice.”

  Athanaric nodded. “You speak truly.”

  They sat at the high table. The feast had resumed, the rumble of conversation and the songs of the loresingers and the jongleurs filling the hall.

  There was no hint that Ragnachar had almost started a war.

  “Ragnachar was trying to shame the Tervingi into fighting,” said Romaria.

  “He forgets that becoming the vassal of Lord Richard is no different than a thain pledging his sword to a hrould,” said Athanaric.

  “Aye,” said Mazael, “but it is different when the hrould is a foreigner, is it not? I doubt any of your folk wanted to side with Ragnachar. Not when the benefits of peace have become so obvious. But all it would have taken was one man siding with Ragnachar, and it might have started an avalanche.”

  “You handled his well, my lord Mazael,” said Aegidia, leaning on her staff beside Athanaric’s chair. “It is as if the fate of the Tervingi rests in your hands.”

  Both Molly and Riothamus gave the old woman a sharp look.

  “And if he had accepted the duel?” said Richard.

  “Then I would have killed him,” said Mazael, “and we would have an end to our problems.”

  Oh, how he wanted to do it. For a terrible moment he had wanted to cut down Ragnachar as he walked from the hall. But Ragnachar was still a Tervingi hrould, and butchering him in Lord Richard’s hall would have offered a grievous insult to every man of the Tervingi.

  No. Peace was better. No matter how much he wanted to kill.

  “Though Ragnachar will be all the more dangerous now,” said Romaria. “A rabid beast is the most dangerous when cornered.”

  Lord Richard nodded. “We shall have to be wary. But on his own, without allies, Lord Ragnachar is no threat to us.”

  ###

  Ragnachar stalked into the night, his orcragars following. His heartbeat thundered in his ears like a war drum, calling him to battle, to killing.

  How he wanted to cut down Mazael Cravenlock!

  But it would have resulted in his own death. He could have slain Mazael easily enough, but even he could not have fought his way through the assembled lords, knights, and thains. He would have killed many of them, true, perhaps even most of them. But they would have taken him down in the end.

  Perhaps that would have been a mercy. He was so tired of holding himself back.

  “What shall we do now, master?” said one of the orcragars.

  “We shall return to Gray Pillar,” said Ragnachar, “and await the chance to strike.”

  “You might,” said a dry voice, “be a little busy for that.”

  Ragnachar whirled, drawing his greatsword, and his orcragars yelled and raised their weapons.

  A tall man stood in the grasses a few paces away. He wore a black robe that flowed about him like wings of shadow. Gray streaks marked his hair at the temples, and his gray eyes were the exact color and shape of Ragnachar’s.

  Save for when they flickered with a pale haze of crimson light.

  The orcragars fell to their knees in reverence, and even Ragnachar felt a sudden thrill of terror.

  “Urdmoloch,” murmured the orcragars in awe. “Great Urdmoloch. We are strong. We are worthy. Command us and we are yours.”

  The tall man’s lips twitched in amusement beneath his hooked nose.

  “Father,” said Ragnachar, though he did not kneel. No matter how much fear he felt. He would not show any weakness, not now.

  The Urdmoloch, the creature the folk of the Grim Marches name
d the Old Demon, smiled at him.

  “Ragnachar,” said the Urdmoloch. “You’ve been busy since we last spoke, I see.”

  “I did as you commanded, father,” said Ragnachar. “The Malrags waited in the mountain valley, just as you said, and I convinced the moot of descend upon the Grim Marches with fire and sword.”

  “So you did,” said the Urdmoloch. “And then you were defeated.”

  Ragnachar’s fingers tightened against the hilt of his greatsword. “I did what I could. But the Tervingi are weak. They yearn for peace. Even the sternest warrior among them does not understand the joy of killing, not as we do.”

  “It is a poor warrior that blames his weapons,” said the Urdmoloch. “No matter. Why have you not begun fighting again?”

  “I cannot,” said Ragnachar through clenched teeth. “Athanaric and that damnable Guardian stand opposed against me, along with all the lords and vassals of the Grim Marches. Your blood flows through my veins, but I am only one man. Without allies, I cannot fight them by myself.”

