Soul of Dragons (43 page)

The burning symbols on the Glamdaigyr flared.

A pulse of green light went through Corvad's gray eyes. 

And the blood flowing down his armor stopped.

Corvad pointed the Glamdaigyr, and an arc of green lightning sizzled from the blade and slammed into Mazael's chest. The blast knocked him to the floor, the lightning snarling up his armor. Corvad ran toward him, the Glamdaigyr raised, and Mazael rolled aside. 

The descending blade carved a gash in his left leg. Cold, terrible cold, spread through Mazael, and he scrambled back to his feet, his left leg twitching, almost folding. He felt the wound start to heal, but much more slowly than usual.

Mazael thought he could take Corvad. But with the Glamdaigyr's power added to the mix...he wasn't so sure. 

“You are fortunate,” said Corvad, “that you are a child of the Old Demon. A single scratch from the Glamdaigyr would kill lesser men.” 

“It will take more than a scratch to kill me,” said Mazael.

“Yes,” said Corvad, “but not very much more. You are weak and unworthy, father. I shall slay you and take the power you were too weak to wield.” 

He came at Mazael again.

###

Timothy sagged, breathing hard.

“Nothing,” he said. “I'm sorry, my lady. The spell is too strong. We simply cannot dispel it.” He shook his head. “Lucan...Lucan could have done it with ease.”

“Do not compare yourself to Lucan,” said Romaria. “He was a fool and you are not.” 

And because of Lucan's folly, because of his decision to wield Mazael's blood in that black staff, they would all die here. 

Romaria stared at the flames, thinking hard.

The others could not hear it, she knew, but the sound of the battle in the throne chamber filled her ears. The clang of steel clashing against steel, the high-pitched screech of enspelled blades. The occasional rumble of taunts or threats. And the grunts of pain as one of the combatants landed a telling blow.

Most of the grunts, she realized, came from Mazael.

###

Mazael ducked another blow, breathing hard. Corvad had landed a glancing blow on his arm, and another in the damaged spot on his cuirass. Pain throbbed through every motion Mazael took, and his left leg kept twitching. He had managed to land three more hits upon Corvad himself, but every time, the Glamdaigyr blazed with emerald flames, and Corvad’s wounds healed. 

“Useless,” said Corvad. “How could I have been born from such a wretch as you?”

“You talk too much,” said Mazael.

Corvad grinned. “Because I still have the breath left to talk.” 

“And your strength is an illusion,” said Mazael. “You are a puppet of the Old Demon, a puppet who thinks himself free of the strings that guide his every movement.” He shook his head. “The Old Demon once tried to do to me what he has done to you. To turn me into his puppet, his instrument. It's...”

“Silence,” said Corvad.

“It's not too late,” said Mazael. “You can cut the strings. You can be free. You...”

“Brave words,” said Corvad, “from a man about to die.” 

Mazael had no word to answer that.

Because Corvad was right. The Glamdaigyr seemed to give Corvad an infinite reserve of stolen life energy, a way to heal wounds faster than Mazael could deal them. Unless he found a way to get the Glamdaigyr away from Corvad, or summon aid through the wall of flame, then Corvad was going to kill him.

Soon.

Corvad swept up the Glamdaigyr in another attack, and Mazael braced himself. 

Chapter 33 – Brother and Sister

Molly strained against her chains. 

She heard the furious battle below, the hideous screeching as the Glamdaigyr's power contested against Mazael’s burning sword. From time to time she caught a glimpse of the battle. Mazael was the more skilled swordsman, but Corvad's wounds did not slow him in the slightest, and Mazael began to falter. Corvad would wear him down, bit by bit, and then take his head.

And then he would transform Molly into a living nightmare.

Again she tried to fall into the shadows, hoping that the battle would weaken the Glamdaigyr's strange ability to keep her from entering the darkness. And again, nothing happened. The barrier remained in place. 

She poured the dark fire of her rage into her muscles, filling them with Demonsouled strength, and shoved herself against the chains. The links trembled as they went taut, but held fast. After a moment Molly slumped against the stone block, panting. The chains were too strong, and the Glamdaigyr's magic too powerful. She could not escape. Corvad would kill Mazael, and then come to her.

And he would turn her into a horror beyond imagination.

Molly closed her eyes, fighting against the hysterical screams that wanted to rise in her throat. She would not beg for mercy. Not from Corvad. She would not!

The rasp of a drawn breath caught her ears. 

Molly turned her head, saw Lucan twitching beside her. During the long journey, she had grown used to his constant muttering and thrashing. Yet now every muscle in his body went rigid, bulging beneath his gray skin. The back of his head pressed against the stone, and a high-pitched keening rose from his lips.

Like he was trying to scream.

###

Mazael fought in grim silence. Corvad, too, had stopped talking, the green fire reflecting in his eyes. Mazael had landed three more hits, and the last one would have slain a normal man. 

Yet Corvad was not a normal man.

With the Glamdaigyr in his hands, he was not even a normal Demonsouled. 

Corvad landed another blow, the edge of his sword crunching against Mazael's left elbow, and the ghastly chill spread through his arm.

###

Again Lucan made that keening noise, the muscles in his body drawing so taut that he rose like a bent bow. 

Molly stared at him, her terror momentarily forgotten. He had never done anything like this before. Was he reacting to the dark magic of Arylkrad, or perhaps the power of the Glamdaigyr? Or had the warlocks' spell already taken effect on him?

Lucan opened his mouth and screamed, his cry echoing off the domed ceiling.

Then he went limp and slumped against the stone block, so motionless that for a moment Molly wondered if he had died. 

Then he began to change before her eyes. 

###

“I am sorry, my lady,” said Timothy. “We cannot dispel the barrier. We simply do not have the strength.”

Romaria gave a nod, gazing into the flames. A heavy shield might absorb the fire long enough for her to race into the throne chamber. Or if she took the form of the great wolf, perhaps she would have the strength to jump over the fire.

She gave the flames a dubious look. If she had a sufficient running start. If she did it just right. One slip and she would...

An awful scream rang out.

###

Corvad froze as the scream rang out, looking at the dais.

“What the devil did she do?” he muttered.

Mazael seized his chance.

He drove forward, all his strength and weight aiming Lion for Corvad's throat. Corvad snarled and twisted to the side, but not before Lion's ripped a gash in his neck. Mazael kept up the attack, knocking Corvad back on his heels. He was too close for Corvad to use the massive Glamdaigyr, and Mazael scored hit after minor hit, Lion pumping azure fire into Corvad's wounds. 

Corvad snarled and raised the Glamdaigyr, fingers of green lightning erupting from the sigils. The lightning raked through Mazael, and he stumbled, trying to keep his balance through the pain. 

He failed, and fell to one knee.

Corvad attacked, the Glamdaigyr trailing ghostly flame.

###

Molly watched as Lucan...as Lucan...

Healed.

There was no better word for it.

His arms and legs shrank, straightening as their deformity vanished. His veins lost their black, corrupted tone, turning blue once more. The grayness vanished from his skin. The red glow faded from his fluttering eyelids. Within moments, he looked like a gaunt, short young man with a ragged shock of black hair, clad in the filthy remnants of a wizard's coat. 

Whatever had happened, Molly was sure it wasn't what Corvad planned.

One of the warlocks turned, all three of its eyes focused upon Lucan. 

Then Lucan's black eyes shot open. 

###

Lucan Mandragon looked around, panic flooding through his mind.

For a moment a barrage of broken memories and discordant images danced through his thoughts. A dead land and a black city atop a mountain. Monsters wearing the faces of his family. Hooded shadows stalking him through leafless trees. A dragon the color of blood wheeling over broken towers. Fire reaching out to devour him.

And through it all, the overwhelming sensation that he had just made a terrible mistake...

Then the images drained away, leaving Lucan with confusion.

Where the devil was he? The last thing he remembered was Malavost in the Garden of the Temple, laughing as the bloodstaff shattered in Lucan's hands...

He shivered and looked around.

