Free Soul of Swords (Book 7) by Jonathan Moeller Page A

before. He could do so again.
    But none of those rebellious children had ever carried a sword forged by the High Elderborn. 
    He felt a twinge of misgiving. The High Elderborn were dust and bones…but their weapons remained. Mazael carried Lion, and the Tervingi Guardian wielded that miserable staff. The High Elderborn had created those weapons to destroy the Old Demon, and even after three thousand years, they still posed a threat to him. 
    But no matter. Lucan would open the Door of Souls, and his army of runedead would keep Mazael from reaching Knightcastle. And once the Door opened, the Old Demon would claim the power for himself.
    He would become a god…and no weapon would ever have the power to threaten him again.
    And the world would be his to do with as he pleased.
    He strode into the shadows, leaving Lucan to do his work.

Chapter 5 - Raiders

    Hugh Chalsain, the Prince of Barellion and liege lord of Greycoast, awoke to feel a rock digging into his back.
    He sat up with a curse, stubble rasping beneath his palms as he rubbed his face. His sword and dagger lay next to his bedroll, close at hand in case the Aegonar decided to launch a night raid. Hugh pulled on his boots, wrapped his sword belt around his waist, and left the tent.
    He stepped into the tangled woods that housed his camp. The woods offered concealment from any passing Aegonar scouts, though no comfortable places to lie down, alas. Hundreds of tents spread in every direction, and smoke rose from small cooking fires as the knights and armsmen of Hugh’s force awoke.
    He wondered how many of them would still live come nightfall.
    “My lord Prince?” A boy of twelve hurried over, clad in chain mail and a green surcoat adorned with the sigil of a broken spear. Unlike his father, the boy was whip-thin. “What are your commands?”
    “Bring me some breakfast, Roger,” Hugh told his squire, “and find your father and Lord Karlam.” He did his best to keep the scowl off his face at the mention of Karlam Ganelon. “Bid them to attend me at once.”
    Roger ran off into the camp.
    Hugh still was not used to people jumping to obey his commands, even though he was the Prince of Barellion. But he had never expected to become the Prince. He was Prince Everard Chalsain’s youngest son, and Hugh had expected to ride in his father’s armies or wander across the realm in search of coin and battle.
    But instead Malaric had butchered Hugh’s family…leaving Hugh as both the Prince and the last son of the House of Chalsain. He had never wanted to become Prince, and would have been content to ride from petty fight to petty fight.
    He didn’t want to be Prince.
    But, then, he hadn’t wanted the runedead to arise or the Aegonar to invade, either. He might as well wish for the sun not to rise every morning. 
    Two men strode towards him. One was burly and wore a surcoat with the Prince’s colors over steel plate, his head crowned by a mop of curly brown hair. The other was tall and gaunt, with iron-gray hair, and wore a long black wizard’s coat. 
    “Well, sir knight, master wizard, what news?” said Hugh.
    Sir Philip Montigard grunted and scratched his beard. “The news is that it’s damned cold and damned early, and I want something hot to eat.”
    The master wizard Maurus scowled, which was little different than his usual expression. “The Prince of Barellion has requested our presence, Sir Philip. You would do well to show respect.”
    Montigard snorted. “Aye, he’s the Prince, and no doubt about it.” He gave a bow in Hugh’s direction. “But I remember when he was just Sir Hugh, and we’d visit the brothels together. Now we tramp through the mud and chase down serpent-worshipping madmen.” He sighed. “I miss the old days.”
    “As do I,” said Hugh. 
    But things were not entirely bleak. In the old days he had not yet met Adelaide…
    “Ah,” said Montigard with a snort, “you’re thinking of your wife. I suggest we whip the Aegonar