  “Ah.” The Urdmoloch grinned, the fiery haze in his eyes growing brighter. “What if there were a way to turn the Tervingi against the lords? To rally every last one of them to your side?”

  Ragnachar scowled. “How would I accomplish such a feat?”

  “In a week’s time,” said the Urdmoloch, “Lord Richard Mandragon will travel to Stone Tower. Athanaric, you see, has extended an invitation in repayment for Lord Richard's hospitality. It would be an excellent opportunity to kill them both.”

  “And what would that gain me?” said Ragnachar. “If I attacked and slew them, satisfying as it would be, it would turn both the Tervingi and the lords against me.”

  The Urdmoloch grinned. “Why do my sons always have such limited imaginations? You must get your wits from your mothers. Think, Ragnachar. What would happen if you slew them both, and made it look as if the Tervingi slew Lord Richard and the knights slew Athanaric?”

  "I see," said Ragnachar, thinking it over. "Yes. That would rally the Tervingi to me. Especially since Toraine would become liege lord, and he would make war against us at once." His scowl returned. "But just how am I to accomplish this?"

  The Urdmoloch pointed at the kneeling orcragars. “You. Come here.”

  One of the orcragars, a burly man with a bushy black beard, rose and hurried to the Urdmoloch. “Command me, I am strong, I am worthy…”

  “Yes, yes, shut up,” said the Urdmoloch. He reached into his robe and drew out a folded cloak of odd color. It looked like a sheet of dull, tarnished silver marked with streaks of deep black. The Urdmoloch lifted the cloak and threw it over the orcragar’s shoulders.

  The orcragar vanished.

  Ragnachar blinked. If he squinted, he could just make out a faint shimmering where the orcragar had stood. But otherwise no trace of the man remained.

  “A spell of invisibility?” he said.

  “Well…not quite,” said Urdmoloch. “Most invisibility spells manipulate light, and your clever Guardian could sense those with ease. Her doting apprentice, as well. This is called a wraithcloak, and it shifts the wearer partly into the spirit world. Nearly invisible to the mortal eye, and much harder for a wizard to detect.”

  “You have more than one?” said Ragnachar, intrigued. With fifty of these cloaks, he could ambush and kill both Athanaric and Lord Richard.

  The fury in his heart, always hot, blazed brighter.

  With fifty of these cloaks, he could rid himself of that damnable Guardian at last.

  “Yes,” said the Urdmoloch. “Enough for you to conceal a small force of your orcragars. Lie in wait at Stone Tower for Lord Richard and Athanaric, and attack them as Athanaric renews his oaths of fealty. Kill everyone, and leave no witnesses behind. Then you can claim Lord Richard murdered Athanaric, and that Athanaric died trying to defend the honor of the Tervingi. You can lead the Tervingi in a war of vengeance and drown the Grim Marches in blood.”

  Ragnachar nodded, his mind racing. If he slew both Athanaric and Lord Richard and put the blame on Richard, the Tervingi would rise up in wrath. And with Richard dead, Toraine Mandragon would become the liege lord of the Grim Marches. His father’s death would give him the excuse he needed to launch a war of extermination.

  The killing would not stop until one side or another was destroyed.

  And if Ragnachar struck quickly, he could win this war. And with the Grim Marches conquered, he could lead the Tervingi on to new lands, to new foes to crush.

  He could drown the entire world in blood.

  “It can be done," said Ragnachar.

  “I thought you might agree,” said the Urdmoloch. “And to assist you in your task…I have a little gift for you.”

  He held up his palms, and suddenly a sheathed greatsword lay upon his hands.

  “Take it,” said the Urdmoloch, holding the hilt toward him.

  The greatsword's pommel was red gold, worked in the shape of a snarling demon’s head.

  Ragnachar drew the greatsword from its scabbard. The blade was fashioned from blood-colored steel. As he lifted it, Ragnachar felt a surge of power from the weapon, strength pouring up his arm and into his chest.

  One of the orcragars flinched in terror.

  Ragnachar wrapped both hands around the hilt, and the blade erupted into howling crimson flames, painting the plains around him with bloody light.

  “The Destroyer!” shouted one of the orcragars.

  As one they turned and knelt before Ragnachar, even the Urdmoloch temporarily forgotten.

