Demonsouled Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  “And why is that?” said Mazael.

  “The Knights Dominiar conquered the Old Kingdoms. When you defeated Sir Commander Aeternis at of Tumblestone, you broke the main strength of the Dominiars. It was all Grand Master Malleus could do to hold onto Mastaria, let alone fight the war with the Old Kingdoms.”

  Rachel looked at Mazael with admiration. “That was you? When the Mastarian war ended, we heard it was Sir Mandor Roland who led Lord Malden’s army to victory against the Knights Dominiar, at cost of his life.”

  Mazael shrugged. “Sir Mandor had been dead for three months by then. Lord Malden decided to credit the victory to his son.”

  “Wiser men know better, Mazael,” said Gerald.

  The woman laughed. “The Dominiars crushed Lord Malden north of Tumblestone, Sir Gerald. Your father undoubtedly wanted a Roland besides you to have a victory.”

  “So, who are you, and how do you know all this?” said Mazael.

  The woman smiled and did a mocking little bow from her saddle. “I am Romaria Greenshield, of Deepforest Keep.” That explained her unusual garb and knowledge. Deepforest lay within the Great Southern Forest, isolated and surrounded by the dense forest and the Elderborn. Visitors rarely came to the keep, and rumors swirled around the Greenshields. The men of Deepforest Keep lived and traded with the Elderborn, it was said, and adopted their ways as well. The peasants whispered that the women of Deepforest lay with the Elderborn, producing half-human, half-Elderborn abominations.

  “Deepforest Keep!” said Rachel. “There’s no such place!”

  Romaria grinned, her smile mocking edge. “Oh, there is. I should know. After all, I spent many years there. Now Castle Cravenlock...is there such place as that?”

  Gerald laughed, and Rachel blushed. “You needn’t be rude.”

  “What brings you this far north?” said Mazael. Chariot's nostrils flared, sniffing at Romaria's mare, and Mazael yanked at the reins. “Stop that.”

  Romaria laughed. “Don’t blame him. My little mare’s in heat. I suspect they’ll be at each other if we give them the chance.”

  “And then you’ll have to walk all the way back to Deepforest Keep, leading a pregnant horse,” said Mazael. “We can’t have that.”

  “Oh, I don’t plan on leaving Castle Cravenlock for some time. After all, I came all this way,” said Romaria. “My father, Lord Athaelin, sent me to visit Castle Cravenlock in his name.”

  “Why?” asked Mazael.

  Romaria looked towards the east. “My father believes there is something wrong near Castle Cravenlock. He says that dark magic haunts the countryside.”

  Timothy looked troubled. “There are...such things, my lord knights and my lady. Some wizards turn against their oaths and seek forbidden knowledge. The magisters execute those that seek such dark arts...but even the magisters cannot police every wizard in the kingdom.”

  “That’s rubbish,” said Rachel. “Rumors spread by addle-brained peasants and slanders told by drunken jongleurs.”

  Romaria raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen this dark magic. In the barrow fields near Deepforest, I saw a corpse claw itself free from the grave.” Her voice was calm, but her blue eyes grew distant. “It killed three of my father’s men before they took down the creature. It took fire and magic to kill the monster.” She smiled at Rachel. “Now, Lady Rachel, are you calling me addled?”

  “No,” said Rachel, her voice angry. “I’m calling you a liar.”

  Romaria laughed. “You might not see such things in your safe castle...but you’ll see them soon enough, if it’s not stopped.”

  “The only troubles I’ve seen here are court intrigues,” said Mazael. “Sir Tanam Crowley kidnapped Lady Rachel less than a week ago, under Lord Richard’s orders.”

  “My father’s told me of old Sir Crow,” said Romaria. “How did Lady Rachel here manage to get away from the likes of Sir Tanam?”

  “Sir Mazael and I...ah...had something of a hand in it,” said Gerald.

  “I see,” said Romaria. “My father believes that a renegade wizard is responsible for the troubles we’ve experienced. Perhaps our problems and yours have a common root?”

  “Nonsense,” said Rachel. “Utter nonsense. There is no wizard, no dark magic. The real enemy is Lord Richard Mandragon and his murdering son. Can’t you see that?”

  Mazael raised his hand. “No. I’ll hear her out. Gerald and I have dealt with rogue wizards before, during my service with Lord Malden. A wizard’s trickery might be at work here...no insult, Timothy.”

