Molly laughed. “The world, yes. And what will you do with the world once you have it, Corvad? You'll run out of people to kill sooner or later.”
Corvad sneered. “You spent too much time around that dead pet of yours. He's made you weak.”
Molly's vision turned scarlet, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
She wanted to draw her sword and ram it down Corvad's gullet until not even his Demonsouled blood could heal the wounds. Her hand closed into a fist. She needed Corvad. She could not kill Mazael Cravenlock without him, without his plan.
And killing Mazael, avenging Nicholas, was more important than anything else.
Molly spun away from Corvad and stalked into the shadows.
When she reappeared, she stood on a boulder a few hundred yards above the village. Again she walked into the shadows, and again, until she perched on an icy ledge far above the ruins. Below she saw the tough pine trees dotting the foothills, and beyond the vast expanse of the Grim Marches.
She was alone.
Molly slumped against the side of the mountain, ignoring the cold.
It had been over a year since Nicholas had offered marriage to her, offering it to her as if she had been a proper noblewoman, and not the bastard child of a minor noble.
As if she had not been a Skull, trained to deal death from with poison and blade.
But he had offered and she accepted with all her heart. He spoke of traveling to the free cities, and disappearing into their crowds. Or taking ship to the distant ports beyond the Great Southern Forest, and starting new lives there. Molly only wanted to stay with him, to leave her past behind, to abandon all of it.
Then she had returned to find Nicholas dying in his own blood.
Molly hissed, her fingers closing so hard her fingernails dug into her palms. She had almost been free. She had almost been happy. And then Mazael Cravenlock had taken all that from her. She would find him and make him pay. A hundred years of agony would not repay him for what he had done to her.
Ten thousand would not repay him for what he had done to Nicholas.
Molly sat on the icy ledge from a long time, the tears trickling down her cheeks and turning to ice. Her fingers grew cold and chill, but she did not care. Eventually the cramps and the hunger pangs in her belly grew too sharp to ignore. She could not avenge Nicholas if she starved to death on the side of this desolate mountain.
She rose, walked the shadows, and returned to the ruined village.
-Great mistress-
One of the infused Malrags stared at her, crimson veins throbbing across its face.
-The great master bids you to speak with him, once you return-
“I'm sure he does,” said Molly.
Gods, but the Malrags disgusted her. They were clever and fierce, but tortured and killed for no purpose but the sheer joy of it. What, she wondered, would the Malrag have done to Nicholas, had it found him wounded?
She almost killed the creature on the spot, but decided she didn't want another argument with Corvad. Instead she walked the shadows and reappeared in the ruined manor house, next to Corvad's table. His pet warlocks remained motionless in the corners. Lucan Mandragon twitched in the depths of his nightmares. Corvad still sat at his table, paging through one of the books Molly had brought.
He was smiling.
“There you are,” said Corvad. “What do you do when you wander off like that, I wonder?”
“I'm plotting against you, of course,” said Molly, “for I plan to murder you and seize control of this rabble of Malrags for myself.”
To her annoyance, Corvad did not take the bait. “Unlikely. You hate Malrags. And I have found what we need.”
Molly blinked. “A map to Arylkrad?”
“No,” said Corvad. “But I know where to find one.” He tapped the ancient book. “The high lords of Dracaryl thirsted for more dark magic, for more necromancy. And few necromancers can match the prowess of the San-keth archpriests. So the high lords of Dracaryl made an alliance with the serpent people, trading with them and sharing their secrets. They allowed the San-keth to build a temple below what is now Castle Cravenlock.”
“So you think the temple has the map?” said Molly. “Unlikely. Mazael Cravenlock found the temple and slew the San-keth. Do you really think he would keep books of dark magic for his own use? Most likely he burned them all.”
“Oh, Mazael would have,” said Corvad, “but Lucan Mandragon?”
Molly looked at the unconscious wizard.
“Grandfather told us that Mazael sealed the temple,” said Corvad, “but I suspect the Dragon's Shadow made himself a lair down there. It would be a perfect sanctuary, would it not? Especially if everyone else believed the temple had been sealed. He could have hidden anything he wanted in the temple.”
