Wraithshard: Siege & Storm

By Jonathan Moeller

The hordes of the Trichirabi invade the Grim Marches, and Mazael Cravenlock stands in their way.

The Trichirabi have come seeking a shard of the Wraithaldr, the most powerful necromantic artifact ever forged.

Lucan Mandragon once used the Wraithaldr to summon hordes of the undead, and he is desperate to redeem himself.

But the creatures seeking the shard are more than a match for Lucan's power...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Moeller
• Release date: Apr 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005033224

Jonathan Moeller

Standing over six feet tall, Jonathan Moeller has the piercing blue eyes of a Conan of Cimmeria, the bronze-colored hair of a Visigothic warrior-king, and the stern visage of a captain of men, none of which are useful in his career as a computer repairman, alas.He has written the "Demonsouled" trilogy of sword-and-sorcery novels, and continues to write the "Ghosts" sequence about assassin and spy Caina Amalas, the "$0.99 Beginner's Guide" series of computer books, and numerous other works.Visit his website at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.comVisit his technology blog at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/screed

Book preview

WRAITHSHARD: SIEGE & STORM

Jonathan Moeller

***

Description

The hordes of the Trichirabi invade the Grim Marches, and Mazael Cravenlock stands in their way.

The Trichirabi have come seeking a shard of the Wraithaldr, the most powerful necromantic artifact ever forged.

Lucan Mandragon once used the Wraithaldr to summon hordes of the undead, and he is desperate to redeem himself.

But the creatures seeking the shard are more than a match for Lucan's power...

***

Wraithshard: Sword & Flame

Copyright 2020 by Jonathan Moeller.

Smashwords Edition.

Cover image copyright ID 164468398 © dinushika geeganage | Dreamstime.com.

Ebook edition published April 2020.

All Rights Reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

***

Get New Books

Sign up for my newsletter at this link, and get two free epic fantasy novels (https://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=1854).

***

Chapter 1: The Lord of the Grim Marches

Mazael Cravenlock rode to war, his vassals, knights, headmen, and thains following him.

He had come north to Castle Highgate in the company of a small group of his knights and armsmen, and had been joined halfway by his daughter and her knights. They had gone to Castle Highgate to attend a wedding. Now they were riding south to war, and far more men marched with Mazael. Lord Robert’s knights and vassals had called out their militias, coming from their hilltop villages to join Mazael’s army. Now that Lord Robert was married to Guthinga, her father Alanovil of Rathburh had called his thains to support his new son-in-law. The spearthains and swordthains of two Tervingi headmen, Toric son of Torvmund and Arnulf son of Kaerwulf, had come to join Mazael, along with the men of Lord Jonaril Mandrake.

Mazael had ridden north to see Robert wed, and he came south with thousands, ready for war.

But the Grim Marches were prepared for such a fight. In the years since Mazael had returned to Castle Cravenlock, the Grim Marches had faced and fought the Malrags and the runedead summoned by Lucan Mandragon’s dark sorcery.

And now they would drive out the annubaki beastmen…and the mighty Trichirabi Lord who commanded them. Vel-Anzakh had failed to take Castle Highgate. Of course, he hadn’t really been trying to take the fortress. He wanted Tymaen, who had a shard of the mighty necromantic artifact called the Wraithaldr embedded in her arm. So long as Tymaen remained alive, the shard was harmless, its dark magic kept at bay by the power of the Guardian of the Tervingi.

But in the hands (well, pincers) of a creature like Vel-Anzakh, the shard would be a mighty weapon of necromantic magic.

Assuming, of course, Mazael could keep his lords and knights from killing each other first.

A common enemy had a remarkable way of unifying the lords, knights, and headmen of the Grim Marches, but his nobles were mainly interested in land and power. Staying alive to enjoy their lands and power was, of course, a necessary prerequisite. Vel-Anzakh and his annubaki would slaughter noble alongside commoner without compunction. Nevertheless, Mazael’s nobles wanted more power and land and were not hesitant about reaching for it.

Which was how Mazael found himself riding next to Lord Jonaril Mandrake, struggling to keep his temper under control. He was mostly successful. Mazael was Demonsouled, one of the children of the ancient Old Demon, and so he found it more necessary than most men to keep his temper in check.