  “None taken, my lord knight,” said Timothy. “Such a schemer does not deserve the title of wizard.”

  “Lord Athaelin sent me to warn Lord Mitor, and to find and kill this wizard if necessary,” said Romaria.

  “Mazael, I can’t believe you’re listening to this!” said Rachel. “Sir Tanam is scouring the countryside for us, and Lord Richard is probably marching towards Castle Cravenlock with an army as we speak, and you sit here listening to this...this wild woman!”

  Romaria's mocking grin returned. “Wild, am I? What does that make you? Tame? Helpless?Helpless enough to let Sir Tanam spirit you away in the dark of the night?”

  “Enough,” said Mazael. “I don’t care if you’re right. Insult my sister again, and I’ll see to it that all your talk of wizards and walking corpses falls on deaf ears. Understand?”

  Rachel glowered, but Romaria only sketched a shallow bow. “If you wish.”

  “So, you think a rogue wizard is behind all this turmoil?” Mazael said. “What do you intend to do if you find him?”

  “That’s simple enough,” said Romaria. “A man that would summon such abominations as I saw does not deserve to live. I will kill him.”

  “With what?” said Mazael. Her flippant confidence annoyed him, but it also appealed to him. In some strange way, she reminded Mazael of himself. “Do you have magic?”

  Romaria smiled. “I do.”

  “Witchcraft!” hissed Rachel.

  Mazael looked at his sister. “Weren’t you complaining two days ago that Sir Tanam had accused you of that?”

  Timothy looked interested. “You can cast spells, Lady Romaria?”

  “Oh, a few,” she said. “Watch.” She leaned forward and her fingers plucked at Mazael’s ear. His hand lanced for his sword, but she leaned back, something glittering in her fingers. Romaria grinned and flipped a silver coin in her fingers.

  Timothy’s disappointment was plain. “That is not magic, my lady. Simple trickery. Any street charlatan could do the same.”

  “Quite true,” agreed Romaria. “But show me a street charlatan who can do this...” She balanced the coin atop her hand, closed her eyes, and swung her fist in a slow circle. Her lips moved in silent words and the fingers of her free hand waggled. Then her blue eyes opened wide, and she thrust her hands in Timothy's direction. A spray of silver coins, dozens of them, burst from her fingers and rained across the path. Then Romaria snapped her fingers, and the coins vanished in a flash.

  “And I’ll eat your horse,” she finished.

  “Illusion,” said Timothy. He tugged at the spike of his beard. “I was never very skilled at illusion.”

  “Very impressive,” said Mazael. “But what use is it? Will you throw illusionary coins at this renegade? Can you use that sword over your shoulder?”

  “Better than you could, I imagine,” said Romaria.

  Mazael grinned at her. “We’ll see.”

  He had Lion free from it scabbard in an instant, the blade arcing for her head. Romaria could not possibly get her heavy blade out in time to block his strike. Yet she did. Lion clanged against her sword, and the gray light of the overcast day flashed from the steel of their naked blades.

  “Sir Mazael!” said Gerald, grabbing Mazael's arm. “Have you completely lost your mind? You just attacked a traveler, a woman, on the road!”

  “He didn’t attack me,” said Romaria. “His sword was an inch too far to the left. It would have missed me en
tirely. Sir Mazael just wanted to see if I was all talk and no action.”

  “Not bad,” said Mazael, sliding Lion back into its sheath.

  “You, sir, are mad,” said Gerald.

  “Oh, undoubtedly,” said Mazael. “Lady Romaria, will you accompany us to Castle Cravenlock?”

  Rachel looked shocked. “You...you can’t be serious! She’s wild, and she knows magic...a woman!”

  “Three swords have a better chance than two,” said Mazael. “And she knows how to use that ugly sword of hers, I’m sure of it.”

  “Why not?” Romaria said. She turned her coin over in her fingers, an odd light in her eyes. “Maybe I can shock your lord brother Mitor into action.”

  Mazael thought of what Mitor would say when he met her and laughed. Rachel was right. Romaria Greenshield was wild. But she was no wilder than Mazael himself.

  “After all, Rachel,” Mazael said. “If Mitor starts this war, we’ll need every sword we can find.”

  3

  The Townsmen’s Welcome

  The mist cleared, and Mazael set a hard pace for Castle Cravenlock. Soon the clouds broke, the setting sun flooding the hills with light and shadow. