Read Online Soul of Skulls (Book 6) by Jonathan Moeller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Moeller
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Malaric didn’t know what would happen. He didn’t want to find out.
He would have to be very careful.
And Lucan knew all that.
As tempting at the Glamdaigyr and the Banurdem were, challenging Lucan Mandragon was utter folly. And, in truth, Malaric didn’t need the relics. He already had more than enough power to achieve his goals.
To deal with his father and his half-brothers.
Malaric’s lip curled in rage, and Lucan came to a halt.
“What is it?” said Malaric, one hand going to the hilt of his sword, the other coming up to cast a spell. Had Lucan divined his intentions? Did he intend to attack?
“We’ve been followed,” said Lucan, pointing. “Up there, ahead. Someone awaits in the trees.”
Ahead the road veered away from the river, towards a patch of woods that stood between the hills and the water. It was the perfect place for an ambush.
“Who?” said Malaric. “Runedead.”
“No,” said Lucan. “Someone else. Come.” A note of dark amusement entered his cold voice. “Let us see who is so keen to meet me.”
He pushed back his hood, revealing the Banurdem upon his brow. Malaric drew his sword, the steel gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Lucan strode for the trees, the black cloak billowing after him, and Malaric made sure to stay well behind him.
If foes awaited in the trees, best to let Lucan deal with them.
Men emerged from the trees. They had the look and clothing of common peasants, and Malaric wondered if they had turned bandit, driven from their homes by the Great Rising. Then he saw their yellow, black-slit eyes, saw the fangs curling over their lips, the scaly patches on their wrists and necks.
They were calibah, changelings, the offspring of a San-keth father and a human woman. During his time with the Skulls of Barellion, Malaric had dealt with the San-keth, and he knew that the calibah were devoted servants of the serpent people. And they were rarely seen without a San-keth cleric…
A figure draped in a gray robe emerged from the trees, flashes of green light flickering in the sleeves. Beneath that robe, Malaric knew, strode an undead human skeleton, its skull removed. In place of the skull reared up the wedge-shaped head of an enormous serpent, its head and flanks covered in crimson and black scales.
A San-keth serpent priest.
Malaric stared at the creature. Its scales were dull with great age, its forked tongue lashing ceaselessly at the air. He saw that dozens of tiny runes of green fire had been written upon the San-keth’s skin. Warding spells, most likely. This serpent priest possessed great age and great power.
Lucan stopped a dozen paces from the San-keth and folded his arms over his chest.
“How did you find me?” said Lucan.
The San-keth’s tongue flicked in his direction. “An undead creature of your potency is not hard to track, my lord of Mandragon.” The serpent’s voice was a dry, hissing rasp, like wind blowing dead leaves over the floor of a crypt. “At least for those with eyes to see.”
A smile appeared on Lucan’s hard face. “You have found me, and you will soon regret that you did.”
He raised his right hand, green flame swirling around his fingers, and the Glamdaigyr appeared in his grasp.
The black greatsword was massive, its long blade written with sigils of green fire, its pommel shaped like a dragon's skull. A faint dark haze shimmered around the sword, like black mist rising from a swamp. Malaric’s magical senses recoiled from the raw power radiating from the weapon, its relentless hunger, its desire to gorge upon stolen life until it left the world a cold wasteland.
But the San-keth cleric gave no sign of alarm.
“Peace, Lucan Mandragon,” he said. “I have not come to hinder you. In fact, we may even be of use to each other. Fight me if you will, but perhaps a parley would be more profitable.”
“Very well,” said Lucan. “Who are you?”
“Among the followers of Sepharivaim,” said
He would have to be very careful.
And Lucan knew all that.
As tempting at the Glamdaigyr and the Banurdem were, challenging Lucan Mandragon was utter folly. And, in truth, Malaric didn’t need the relics. He already had more than enough power to achieve his goals.
To deal with his father and his half-brothers.
Malaric’s lip curled in rage, and Lucan came to a halt.
“What is it?” said Malaric, one hand going to the hilt of his sword, the other coming up to cast a spell. Had Lucan divined his intentions? Did he intend to attack?
“We’ve been followed,” said Lucan, pointing. “Up there, ahead. Someone awaits in the trees.”
Ahead the road veered away from the river, towards a patch of woods that stood between the hills and the water. It was the perfect place for an ambush.
“Who?” said Malaric. “Runedead.”
“No,” said Lucan. “Someone else. Come.” A note of dark amusement entered his cold voice. “Let us see who is so keen to meet me.”
He pushed back his hood, revealing the Banurdem upon his brow. Malaric drew his sword, the steel gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Lucan strode for the trees, the black cloak billowing after him, and Malaric made sure to stay well behind him.
If foes awaited in the trees, best to let Lucan deal with them.
Men emerged from the trees. They had the look and clothing of common peasants, and Malaric wondered if they had turned bandit, driven from their homes by the Great Rising. Then he saw their yellow, black-slit eyes, saw the fangs curling over their lips, the scaly patches on their wrists and necks.
They were calibah, changelings, the offspring of a San-keth father and a human woman. During his time with the Skulls of Barellion, Malaric had dealt with the San-keth, and he knew that the calibah were devoted servants of the serpent people. And they were rarely seen without a San-keth cleric…
A figure draped in a gray robe emerged from the trees, flashes of green light flickering in the sleeves. Beneath that robe, Malaric knew, strode an undead human skeleton, its skull removed. In place of the skull reared up the wedge-shaped head of an enormous serpent, its head and flanks covered in crimson and black scales.
A San-keth serpent priest.
Malaric stared at the creature. Its scales were dull with great age, its forked tongue lashing ceaselessly at the air. He saw that dozens of tiny runes of green fire had been written upon the San-keth’s skin. Warding spells, most likely. This serpent priest possessed great age and great power.
Lucan stopped a dozen paces from the San-keth and folded his arms over his chest.
“How did you find me?” said Lucan.
The San-keth’s tongue flicked in his direction. “An undead creature of your potency is not hard to track, my lord of Mandragon.” The serpent’s voice was a dry, hissing rasp, like wind blowing dead leaves over the floor of a crypt. “At least for those with eyes to see.”
A smile appeared on Lucan’s hard face. “You have found me, and you will soon regret that you did.”
He raised his right hand, green flame swirling around his fingers, and the Glamdaigyr appeared in his grasp.
The black greatsword was massive, its long blade written with sigils of green fire, its pommel shaped like a dragon's skull. A faint dark haze shimmered around the sword, like black mist rising from a swamp. Malaric’s magical senses recoiled from the raw power radiating from the weapon, its relentless hunger, its desire to gorge upon stolen life until it left the world a cold wasteland.
But the San-keth cleric gave no sign of alarm.
“Peace, Lucan Mandragon,” he said. “I have not come to hinder you. In fact, we may even be of use to each other. Fight me if you will, but perhaps a parley would be more profitable.”
“Very well,” said Lucan. “Who are you?”
“Among the followers of Sepharivaim,” said
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