So the village of Lanfall is still part of Lord Robert’s holdings? said Jonaril. Lord Jonaril of Mandrake Hall was a squat keg of a man, both fat and strong. After the arrival of the Tervingi, he had grown a bushy beard, black shot through with gray. Perhaps it was in acknowledgment of Tervingi custom, or perhaps it was to conceal his prominent double chin.

Yes, I believe I just said that, my lord, said Mazael.

Jonaril coughed. I understand that the village became part of Robert’s lands after he married Lady Tymaen?

That is also correct, said Mazael. He had a sudden vision of planting his fist in Jonaril’s face, or of drawing Talon and slicing it through Jonaril’s throat. The Lord of Mandrake Hall had a thick neck, but Mazael was reasonably sure he could get the blade through with one sufficiently powerful swing…

We all assumed that Tymaen was dead in the destruction of Swordgrim, and so all her lands reverted to her former husband, said Jonaril. But her recent return has put that to doubt.

Mazael glanced down the line of horsemen riding behind him. He saw Sir Aulus, his standardbearer, and Sir Hagen Bridgebane, his armsmaster. Further down, he was Riothamus and Timothy. The Guardian and the wizard rode alongside Tymaen, instructing her in the use of magic. The shard of the Wraithaldr had imparted some of Randur Maendrag’s memories to Tyumen, and that included skill with the use of magic. Tymaen knew how to cast spells, but she had no practical experience of using magic, and she could easily kill herself. Much of Mazael’s army would be quite happy to see her dead, Lord Robert and his new bride not least among them, but if Tymaen died, the shard in her arm would wake up and start summoning undead.

What doubt is there, my lord? said Romaria from Mazael’s other side. His wife rode with easy grace, wearing leather armor and a green cloak, the staff of her bow resting across the saddle. Her long black hair had been bound in a thick braid, revealing the Elderborn points of her ears. The dark magic of the Wraithaldr slew her, but it brought her back.

It occurs to me, said Jonaril, arriving at last at his point, that Lord Robert’s overlordship of Lanfall might be in doubt since his second wife Tymaen returned from the grave. And six generations back, one of my ancestors was the lord of Lanfall…

But that was six generations ago, said Mazael. If there was any doubt of the legitimacy of Robert’s marriage to Guthinga, I decreed that his marriage to Tymaen was retroactively broken once she ran off with Lucan Mandragon. Since Tymaen had no other living relatives, the lordship of Lanfall reverts by default to Lord Robert. Especially since Tymaen is going to take religious vows at a priory once the Guardian figures out how to destroy that damned shard.

Jonaril opened his mouth, closed it again.

But thank you for bringing this to my attention, said Mazael. I would not want such matters to cause dissension among the lords of the Grim Marches in these dangerous times.

No, said Jonaril. No, of course not. It is well that you have thought of it, my lord.

Besides, said Mazael, once we defeat the annubaki, we will have spoils to share. All the annubaki have steel armor and swords, and we will be able to glut the markets of Barellion and Knightreach and the High Plain with them.

And the Travian market, said Jonaril at once. I have several contacts there. The Travian nobles are still feuding and have great need for arms and armor.

Do you? I remember hearing that, said Mazael, who had not forgotten. But so long as we all cooperate, we all shall prosper.

Jonaril bobbed his head. Yes, of course.

But we must first defeat the annubaki, said Mazael. There will be no spoils for anyone if the beastmen overrun the Grim Marches.

Indeed, said Jonaril. But I am pleased, my lord, that you have the considerations for victory in mind. After all, the gods could take us at any time…but the prudent man prepares for tomorrow, does he not?

That he does, said Mazael.

I had best see to my men, said Jonaril. Thank you for heeding my counsel, my lord.

With that, he turned his horse and rode back down the column.

For the gods’ sake, muttered Mazael once Jonaril was out of earshot, and Romaria laughed.

I thought you handled him quite skillfully, husband, said Romaria.

