Blood Of Kings: The Shadow Mage (42 page)

The sound of battle carried on the wind towards them. Crawulf was shaking his head when it was reported by the man he sent to investigate. “I’ll not take you into a battle,” he said.

“But that is exactly where we must go,” she answered. “You have shown such faith in me, trusted me to take you this far, followed me when I had no right to ask. Please do not turn aside at the moment we have reached the end.”

“Men are dying down there. We all could join them if we go down.”

“Yes, we might die, but it is what we must do.”

“I’m marching towards certain death on the basis of a foolish girl’s dreams and the ravings of a mad hermit who lives in a cave.” Crawulf looked skyward. “Can you give me naught but mysticism and talk of dark magic, in order to do this?” Rosinnio just shook her head. “We’ll take a look, but that is all,” he said then.

When they reached the edge of the valley they looked down from their vantage point. The screams of men dying carried towards them along with the smell of blood and war. The warriors of the Duchies fought in defensive lines repelling a much larger force attacking their flanks. In the centre they were assaulted by black-robed warriors.

“Sukes,” Rosinnio gasped, recognising the garb of a nomadic tribe who roamed the plains and deserts of the southern empire.

“There! Do you see?” One of Crawulf’s men pointed towards the far end of the valley. Rosinnio looked and saw a group of Nortmen heading towards the battle.

“Is that…” Crawulf began.

“Aye – Rolfgot,” the man answered. “I recognise a few others down there too.”

Rosinnio looked mystified at them both until the man explained. “They are members of Jarl Crawulf’s brother’s crew. They disappeared many years ago and were thought lost. The big one at the front is Rolfgot, Wulfgar’s chosen man.”

“They’re alive,” Crawulf whispered in awe.

Rosinnio put a hand on his arm then and said quietly, “No, they are not alive.”

He turned towards her. “You mean they are like the wolves?”

“No, the wolves were beasts. These are… were men. Now they are soulless shades who cannot be killed by mortal weapons.” She dipped her head and continued. “Now I know why I have been drawn to this place.”

Crawulf led the way down the steep path while Rothgar helped her down the treacherous trail. Their presence was noted almost straight away as a group of red-cloaked warriors broke away from the Duchies army to face them. They formed a line while several archers made their way out. The jarl barked an order to stop and raise shields as a flight of arrows whistled through the air, they thumped into wooden shields and speared the ground around them, but none, thankfully, found a mark.

“Hold! We are not here to fight you,” Crawulf roared across the divide. He was answered with another volley of arrows.

Suddenly, further down the valley, beside the circle of stones the Duchies army broke under the onslaught of Rolfgot’s Nortmen and the dark-cloaked warriors. The defensive lines splintered and ran pursued by the southern tribesmen across the valley in every direction. The Nortmen continued towards them.

The small group of red-cloaked warriors beneath a banner displaying a red dragon turned to face the larger force of Nortmen advancing towards them. Arrows peppered the bigger column but had no effect. The raiders did not even raise their shields, simply took the projectiles and ignored them.

“They cannot fight shades such as those,” Rosinnio said.

Rosinnio suddenly started running towards the red-cloaked men beneath the banner. Crawulf cursed and ran after her, his own men following. “You’ve lost your wits,” he panted, sucking in breaths when he caught up with her, his mail weighing heavy on his shoulders.

“Wait! I can help,” she cried out.

The leader of the red cloaks turned with several of his men, while the rest prepared to meet the advancing Rolfgot and his crew. “And who are you?” he asked, taking up a defensive position, sword raised.

“I am Jarl Crawulf, and we have not come here to fight you,” Crawulf answered instead.

“Crawulf? The same Crawulf who raided Elsward’s lands?”

“Aye, what of it?”

“We are not friends, Nortman, and as you can see I am a little preoccupied.”

“Aye about that. My lady here believes she may aid you.”

“You cannot fight them. They are not men,” Rosinnio said, sucking in air as she caught her breath.

“They are Nortmen, barely men I’ll grant you,” Normand answered, adding, “no offence.” Crawulf scowled in reply.

“They are shades under the control of a powerful mage. I believe I have a way to stop them.”