The first thing he noticed was the black throne and the high dome arching overhead, both in the style of Old Dracaryl. But that was impossible – Deepforest Keep was far outside the ancient borders of Dracaryl. 

Unless he was somehow no longer in Deepforest Keep.

The second thing he saw the young woman lying next to him on the block of black stone. She wore the dark leathers of an assassin of the Skulls, and lay pinned by heavy steel chains. The woman glared at him with gray eyes, her expression a mixture of astonishment and fear.

The third thing he noticed was the three Malrags in robes of tattered black leather standing a short distance away. Malrag shamans, he thought, until he saw the pulsing crimson veins marking their gray hides, their third eyes flickering with red light instead of the usual green. Malrag warlocks, then - enhanced and strengthened by the presence of Demonsouled blood. 

Much as Lucan had enhanced his strength and power through his bloodstaff. 

Which, he recalled, hadn't ended well. 

As one, the warlocks faced him and began casting spells.

###

Mazael caught Corvad's blow on Lion's blade, the sword's hilt in his hands. The shock of the impact sent pain down his shoulders and back, his wounded leg throbbing. Corvad raised the Glamdaigyr for another strike, and Mazael slashed, opening a cut on the side of Corvad's right leg. Corvad hissed and backed away, and Mazael surged back to his feet, ignoring the pain.

Or trying to. 

Corvad blocked every one of his swings, and once again claimed the offensive.

###

The wall of green fire sputtered.

“Your spells worked!” said Kjalmir.

Circan gave a sharp shake of his head. “No. Something else is draining power from the fire. I think...I think something's distracting the warlocks.”

The fire flickered, and Romaria glimpsed the throne chamber. She saw Mazael and Corvad locked in combat. Mazael looked haggard and exhausted as Corvad drove him back. Molly had already wounded him badly, and even Mazael's Demonsouled nature had limits. Corvad was going to wear down Mazael and kill him.

Unless Romaria could get an arrow through the flickering flames.

###

The warlocks raised their clawed hands, and Lucan responded with a spell of his own.

And power, more power than he had thought possible, rushed into him, power that burned like a river of molten iron. It reminded him of the snarling power his bloodstaff had summoned, though without the murderous rage the staff's magic inspired. Had the bloodstaff survived the battle at Deepforest Keep? No, Lucan had seen it shatter with his own eyes. Had he absorbed its power, adding its magic to his own? 

But whatever the source, he needed the power now.

Lucan unleashed a psychokinetic lance, an invisible burst of force leaping from his fist. It caught the rightmost warlock in the chest and blasted the creature from the dais. It soared through the air to smash against the dome, black blood spattering from its wounds, every bone in its body shattering at once. 

The warlock fell in a crumpled heap to the floor, far below.

The surviving two warlocks flung their spells, green lightning bursting from their hands, and Lucan cast a ward around himself, hoping it had the power to deflect their attacks.

###

Mazael backed away, trying to block Corvad’s assaults, and heard the thunderclap. A black blur shot from the top of the dais to crash into the dome, falling in a heap of pulped gray flesh and black blood. One of the Malrag warlocks.

Or what was left of it.

For a half-second Mazael gazed at the dead warlock in astoinshment.

Too late Mazael realized his mistake. 

Corvad surged into the opening created by Mazael's distraction. Mazael managed to block the attack, but the force of it staggered him. Corvad reversed the sword, the flat of the Glamdaigyr's blade hammering against Mazael's cuirass.

His wounded leg crumpled beneath him, and Mazael fell, his armor clanging. 

Corvad drew back the Glamdaigyr for the kill.

###

“The spell!” said Timothy. “It's collapsing!”

Romaria nodded. The wall of green flame sputtered, as if it had been doused in water, and suddenly she had a clear view of the throne chamber.

Of Corvad standing over Mazael, the Glamdaigyr raised for a killing blow.

Romaria didn't hesitate. Her bow snapped up and she released. Once again her arrow caught Corvad in the neck, and he fell to one knee. 

###

Molly watched as Lucan Mandragon fought the remaining two Malrag warlocks.