The annubaki are invading the Grim Marches, said Mazael. They’re led by an ancient horror out of the distant past. If Vel-Anzakh claims the shard of the Wraithaldr, he will probably conquer the Grim Marches and do the gods know what else besides. All that…and still my lords squabble for lands, titles, and riches. He let out an irritated breath. They can’t enjoy their damned honors if they’re dead.

Romaria shrugged. They have confidence in you as a captain. And were you any different as a young man?

I was, insisted Mazael. I didn’t care about land. I cared about fighting, drinking, gambling, and…

He stopped himself. What he cared about had been his next romantic conquest, but there wasn’t any reason to mention that to his wife. Besides, she already knew.

She grinned. I think we all know what you cared about. Who would have thought you would become a lord and captain of men?

I sure as hell did not, said Mazael. Though given that the alternative had been to lose himself to his Demonsouled fury and be devoured by his father, he had made the better of the two choices. Let us speak with the others. I want to make certain that no one is lagging.

Or that any of the lords have begun quarreling, said Romaria.

Mazael sighed. That, too.

He turned and headed north, intending to ride up and down the entire length of the marching column. First, though, he collected his squires, since he might need them to run messages. Mazael had four squires who tended to his armor and weapons and raised his tent at night. Though technically, he had three squires and one Tervingi shieldbearer, a concession to the reality of his dual role as liege lord of the Grim Marches and hrould of the Tervingi nation. The squires fell in behind Mazael, ready to carry out his commands.

First, he stopped to speak with Timothy and Riothamus.

My lord Mazael, said Timothy. The wizard had brown hair and a spiked beard in the Travian fashion, and he wore the usual clothes of the wizards’ brotherhood, a long black coat over black tunic, trousers, and boots.

Timothy, Riothamus, said Mazael. Any sign of foes?

None yet, said Riothamus, the Guardian of the Tervingi. Riothamus had thick black hair and calm blue eyes, and he wore his usual chain mail and leather jerkin, not all that different from the clothes of a Tervingi swordthain. Unlike a thain, he bore no weapons, save for a long staff of wood that almost looked bronze, the symbols cut into its length sometimes flashing with golden light. But we remain vigilant.

And how go the…practice lessons? said Mazael.

Atop her horse, Tymaen shivered. The former wife of Robert Highgate and former lover of Lucan Mandragon wore a brown riding dress and heavy boots. Her right sleeve had been pulled down to conceal the shard of black crystal that glittered on the inside of her forearm. That was a shard of the Wraithaldr, the object that had started this entire mess.

A small thing to trigger a war, Mazael supposed. But wars had been started over less, and the artifact in Tymaen’s arm had tremendous power.

My lord Mazael, said Tymaen, her voice quiet. She was a beautiful woman with long blond hair and enormous blue eyes. She really was quite pretty, but Mazael had always thought there was a…timorousness to her that he found off-putting. Yet that had changed somewhat since the siege of Castle Highgate.

Perhaps having some of the memories of Randur Maendrag, ancient high lord of Old Dracaryl, had given Tymaen the beginnings of a spine.

Well enough, said Riothamus. Tymaen finds herself in the strange position of having considerable skill but no experience.

That is very dangerous, said Timothy, because it’s quite possible to kill yourself with magic if you are not cautious.

Like how an inexperienced swordsman can chop off his own foot, said Romaria.

Precisely, said Riothamus. But, I do not think Tymaen is in any danger of killing herself now.

And how do you feel? said Romaria.

Tymaen hesitated. I…better, I think. The memories…they’re strange. She shivered. I feared that they would…overwrite me, that I would believe myself Randur Maendrag reborn. But instead, it is like having a book inside my head. I can page through it when I wish, and then close the book and return it to the shelf.

Then it is safe for her to access those memories? said Mazael to Riothamus.

The Guardian nodded. There is no danger they will influence her.

Good, said Mazael. Once you’re sure, have her search those memories for anything about the Wraithaldr. Randur Maendrag made the damned thing, maybe he’ll know how to destroy it.

Tymaen’s eyes widened. I hadn’t thought of that.

We will continue, my lord, said Timothy.

Good man, said Mazael, and he spurred his horse forward, heading further north along the marching column.

He hadn’t made it more than fifty yards when he spotted the horseman riding towards him. A young man, wearing leather armor, a short horse bow slung over his back and a pair of quivers hanging from his saddle. He was one of the horse archers, who also served as scouts for the growing army.

Voss! said Mazael. What news?

My lord, Lady Molly says you should come at once, said Voss. He was barely twenty, but he had seen enough battle to put a grave look on his face. Headman Alanovil and headman Toric are about to come to blows.

For the gods’ sake! said Mazael, his irritation boiling over into anger. Toric was a friend and Alanovil an ally, but Mazael still had a sudden intense vision of killing them both. What now?

Voss shrugged. I’m not sure. Lady Molly said you had best see for yourself, my lord.

Lead the way, said Mazael. Voss kicked his horse to a canter, and Mazael and Romaria followed suit, the squires trailing after. They rode past the four hulking war mammoths that Arnulf had brought with his men. The creatures looked like massive elephants, their bodies covered in brown fur, their heavy footfalls making the ground shiver a little. Beyond the mammoths, a portion of the marching column had ground to a halt, and two groups of Tervingi spearthains and swordthains glared at each other. The air was tense with violence.

Mazael was glad that at least it wasn’t the Tervingi squaring off against the Marcher nobles.

His daughter stood between the two groups, hands on her hips, a look of profound annoyance on her lean face. Molly Cravenlock looked like Mazael’s daughter – the same gray eyes, the same shade of brown hair. She wore chain mail and a leather jerkin, and her sword and dagger hung at her belt. Mazael recognized her expression. She wanted to draw her weapons and start using them and only stopped herself through an effort of will.

He understood the feeling better than he might have wished.

You’re going to fight each other over this? said Molly, her exasperation plain. We face both the annubaki and the Trichirabi, foes that Tervingar himself battled in ancient days, and you’re going to fight about a prostitute?

Concubine! bellowed one of the spearthains.

What’s going on? said Mazael, dropping from his saddle and joining Molly.

His daughter looked at him, and all the Tervingi thains started talking at once.

Mazael drew breath to speak, but Molly beat him to it.

Silence! she roared in a voice loud and high enough to shatter glass.

The battle of voices came to an abrupt halt.

Now, Father, said Molly with a smile that showed a lot of teeth, what’s happening is that one of Toric’s spearthains and one of Alanovil’s have decided to challenge each other to a formal duel over a prostitute.

Mazael looked at the two headmen. Well?

Toric son of Torvmund spoke first. He was a wiry man, made leather-faced from long days spent in the saddle of his griffin soaring high over the plains of the Grim Marches. I know not the details, hrould. But one of my men started shouting that our honor had been impugned, and I could not let that stand.

Nor could I, said Alanovil of Rathburh. He looked like a grim, weathered boulder, with long gray hair and a bushy gray beard that hung to his chest. One of my spearthains has claimed the woman as a concubine, and I could not let one of my warriors’ concubines be stolen.

Where is the woman in question? said Mazael.

You, said Molly, leveling a finger. Come here.

A woman stepped forward, her eyes lowered. Mazael could tell that she wasn’t Tervingi. Her dress was a different style than favored by the Tervingi, and the women of the Tervingi were generally bolder. Unless Mazael missed his guess, the woman was one of the camp followers who had accompanied Lord Jonaril’s men on their march to Castle Highgate.

Well, woman? said Mazael. Whose concubine are you?

The woman met his eyes and smiled. Are you Lord Mazael?

Aye, said Mazael.

Her smile widened. I'd be happy to be your concubine for a night.

A rumble of displeasure went up from both sides of the dispute.

I trust that settles that, said Mazael. If you want to fight each other over a prostitute, fine, but you’ll do it once the annubaki are defeated. He pointed at the woman. I suggest you stay near Lord Jonaril’s or Lord Robert’s men. Else you might get yourself killed in a blood feud.

The woman’s eyes widened at that, and she hastened away. One of Toric’s spearthains and one of Alanovil’s stared after her, obviously crestfallen. Had they both been in love with her?

Now, said Molly, I hope no one else has any reason for disturbing the peace between headman Toric and headman Alanovil. If we fight among ourselves now, it will be all the easier for the annubaki to destroy us.

