Soul of Dragons (20 page)

Romaria slid from her saddle and circled the square, her short bow in hand. Morsen smelled like any other village. The sweat of men and women, the thatched roofs drying in the sun, the reek of goats and their droppings. There was no trace of the stench of the San-keth, the dry, dusty scent of their scales. 

Why had the people locked themselves in their homes? Mazael was their liege lord, their protector, their shield from Malrags. They should have welcomed him, if not with enthusiasm, at least without abject fear. And Romaria smelled their fear. 

She took another step, and stopped.

For just a moment, the air had smelled...damp. Musty. The smell of an underground place. She frowned, looking back and forth. 

The smell came from the manor house. Gaith had mentioned underground cellars. Yet the odor was that of a cave, a deep place in the earth, not a cellar.

Romaria walked towards the house.

###

Gaith led them to the manor house's hall.

It was small, a cozy room with dark wooden paneling and a table large enough for ten. No doubt Gaith conducted most of his business in Morsen's square, and retreated to his hall for quiet dinners.

“Please, my lords, sit, sit,” said Gaith, urging Mazael and the others to the table. “I will rouse my servants. No doubt the sluggards are sleeping the day away. Then we shall have wine and meat, and discuss how to defeat these Malrag devils.”

Mazael sat, and Gaith bowed, retreating through a narrow door in the far wall, next to the fireplace. 

### 

Romaria circled the manor house.

It was not large, two stories of mortared stone surrounding a squat tower. Yet the foundations looked old. Much older than the house itself. No doubt Morsen had been raided and sacked at some point during its history. Here and there gaps yawned in the foundation stones, and the underground odor, the smell of stagnant water and fungus, reached Romaria's nose. 

Perhaps Gaith had been telling the truth. 

Romaria turned to go, and heard the voice. 

Gaith's voice, coming up from one of the gaps in the foundation. A normal human woman would not have heard it. But Romaria had the senses of the beast, and the beast could hear Gaith with ease.

She stooped closer to listen.

“What shall we do, honored one?” said Gaith, his voice on the edge of panic. “Mazael Cravenlock himself is here! The archpriests have mandated his death, have required the faithful to strike at him, yet he has three hundred armed men with him. We cannot oppose him! And if he tells it true, a Malrag warband is coming to attack Morsen! We are under your protection, honored one. Help us!”

Another voice answered. “Calm yourself, fool.”

That voice made Romaria's lips peel back from her teeth in a snarl. The voice was a sibilant, reedy hiss, a voice spoken from a forked tongue and a mouth with poisoned fangs.

The voice of a San-keth, one of the serpent people. 

“But honored Szegan,” said Gaith.

“Silence!” said the San-keth, presumably Szegan. “Obviously, Mazael has discovered the temple. This talk of a Malrag attack is a pretext to destroy us. This, therefore, is what you must do. You have lured him into your house?”

“Yes, honored one,” said Gaith. “He awaits in my hall, with only two other men.” 

“Then kill him, quickly and quietly,” said Szegan. “Take the calibah and poison the wine. That should overpower him. Contrive some story to tell his men, and then offer to feed them. Poison the food and drink, and dispose of the bodies.”

“That is over three hundred men, honored Szegan,” said Gaith.

“What of it? You have killed travelers and concealed their bodies before,” said Szegan. “This is only the same task on a larger scale. Attend to it at once.”

“Yes, honored Szegan,” said Gaith.

Romaria hurried around the side of the manor house, rage boiling inside her. Their suspicions had been correct. Gaith was a San-keth proselyte, and a black-hearted scoundrel to boot...

Shouts rang out. Romaria reached the village square, saw the armsmen and knights running for the walls.

Timothy caught her eye.

“The Malrags, my lady!” he shouted. “Corvad has arrived.” 

Chapter 17 – The Battle of Morsen Village

Molly stepped out of the mistgate and into the hill country. 

She liked the Grim Marches' hills better than the sweeping plains. The plains were too empty, too exposed. Nowhere to hide. These rugged hills offered dozens of different hiding places. 

The village of Morsen loomed over them. For a rural village, the fortifications around it were impressive, with a thick wall and a strong tower in the manor house. Corvad would lose hundreds of Malrags storming this place. 

Not that Molly cared. 

Corvad stepped though the mistgate, clad in black plate and chain, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He wore the diadem of Old Dracaryl today, the green gem flickering in the black metal. Behind him infused Malrags poured out of the mistgate, hundreds of them. 

“There are men on the walls,” said Molly.

Corvad scowled. “I'd planned to take them unawares.” 

“You won't,” said Molly, and sudden rage flooded her. “There. There! Mazael Cravenlock's banner. He's here.”

“How?” said Corvad. “How did he track us?”

“I don't know,” muttered Molly. Somehow Mazael and Romaria had figured it out. “That map. I should have burned that damned map.” 

“You betrayed me,” hissed Corvad. “You sold me out to Mazael.”

“Have you lost your wits?” said Molly. “I want Mazael dead! You want to rule the world, and I care nothing for that. But I want Mazael's head upon my sword! And I will have it. If I betray you to him, I lose my chance to see him dead” 

The rage in Corvad's eyes didn't go away, but his expression calmed. “Perhaps you are right. I should have realized that something was amiss when the warlocks couldn't open the mistgate within Morsen's walls.” He gazed at the village for a moment. “Wards. Very clever. He knew we were coming. But unsurprising. Mazael must be clever. A man couldn't live for as long as he has without being clever.”

“Or Romaria figured it out,” said Molly. Few foes had ever come as close to killing her as Romaria Greenshield. If Molly had hesitated a heartbeat too long, if Romaria had shifted her aim a half-inch...then Molly would now lie dead in the darkness below Castle Cravenlock. “She's dangerous, maybe even more than Mazael. She put an arrow in your throat, brother.” 

In a strange way, the thought of fighting Romaria again thrilled her.

It gave her something to look forward to other than killing Mazael.   

She rebuked herself for the thought. She loved Nicholas Tormaud, and Mazael had murdered him. She had to avenge Nicholas, had to make Mazael pay for what he had done. That was all that mattered. 

“No matter,” said Corvad. “I half-expected Mazael would find us, anyway. Just as well we prepared so thoroughly. I doubt they have the numbers to stop me. Especially with our...allies.”

He beckoned, and the first zuvembie raced through the mistgate. 

###

“Our host seems nervous,” said Kjalmir. 

Mazael rose, glancing through the windows to the village square. He saw his men, moving about their tasks. A blue light shimmered around Timothy and Circan as they cast their wards. Nothing appeared amiss.

Then why did Mazael want to reach for his sword? Gaith, even if he was a San-keth proselyte, was only one old man. 

“You can hardly blame him,” said Mazael, resting his hand Lion's hilt. “Given the grim news we bear.”

“And he could be a proselyte, as well,” said Gerald. “That would make him nervous.” 

“If he has a brain in his head, aye,” said Mazael, looking through the window. There seemed to be some commotion...

The narrow door next to the fireplace opened, and four young men entered, clad in garments of gray wool. The men carried trays of wine and meat and cheese. Gaith followed them, smiling.

“My lords, please sit and eat and drink and refresh yourselves,” said Gaith. “Then we shall discuss strategies, aye? We'll find a way to defeat these Malrag devils once and for all.”

“Your hospitality is gracious, sir knight,” said Kjalmir, reaching for a clay pitcher of wine. 

And as he did, Lion trembled beneath Mazael's fingers. 

“Stop!” said Mazael. 

Gaith flinched. “My...my lord? I don't understand.”

Mazael drew Lion. The edges of the sword glimmered with blue fire.

“You are a guest under my roof!” said Gaith, backing towards the door. “My liege lord you might be, but you are still a guest in my hall! And you would draw steel against your host? Men and gods both will curse...”

“Your serving men,” said Mazael, pointing Lion, “are calibah. All of them, I think. And I wager that they poisoned the wine. One drop from their fangs into each cup of wine, that would be enough, wouldn't it?” 

“That's absurd,” said Gaith, sweat rolling down his face. “I will not stand for these lies, these slanderous accusations under my own roof! I...” 

“Silence!” shouted one of the serving men. One moment his eyes were brown. The next they had turned a venomous yellow, split in the middle by a vertical black pupil.

