Free Soul of Sorcery (Book 5) by Jonathan Moeller Page B

the cave.” He frowned. “And…there’s something else. I sensed it before, in the tower. I think someone used a spell to cause the earthquake, to open the cave.” 
    “The San-keth?” said Mazael. “Some renegade like Malavost?” He hesitated. “The Old Demon?”
    But Molly wondered why would the Old Demon bother with earthquakes and undead warriors? He had more effective weapons at his disposal. 
    “I…” Lucan shook his head, as if trying to remember something. “I don’t know. The spell to create an earthquake like that is potent, but simple. It would beyond me, even with the bloodstaff.”
    “Without your stolen power, you mean,” said Molly.
    Lucan glared at her, his expression so cold that Molly reached for her weapons. 
    “Even with the bloodstaff,” said Lucan, his expression calming. “Nevertheless. It took a great deal of power to open this cave.” 
    “So why go to the effort?” said Molly, watching the wizard. She didn't understand why Mazael trusted him. Romaria thought it because Lucan alone had known Mazael’s secret for some time, and had not betrayed him. Yet Romaria did not trust Lucan Mandragon, and neither did Molly. “Why dig up some old undead from Dracaryl? Whoever conjured the earthquake didn’t try to take command of them.”
    “Perhaps there was something else in the cave,” said Lucan.
    Mazael pointed with Lion. “Let’s find out.”
    He walked into the cave. Molly waited until Lucan entered, and then walked after him.
    She was not going to turn her back on him. 
    Lucan’s blue light cast wild shadows over the cave's ragged walls. Mazael walked in the lead, Lion ready. Molly kept her sword and dagger raised, watching for any sign of more undead.
    She also kept an eye on Lucan.
    The cavern opened into a large corridor of black stone. The walls and floor gleamed, reflecting the light in Lucan’s hand, and Molly saw her ghostly reflection in the dark stone. 
    “This looks like the inside of Arylkrad,” said Molly. 
    “Unsurprising,” said Lucan, “given that the high lords of Dracaryl built both.” 
    The corridor ended in a large domed chamber, a smaller replica of the vast space that had held the Glamdaigyr. An empty throne sat beneath the dome, and stone benches lined the base of the wall. 
    “Ardasan sat there, I warrant,” said Mazael, pointing at the throne, “and the runedead waited on those benches.”
    “Gods,” muttered Molly. “They waited here for all these centuries? For what?”
    “For the high lord Randur Maendrag,” said Lucan. “I suspect he left Ardasan and the runedead in the cave, intending to return for them. Instead he perished in whatever cataclysm of dark magic devoured Dracaryl. So Ardasan was forgotten.”
    “You seemed like you recognized the name,” said Mazael. “Randur Maendrag. Did you know of him?”
    “Aye,” said Lucan. “In some old books. He was one of the last high lords of Dracaryl. And I think he may have been my ancestor.” 
    “Your ancestor?” said Molly.
    Lucan shrugged. “According to the account of my family’s history, one of Randur Maendrag’s sons escaped the ruin of Dracaryl and came to the Grim Marches. He was the first Lord of Swordgrim.” 
    “A pity he didn’t recognize you as his old lord’s heir,” said Mazael. “You could have commanded him to lay down his arms and saved us a lot of trouble.”
    Lucan blinked, as if an idea had just come to him. “Commanded. Yes.”
    “Is there anything else here?” said Mazael. “Any other undead, any other sources of magical power?” 
    Lucan muttered a spell. 
    “No,” he said after a moment. “Nothing. Only the wards are left, and those are fading. Seal off the entrance to the cave, and no one will ever trouble this place again.”
    Mazael nodded and returned Lion to its scabbard. “Good.”
    “Is something amiss?” said Lucan.
    “No,” said Mazael.
    “You look disappointed,” said Molly. 
    “A bit,” said Mazael. He