I suggest, headmen, said Mazael, that you return to your places in the order of march. Should we come upon the enemy, it would be remiss of me to deny your men the glory of battle against our foe.

Of course, hrould, said Toric.

As you say, hrould, said Alanovil.

Neither man was a fool, and they both could see what Mazael and Molly had just done. They had given the headmen a way to back down from the confrontation without bloodshed and without losing face. One man stealing another’s concubine was a serious matter among the Tervingi. But two thains fighting over a camp follower was not worth the time of Tervingi headmen.

For the gods’ sake, muttered Molly, watching the Tervingi warriors return to their place in the column. When it comes to women, are men capable of thinking with their brains at all? No, don’t answer, I already know.

You had things well in hand, said Mazael. I don’t think you needed my help.

Molly shrugged. If I had to kill someone, I wanted your authority to do it. But it doesn’t seem to have been necessary.

You both handled it quite well, said Romaria.

Why, thank you, said Molly. Easy for you to say, though. You just had to sit atop your horse and look stern.

Romaria smiled. I’m not the liege lord of the Grim Marches or his heir. I hold no lands and command no knights or vassals.

And you’ll turn into a wolf and rip out the throat of anyone who disrespects you, said Molly. She beckoned, and one of her squires brought her horse over, and she climbed into the saddle with a grunt. I want to ride with Riothamus for the rest of the day. If the Tervingi have any more squabbles, he can calm them down.

Riothamus is teaching Tymaen, said Romaria. She’s frightened of you.

Sensible people are frightened of me, said Molly, turning her horse. Besides, Timothy is doing most of the work. Riothamus is just there to make sure the shard doesn’t explode in her arm.

If the shard did explode, Mazael thought, that would solve a lot of problems. Though no doubt an explosion would create a dozen smaller shards with the same power as the first.

With a shake of his head, he put the thought out of his mind and rode south, approaching Sir Hagen and Sir Aulus with the Cravenlock banner. Mazael looked to the east, watching the foothills and the towering wall of the snow-capped Great Mountains. He thought they could make another six or seven miles today, and then they would have to stop for the night. An army was a cumbersome and slow thing, and even veteran troops could only move so fast.

He headed for Riothamus and Timothy. Tymaen saw them coming, and her eyes widened a little when she saw Molly. Then she looked down, staring at the neck of her horse. Molly smirked a little and smiled at Riothamus.

Then she looked up, and her gray eyes widened.

A griffin circled overhead, a Tervingi skythain sitting in the creature’s saddle. The beast’s great wings spread over its leonine body, and Mazael felt the griffin’s fierce, eagle-like gaze sweep over him. The creature spiraled downward, swooping towards the ground.

One of the scouts, said Romaria. I suspect he has news.

The griffin landed a dozen paces away, the creature looking at the horses as if contemplating their potential as a meal. A Tervingi skythain looked at Mazael, one of Toric’s younger thains, a man named Kuragar. Like most skythains, he was on the wiry side, making it easier for a griffin to bear his weight.

What news, skythain? said Mazael.

Hrould, said Kuragar. There is a battle underway a mile to the south.

Mazael blinked. Annubaki?

Aye, a large warband of them, several hundred strong, said Kuragar. They are fighting an equal number of horsemen. One of your vassal knights, I think.

Go, said Mazael. Find the man commanding the force and tell him that aid is on the way. I will come myself as soon as possible.

As you command, said Kuragar. He tugged at his mount’s reins, and the griffin shrieked, spread its wings, and leaped into the air, flying away to the south.

Sir Hagen! shouted Mazael.

He issued a rapid series of commands, and his men rushed to carry them out. At Mazael’s order, Sir Hagen had kept a reserve of knights and mounted armsmen in readiness, prepared to repulse any annubaki raiders. The horsemen rushed forward, forming up, and Mazael, Romaria, Molly, and Riothamus joined them. Mazael really should have left Molly behind to command the host, but his daughter had the same eagerness for battle that he did, and denying her would have been more trouble than it was worth. Mazael left instructions that Lord Robert and headman Arnulf would share command in his absence, and then rode south at the head of several hundred knights and mounted armsmen.