“Well then you had best do it quickly,” the duke replied as the Nortmen bore down on the small group.

Panic suddenly surged through Rosinnio. What if the horn didn’t work? What if she’d led them all to their deaths for no reason? Then she began to wonder if the Shadow Mage had drawn her here? Was it all a cunning ruse to get her to travel to him, where he could exact his sworn vengeance on her ancestor by killing her? The clash of swords on shields and sounds of men doing battle brought her back to her senses.

“Hurry, my lady,” Rothgar urged as black-eyed Nortmen closed in on them.

She heard a scream and saw a red-cloaked warrior impaled on a sword, another struck down with an axe. She raised the horn to her lips and blew.

***

Tomas marched towards the dream-witch, his mind barely registering what Djangra Roe had told him before he died. Behind him all was chaos as the tribesmen and Nortmen overwhelmed Duke Normand’s force of warriors, thanks mainly to the unnatural ability of the sea raiders from the Pirate Isles. What was driving him now was fear, fear of what he’d seen forming in the mist between the standing stones, fear that the mage may have spoken true. He had followed Elandrial in order to gain revenge for the death of his friend and to find a cure for his woman. He had listened to the priestess’s plans to call upon her god and to rid her land of the usurper, even agreed to help her in return for her aid with Aliss. Now though he was afraid, and deemed it time to leave. He would seek help elsewhere for Aliss, go back to the Great Wood and confront the witch, let her remove the curse that bade Aliss long for the blood of an innocent.

First though, he was confronted by three black-garbed tribesmen who stood sentinel before the Shadow Mage and the two women. Aliss, he saw, still joined hands with Elandrial, her complexion pale, almost translucent.
How long has she looked so sickly?
he wondered. The mage too stood beside them with his eyes closed. Tomas could feel the power crackling in the air around them, feel the magic pulsing in waves from them, so powerful even one without the gift of magic could sense it.

“Cease this, Elandrial. You don’t know what it is you are summoning,” he said as he approached. “What are you doing to her?” he added when he saw the pained expression on Aliss’ face.

“The glory of Eor shall descend from the heavens and smite our enemies,” the priestess answered, opening her eyes.

“No! That is no god you are releasing from those stones. He has led you false.” He pointed his sword at Harren Suilomon.

“And who are you, blacksmith, to decide what is and is not a god?” the Shadow Mage answered, malice dripping from his words. “Have you suddenly been blessed with divine powers?”

“I can see that you are killing Aliss. Release her now.”

“No, Tomas,” Elandrial answered. “We need her, just as she needs us. We are joined, we three. Come. You too are part of the circle.” She reached out a hand for him to join them.

He felt a draw on his mind then, an urge to join the three magic wielders. He stepped forward into the embrace of Elandrial.

“He lied to you,” he said once he’d stepped past the guards, “whatever promises he made you to help win back your lands and call your god. He used you.” He rammed his sword into Elandrial’s chest then. He did so with not a little regret, but the only way he could break the connection between the dream-witch and Aliss was to kill her. He had not the time to try persuasion.

Elandrial screamed as the blade smashed through her breast bone and died instantly. Aliss collapsed to the floor as if she were nothing more than a child’s toy.

“You fool!” the Shadow Mage shrieked, his fat jowls turning red. “Kill him,” he ordered the tribesmen.

The three black-robed tribesmen turned on Tomas. The first two stabs were excruciatingly painful as the curved blades entered his side. The third he didn’t feel at all as he dropped onto his knees. He reached out a bloody hand to his woman who was lying on the cold, hard ground, but his vision blurred and he realised he could no longer control the use of his arms. He slumped forward onto the ground. In the distance he heard the sound of a hunting horn, his mind unable to fathom what it could mean. All he heard was a cry of anguish coming from the Shadow Mage at the sound of the horn – that at least made him smile.

