Read Online Soul of Skulls (Book 6) by Jonathan Moeller - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jonathan Moeller
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edge of the camp as the horsemen reined up. The standardbearer flew the banner of the House of Roland, a silver greathelm on a field of blue. The lead rider swung down from the saddle with a grunt, his plate armor clattering, and pulled off his helmet.
Gerald blinked in surprise. “Tobias!”
Sir Tobias Roland looked like a shorter, more muscular version of Gerald. He had a broad, ruddy face, made for laughing. But he had not laughed much since Garain's murder and Lord Malden's increasing illness, and the chaos of the Grim Rising and Caraster’s rebellion had driven all traces of humor from his face. Now Tobias looked grim and implacable, and Gerald could not remember the last time he had seen his older brother smile.
“Brother,” said Tobias. “I have ill news.”
Gerald sighed. “When was the last time we had any other sort?”
“Some time, I fear,” said Tobias. “Father is dying, brother.”
“He has been ill since the San-keth murdered Garain,” said Gerald, “but…”
“The physicians say he has less than a week left, if that,” said Tobias. “We need to leave for Knightcastle at once.”
Chapter 5 – The Pact
Malaric’s hand kept straying to the leather bag at his belt.
He made himself stop. An enemy might observe him, and conclude that something valuable rested within the bag.
And the bag held an object of incalculable value. With it, Malaric would reclaim his birthright. He would repay, with interest, everyone who had ever wronged him.
And with it he would live forever.
Assuming he was careful.
He pushed aside his plans for the future and made himself pay attention to his surroundings.
He followed Lucan Mandragon on the westward road, the Riversteel flowing broad and strong to their right. The countryside showed signs of recent fighting. They passed two villages surrounded by newly-constructed palisades, grim-eyed militiamen watching from the ramparts. It was just as well Lucan had donned a hooded black cloak that concealed his features.
Lucan looked healthy, if pale, but anyone who watched him for too long would notice that he had no need to breathe.
Malaric stared at Lucan’s back, fingering the hilt of his sword as an idea came to him. Lucan carried two mighty relics of Old Dracaryl. The Banurdem allowed him to command both undead creatures and dragons. The Glamdaigyr drained life energy and power from its victims and bestowed them to its bearer. Malaric was already powerful, thanks to his own magic, the dagger he had taken from Marstan's lair, and the skull in the bag. With the Banurdem and the Glamdaigyr, he would be invincible. He need only destroy Lucan…
Lucan looked over his shoulder, pale face expressionless, his black eyes like disks of wet stone.
“You’ve secured that skull, I trust?” said Lucan.
Malaric swallowed. “Yes, of course.”
“Good,” said Lucan, turning away. “A pity if it were to fall into the wrong hands.”
Malaric’s fingers clenched tighter around his sword hilt.
Lucan always seemed to know what he was thinking.
The skull had once belonged to Corvad of Barellion, a renegade mercenary and an assassin of the Skulls. He had also been the bastard son of Mazael Cravenlock and a Demonsouled of great power. Mazael had killed his wayward son at Arylkrad. Malaric had found Corvad's skull there.
And transformed it into a relic of great power.
By using a necromantic spell to bind his soul to Corvad’s skull, Malaric had gained access to Corvad’s Demonsouled power. That power made him faster and stronger than ordinary men, gave him the ability to heal even deadly wounds in moments, granted him the power to walk through the shadows as Molly Cravenlock did, and vastly augmented his magical capability. He could even access that power without suffering homicidal fury as the Demonsouled did.
But that power came at a price. The skull made Malaric almost invincible, but the skull itself was vulnerable. If it was destroyed,
Gerald blinked in surprise. “Tobias!”
Sir Tobias Roland looked like a shorter, more muscular version of Gerald. He had a broad, ruddy face, made for laughing. But he had not laughed much since Garain's murder and Lord Malden's increasing illness, and the chaos of the Grim Rising and Caraster’s rebellion had driven all traces of humor from his face. Now Tobias looked grim and implacable, and Gerald could not remember the last time he had seen his older brother smile.
“Brother,” said Tobias. “I have ill news.”
Gerald sighed. “When was the last time we had any other sort?”
“Some time, I fear,” said Tobias. “Father is dying, brother.”
“He has been ill since the San-keth murdered Garain,” said Gerald, “but…”
“The physicians say he has less than a week left, if that,” said Tobias. “We need to leave for Knightcastle at once.”
Chapter 5 – The Pact
Malaric’s hand kept straying to the leather bag at his belt.
He made himself stop. An enemy might observe him, and conclude that something valuable rested within the bag.
And the bag held an object of incalculable value. With it, Malaric would reclaim his birthright. He would repay, with interest, everyone who had ever wronged him.
And with it he would live forever.
Assuming he was careful.
He pushed aside his plans for the future and made himself pay attention to his surroundings.
He followed Lucan Mandragon on the westward road, the Riversteel flowing broad and strong to their right. The countryside showed signs of recent fighting. They passed two villages surrounded by newly-constructed palisades, grim-eyed militiamen watching from the ramparts. It was just as well Lucan had donned a hooded black cloak that concealed his features.
Lucan looked healthy, if pale, but anyone who watched him for too long would notice that he had no need to breathe.
Malaric stared at Lucan’s back, fingering the hilt of his sword as an idea came to him. Lucan carried two mighty relics of Old Dracaryl. The Banurdem allowed him to command both undead creatures and dragons. The Glamdaigyr drained life energy and power from its victims and bestowed them to its bearer. Malaric was already powerful, thanks to his own magic, the dagger he had taken from Marstan's lair, and the skull in the bag. With the Banurdem and the Glamdaigyr, he would be invincible. He need only destroy Lucan…
Lucan looked over his shoulder, pale face expressionless, his black eyes like disks of wet stone.
“You’ve secured that skull, I trust?” said Lucan.
Malaric swallowed. “Yes, of course.”
“Good,” said Lucan, turning away. “A pity if it were to fall into the wrong hands.”
Malaric’s fingers clenched tighter around his sword hilt.
Lucan always seemed to know what he was thinking.
The skull had once belonged to Corvad of Barellion, a renegade mercenary and an assassin of the Skulls. He had also been the bastard son of Mazael Cravenlock and a Demonsouled of great power. Mazael had killed his wayward son at Arylkrad. Malaric had found Corvad's skull there.
And transformed it into a relic of great power.
By using a necromantic spell to bind his soul to Corvad’s skull, Malaric had gained access to Corvad’s Demonsouled power. That power made him faster and stronger than ordinary men, gave him the ability to heal even deadly wounds in moments, granted him the power to walk through the shadows as Molly Cravenlock did, and vastly augmented his magical capability. He could even access that power without suffering homicidal fury as the Demonsouled did.
But that power came at a price. The skull made Malaric almost invincible, but the skull itself was vulnerable. If it was destroyed,
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