A short time later, a cloud of dust rose on the horizon, and then the battle came into sight.

Hundreds of annubaki struggled against as many horsemen. The annubaki looked vaguely human, but only vaguely. Their heads were like those of jackals, and their double-jointed legs ended in paws tipped with deadly claws. The annubaki wore chain mail and helmets and carried hooked khopesh swords. It appeared as if the annubaki had emerged from the hills and ambushed a column of horsemen, preventing them from charging the beastmen. Massed cavalry could punch through infantry, but scattered horsemen had less of an advantage against footmen.

Those are Earnachar’s men, said Romaria, shading her eyes with one hand. His horsethains.

Mazael grunted. Earnachar son of Balnachar was grasping, ambitious, greedy, and overbearing. He was also one of the few Tervingi headmen farsighted enough to recognize the potential of the horse in war and had begun training some of his followers as horsethains, defying the traditional Tervingi dislike for mounted soldiers. Though Mazael had to admit that after the Skuldari war, Earnachar had proven much less willing to stir up trouble with his neighbors. Perhaps his encounter with the Prophetess of Marazadra had taught him wisdom.

Or he was afraid of crossing Mazael again.

One or the other.

Aulus! said Mazael. Sound the charge.

Aulus lifted his war horn to his mouth and blew a long blast. The sound rang over the battlefield, and for a stunned instant both the annubaki and the horsemen looked towards the newcomers. Mazael drew Talon and shouted, kicking his horse to a run, and with a yell, the rest of the knights and armsmen followed suit. Romaria did not draw a sword, but instead lifted a short horse bow and began sending arrows at the annubaki. Between the speed of her horse and the movement of the beastmen, she shouldn’t have been able to hit anything, but her Elderborn senses let her land hits with uncanny accuracy.

Then the horsemen thundered into the annubaki, and Mazael had no more time for thought, only killing.

An annubaki warrior sprang at him, snarling its yelping war cry, only for the creature to fall beneath the iron-shod hooves of his mount. His horse kept going, and Mazael swung Talon, both the strength of his arm and the momentum of his steed driving the blade of dragon claw. Talon sheared right through an annubaki head in a spurt of dark blood, and the creature’s body collapsed to the ground, its fanged head bouncing away.

All around Mazael, the horsemen tore through the annubaki in a broad wave of swords and hooves, and soon they had ridden past the scattered horsethains. Mazael shouted instructions to Aulus, and the standardbearer blew another sequence of blasts. The charging horsemen slowed and began to turn their mounts, preparing to charge the enemy again.

But the annubaki had seen enough. The surviving beastmen fled back towards the foothills. Mazael’s horsemen and the horsethains pursued, cutting down the annubaki as they fled.

Few of the beastmen escaped.

Later, after the killing was done, Mazael reined up and cleaned the blood from his blade. Romaria, Molly, and Riothamus waited nearby. Vel-Anzakh hadn’t made an appearance in the fight, and Riothamus hadn’t needed to bring his magic to bear. Mazael was pleased – fewer of his men had been hurt or killed fighting the annubaki than would have fallen in battle against a Trichirabi Lord. On the other hand, he wanted to find Vel-Anzakh. This war would not be over until the Trichirabi Lord was slain.

Oh, gods, muttered Molly. Here he comes.

Mazael turned his head and saw a group of Tervingi horsemen approaching, led by their headman.

I still think you should have killed him after Skuldar, said Molly.

He did what I asked of him, said Mazael. And if I killed everyone who did what I said, soon enough, no one at all would do what I commanded.

I know, I know, said Molly. She sighed and then grinned at him. Are you annoyed that you have lived long enough to become the voice of reason?

Immensely. But it is better than the alternative, said Mazael, and both Romaria and Riothamus laughed. Earnachar!

Earnachar son of Balnachar, headman of Banner Hill, reined up a few paces away.

Hrould! said Earnachar. He was a squat man, built like a keg, arms and chest heavy with muscle. "As the companions of mighty Tervingar accompanied him to glory in ancient battle, so have I and my horsethains come to the aid of our hrould in this new hour of war. We have driven our foes before us and heard their lamentations beneath the swords of