The eyes of a calibah, a San-keth changeling.

“Kill them!” he shrieked. Fangs jutted over his lips, glistening with poison. “Kill the enemies of great Sepharivaim!”

The four calibah surged forward, while Gaith fled through the door. 

###

Romaria sprinted to the walls, Timothy and Circan following, long black coats flapping. 

“Your wards?” she said. 

“They will hold, my lady,” said Timothy. “Corvad will not be able to open a mistgate within the village. And we may be needed at the walls.”

Romaria could not dispute that. Lucan Mandragon might have used dark magic, but his spells had wreaked havoc on the Malrags. If Circan could block the warlocks' attacks while Timothy unleashed his war spells upon the Malrags...

She hurried to the ramparts, looking into the valley below the village.

Malrags filled the valley like a mass of black flies, hundreds of them. She saw the crimson veins on their faces, and even at this distance, smelled the reek of Demonsouled corruption. Infused Malrags, then, stronger and faster than their lesser kin. 

She also caught the dusty, dry odor of long-dead flesh.

Zuvembies moved among the Malrags. Many, many zuvembies. The sparks of green light from their empty eyes flickered among the dark mass of the Malrags. At least a thousand of the dead things waited below.

Corvad had come prepared.

But so had his foes. Mazael had Lion, and Lion's fire could spread to the weapons of his men. With that blue fire, the knights and armsmen could stand against the zuvembie horde.

Romaria looked over her shoulder, frowning.

Just where the devil was Mazael?

He hadn't come out of the manor house.

With a chill she realized she had failed to warn him of Gaith's impending treachery.

Below, the zuvembies began to move. 

###

The calibah yanked daggers from their belts, the blades glistening with poison. One scratch would be enough to kill a grown man. 

And Gerald and Kjalmir were still seated at the heavy table, weapons at their belts.

“Ware!” yelled Mazael. “The daggers are poisoned!”

He grabbed the edge of the table and threw himself over it, his armor gouging the wood. His boots slammed into the chest of the first calibah, knocking the changeling down. The others scrambled to reach him, and Mazael heaved himself to his feet, Lion in azure blur before him.

One of the calibah fell, blood spurting from a torn throat. Gerald and Kjalmir shoved away from the table, Gerald drawing his sword with a steely hiss, Kjalmir hefting his massive war hammer. Mazael blocked a dagger's descending blow with Lion, caught another stab on the steel of his left bracer. Calibah poison could not kill him, not with his Demonsouled nature. But it would slow him, weaken him, perhaps enough to let the calibah swarm him. 

And one scratch from the daggers would kill either Kjalmir or Gerald.

The calibah Mazael had stunned climbed back to his feet, murder in his yellow eyes, while the other two fanned out around him. Gerald and Kjalmir stood at either side of Mazael, shields raised. 

Three on three. That should be simple enough.

Even as the thought crossed Mazael's mind, the door burst open, and two more calibah raced into the hall, short swords in their hands.

###

For an agonizing moment, Romaria hesitated. Mazael had gone into that manor house, a manor house ruled by a San-keth cleric and his proselytes. No doubt they were trying to kill him even now. She wanted to run to his aid, to put an arrow through Gaith's throat...

But Kjalmir and Gerald were both with him. There was no one left to take command of the men. And with the force of Malrags and zuvembies gathered below the village...

Mazael could take care of himself.

He had to take care of himself. 

“Stand fast!” shouted Romaria. “Crossbowmen, ready your weapons. Swords, spears, stand ready!”

She looked at the Malrags, mind racing. No doubt Corvad would repeat his earlier tactics. A wave of zuvembies to wear them down, followed by an assault from the infused Malrags. At the ruined castle in the Great Southern Forest, they had repulsed the attack easily, aided by Mazael and Lion's flame.

But without Lion's fire, the men had no weapons that could hurt the zuvembies. 

###

“I hope this is worth it,” said Molly, looking at the skeletal ranks of the zuvembies.

Corvad had spent the better part of two days preparing. They had traveled through mistgate after mistgate, jumping from ruined village to ruined village. Ultorin's attack had destroyed dozens of villages, leaving them littered with the dead.