Hidden valley, Mountains of Eor

A
ll around her men screeched and wailed as death held sway across the valley. The cursed crew of Wulfgar visited pain and suffering on all who stood in their way; Crawulf’s men and the Duke’s Dragon Knights. She blew a long blast on the horn as the sound of steel ringing on steel and of men dying filled the air. Rothgar stood over her, alongside Crawulf battling undead Nortmen they were unable to kill. She felt tears welling, blurring her vision as she tried to summon the blue fire that had killed the wolves and the were-beast. On both of those occasions it had just come unbidden to her. Now there was nothing. She watched helplessly as the giant leader of the Nortmen bore down on Crawulf. She heard her husband shout out his name in a challenge, ‘Rolfgot’. She’d never seen a warrior look so fierce, not even her husband or the big axeman, Rothgar.

Rolfgot’s black eyes held no recognition or any emotion as he launched a fierce attack on the jarl. Crawulf blocked the blows with his shield until there was nothing left of it but splintered wood. He flung it aside and stabbed his own sword at his opponent’s head, while Rothgar attacked from the side, swinging his axe in an arc. It plunged into the back of the massive Rolfgot, but the Nortman didn’t even flinch. He swung his sword backhanded towards Rothgar, slicing a savage blow across his chest, smashing through the interlocked rings of mail. Rothgar fell back as a crimson spray arced through the air.

“Nooo!!!” Rosinnio screamed as her protector fell down at her feet. Rolfgot meanwhile turned back to Crawulf… and then stopped.

The giant warrior looked down. A shadow seeped into the earth like a stain at his feet. His face took on a quizzical, almost comical expression as the shadow became a cloud submerging his feet and then his ankles. A similar black cloud was swirling around each of the cursed Nortmen. Rosinnio saw the horn in her hand pulse with a bright light, as the undead warriors struggled to free themselves. Translucent, skeletal hands and faces appeared in the clouds, wrapping themselves around the warriors.

“Soul Reapers,” Crawulf said as he pulled Rosinnio back. She felt almost sorry for the warriors then as each of them was enveloped by a cloud and dragged, struggling and crying out, into the hard earth.

She fell on her knees then beside the body of her protector, Rothgar. His great chest was still as the heart within it no longer beat. Tears clouded her vision as she reached out to touch him, beseeching her own gods and those of the Nortmen to give her the power to heal him, to bring him back to life.

Crawulf’s men—those who remained standing—formed a defensive arc around her as the jarl bent down to touch her shoulder. “He is feasting with The All Wise now.”

When Rosinnio looked up she saw the joy on her husband’s face as he genuinely revelled in the glory of a warrior’s death, happy that his friend met his end with the blood of his enemies on his axe.
I will never understand them,
she thought, unable to find any happiness in the death of a friend.
And he was a friend,
she realised, even though her first wish for him was to have him slain for insulting her.
I have come a long way.

She took Crawulf’s hand and he helped her up. “Was your…”

“No,” the jarl continued her line of thought. “My brother was not among them.”

“Perhaps he yet lives,” she said.

“I hope not,” Crawulf answered as he stared at the spot where Rolfgot had been dragged into the hard earth, not a mark or sign remained to give any hint he was ever there – save the bodies he left in his wake.

The black-robed tribesmen withdrew once the Nortmen met their end and Duke Normand’s warriors began to rally, drifting back to the battlefield now that the only enemies remaining were those who bled and died as they did. Rosinnio followed the tribesmen with her eyes until she spotted a fat man dressed as a Sunsai noble moving towards them. He was the focal point for the nomadic warriors of the south.
Shadow Mage,
an icy thrill of fear ran down her spine. She could feel his hatred for her burning her mind. And something else… he was afraid. The same dark magic that had bound the cursed crew of Wulfgar also allowed him to exist in the world. If that foul link could be broken, then could not the poisonous glue allowing him to live as a parasite within the bodies of others not be broken too?

“I see you, Harren Suilomon, and I do not fear you, nor the curses you have invoked on my family.” She doubted her words would carry across the battlefield, yet she knew he would hear them.

“Something stirs within that strange mist,” Crawulf said, pointing with his sword towards the circle of stones. The runes carved into them pulsated a silver light.

“He is calling on some foul power,” she answered.

“How is it you know such things?” Crawulf asked. His face was covered in grime and blood, his eyes blazing fiercely, a sight that would have frightened her witless not so long ago, and yet now… feelings stirred within her.

“Madam, you are a most unusual Nortwoman,” Duke Normand said, moving beside them.