  “The Destroyer comes!” repeated the orcragar.

  “He will trample kings and lords beneath his feet!” said another.

  “The Destroyer comes!” roared the orcragars in unison.

  “You alone, Ragnachar,” said the Urdmoloch, voice quiet. “So many have fallen short or betrayed me. But you alone, Ragnachar, are worthy to take up the sword of the Destroyer. You will destroy nations and kingdoms and remake the world in your image.”

  “Yes,” hissed Ragnachar. The sword filled him with power and strength. He felt as if he could return to Swordgrim and kill every man in the castle.

  “You must do two things,” said the Urdmoloch. “First, kill the Guardian. She will prove troublesome. Most likely she will accompany Athanaric to the meeting with Richard Mandragon.”

  “I would have killed her anyway, now that I have this,” said Ragnachar, gazing at the burning sword. “She deserves it.”

  “Second,” said the Urdmoloch, “Mazael Cravenlock.”

  Ragnachar scowled. “What of him?” The Lord of Castle Cravenlock was a capable warrior, but he could not stand against the sword of the Destroyer. “I shall sweep him from my path like the worm that he is.”

  The Urdmoloch smiled. “You should not speak so harshly of your brother.”

  Ragnachar flinched. “What?”

  “Well, your half-brother, to be accurate,” said the Urdmoloch. “Just under twenty years your junior. He is strong, Ragnachar, very strong. I had thought to make him into the Destroyer, but the fool rejected me, and turned his back on all the gifts I offer. Kill him, and you kill the only one who can stop you.”

  “He shall perish,” said Ragnachar. Mazael Cravenlock was also a child of the Urdmoloch? That explained his prowess in battle. He would prove a dangerous foe.

  Well, he could die beneath the blade of the Destroyer like any other man.

  “Good,” said the Urdmoloch. “Kill Richard Mandragon and Athanaric. Strike down the Guardian and Mazael Cravenlock, and the ultimate victory shall come.”

  “It will be done,” said Ragnachar. “I swear it. Come!”

  He turned and headed east, his orcragars following, his mind afire with plans. All his life he had waited for this, yearned for this. At last he could release his control, could kill to his heart’s content.

  And the Grim Marches would drown in blood.

  ###

  The Old Demon watched Ragnachar and his pets stride away acros
s the plains.

  “The ultimate victory,” he whispered, smiling to himself.

  Yes, indeed, the ultimate victory would soon come.

  It just wouldn’t belong to Ragnachar.

  Chapter 25 – Treachery

  “I must go,” said Riothamus.

  Molly stretched and yawned. “Must you?”

  Swordgrim was overflowing with guests, but as heir of Castle Cravenlock, Molly warranted her own room. Granted, it was a cramped room atop a turret in Swordgrim’s outer wall, but it was still her own room. Fortunately, it had a comfortable bed that was large enough for two.

  “I fear so,” said Riothamus.

  Molly watched with a lazy smile as he collected his scattered clothing. The turret’s narrow windows did not admit much sunlight, but enough for her to see the muscles on Riothamus’s chest and arms as he moved.

  “I would rather you stayed with me,” said Molly.

  “So would I,” said Riothamus, tugging on his trousers, “but I must go. Athanaric is renewing his oath to Lord Richard at Stone Tower, and Aegidia will witness it. I should go with her.”

  Molly rose, smiled, and kissed him.

  “You are determined,” said Riothamus, “to lure me back into bed.”

  “I am,” said Molly, “but I am going with you.” She began gathering her clothes. “At least for half of the way. Lord Richard’s vassals are remaining here until he returns from Stone Tower, enjoying his hospitality. Since Lord Toraine is oversees Swordgrim in Richard’s absence, my father thinks I should go back to Castle Cravenlock and oversee there.”

  Riothamus laughed. “That’s just an excuse to get away from Toraine.”

  “And can you blame me?” said Molly. She found her trousers, and then her sword belt. “I know you won’t use your power to kill, but you should make an exception for him. The gods know he’ll try to kill us all once he becomes liege lord.”

  “I will not make an exception, even for him,” said Riothamus. “He may yet change. Perhaps by the time Lord Richard dies, he will have come to new wisdom.”