“Including the temple's library,” said Molly. It made sense a great deal of sense. For all her brother's rage, he was not a fool.
“Yes,” said Corvad. “The high lords of Dracaryl made gifts of books and scrolls to the San-keth. Among them, almost certainly, is a map to Arylkrad...or at least an indication where we can find one. And you, sister, are going to take that map.”
Chapter 11 – Duel
Romaria awoke in darkness.
She lay naked in bed, resting against Mazael. Romaria had spent long months traveling through the wilderness, and grown accustomed to sleeping on the ground, wrapped in a cloak to ward off the chill. She had taught herself to wake at the approach of predators
Needless to say, sleeping upon a mattress underneath a roof was preferable.
So why had she awakened as if a predator approached?
She lifted her head from Mazael's chest. His bedroom was silent and dark, moonlight leaking through the windows and balcony door. Mazael was asleep, his breathing slow and steady. No sounds of alarm came from the windows. Castle Cravenlock seemed secure.
So why did it feel like something was wrong?
Years ago, she would have dismissed the feeling as mere fear. She knew better now. Romaria was the daughter of a human father and an Elderborn mother, and the magic in the Elderborn half of her soul manifested itself as the beast. The beast's senses were keener than her own, and often noticed things that she did not.
Of course, she was the beast, and the beast was her.
Romaria slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Mazael, and walked barefoot across the cold stone floor. She dressed, pulling on her boots and trousers and leather armor. Most of the women of the castle regarded her as a dangerous wildling come out of the south to seduce their lord. But that was all right – they also regarded Mazael with a mixture of respect and terror, fearful of the man who had defeated the Malrags, yet grateful that such a knight was their lord and protector.
She picked up her weapons and stepped into the hallway, sniffing at the air.
###
Molly perched on the curtain wall, watching the dark mass of Castle Cravenlock's keep.
Armsmen walked the ramparts and kept watch over the surrounding countryside, attending to their duties with diligence. Mazael had trained his men well. Yet Molly knew how to remain unseen, and she kept hidden in the shadows of the battlements.
It would have been easier if Corvad's pet warlocks had simply opened a mistgate inside the castle. But the warlocks could not. The castle had been layered in wards. Lucan's work, no doubt, or that of another wizard. The mistgate opened in a quiet field a few hundred yards from the base of the castle's hill.
But no spell could keep Molly from walking the shadows.
She stepped into the swirling darkness and reappeared atop the castle’s highest tower. No one could see her here, and she could walk the shadows into the keep with ease.
She lifted her left wrist.
A bronze chain wrapped around her arm held a crystal vial of black blood. One of the warlocks had made the thing, drawing the blood from Lucan Mandragon, muttering spells over it all the while.
“Think of it as a...compass, sister,” Corvad had said. “Mazael ordered the temple sealed. I suspect Lucan used his spells to arrange his own private entrance to the temple. A low-power mistgate, most likely, allowing him to enter the temple unseen. That vial of blood detects Lucan's spells. Use it to find whatever magical method he had to enter the temple.”
Molly waved her arm over the keep, the vial sliding against her sleeve. As she did, it grew colder, and tugged against its chain, like a nail inching towards a lodestone.
One of Lucan's spells. Below her.
She drew on the burning darkness within her and entered the shadows.
###
Romaria walked through the hallways of the castle.
There was something...wrong. Something in the air. So faint that even she could barely smell it, but it was there. Some taint, some corruption. She didn’t recognize it, but it was there, and getting stronger.
She left the King's Tower, where Mazael kept his bedroom, and entered the main keep. The faint odor grew stronger as she climbed the stairs to the higher levels of the keep.
For a moment Romaria considered becoming the great black wolf, and using its senses, but she discarded the idea. The armsmen had grown used to her sudden transformations, but many of Mazael's vassals and servants might turn against him if they saw her transform.
Besides, whatever was causing that smell was on the top of the keep. Romaria could find it in human form.
She kept climbing, her hand twitching towards the hilt of her bastard sword.
###
Molly opened the door.
The chamber occupied the top floor of the keep’s corner tower. The room was not large, and held only a narrow bed, a writing desk, and an empty wardrobe. Hardly the place one expected a wizard with the fearsome reputation of the Dragon's Shadow to live.
But the vial trembled on its chain like a living thing.
Molly closed the door, turning in a slow circle with her arm extended. There. The empty wall opposite the bed. She crossed the room and held her hand against the stone wall. Her fingers tingled with the presence of magic, and gray mist swirled across the wall. A small mistgate appeared before the her, swirling and writhing.
The vial strained against its chain.
Molly shook her head, part in annoyance, part in admiration. Sometimes Corvad went berserk with rage, but he was clever. Cleverer than Lucan Mandragon, apparently. Lucan had conjured this secret mistgate, even within the castle's defensive wards, but Corvad had puzzled it out anyway.
She drew her sword and stepped into the mistgate.
###
Romaria reached the top floor of the keep.
The smell was stronger here, almost strong enough for her to recognize it. And it made the teeth peel back from her lips in a snarl, made her reach for the hilt of her sword. Whatever it was, it was the smell of an enemy.
She froze.
Lucan Mandragon.
It was the smell of corruption and tainted magic that she had smelled from his black staff. It was the same reek she had smelled on his twisted body after the victory at Deepforest Keep. Damn it all, but Mazael should have killed him. If Lucan ever woke up, Romaria suspected he would no longer be sane.
Or even human.
And there was a second smell, fainter, but still distinct. Tainted, yet dark and strong, like a thunderstorm in a dead forest.
The woman who could vanish in a swirl of darkness.
She was here.
Romaria drew her sword and broke into a run.
###
Molly stepped out of the mistgate.
The only light was a distant red glow, but the darkness did not trouble Molly. She stood in a corridor built of crimson marble, the high ceiling arching overhead. Doors lined the hall, and in the distance she saw a massive pair of double doors, red light leaking from them.
A San-keth temple. The Skulls sometimes took contracts from the San-keth, or from human proselytes of the serpent god Sepharivaim. Molly had been to San-keth temples before, and she knew the layout.
She crossed to the double doors and pushed one open.
The large chamber beyond had once been the temple's sanctuary, though no doubt Mazael had destroyed the images of Sepharivaim. Now it was the workroom of a wizard. The pale red light came from nowhere, likely sustained by Lucan's spells. Long tables stood in the center of the sanctuary, laden with glass vials, jars of powder, and strange bronze instruments. A summoning circle, adorned with ornate symbols, had been painted upon the marble floor. A balcony ringed the sanctuary, perhaps twenty feet off the floor, and wooden shelves stood beneath the balcony.
Laden with books and scrolls.
Corvad had been right. Lucan had indeed saved the San-keth temple's library.
She crossed to the shelves and sorted through them. Several books written in the language of Old Dracaryl. A pair of scrolls written in the tongue of the San-keth. A manual of necromantic spells. Molly picked up the books and scrolls and dumped them on a table.
She could not read the tongue of Dracaryl, so she ignored those books. Corvad could read them later. She did, however, know something of the San-keth language, so she unrolled a scroll and looked it over. It was a map of the Grim Marches, created before the kingdom of Dracaryl had collapsed in its own dark magic. After moment Molly realized that the map showed the San-keth temples of the Grim Marches. No doubt many had been destroyed or abandoned in the centuries since, but perhaps some remained active. A list of notations had been written next to the location of each temple.
Molly gazed at the lists, and blinked in surprise.
Oh, this would please Corvad.
###
The smell led Romaria to Lucan Mandragon's room.
For a son of Richard Mandragon, Lucan had lived in stark simplicity. A narrow bed, a simple desk, and an empty wardrobe. Yet the stench of corruption was strongest in here. Had Lucan returned in the company of the Demonsouled woman?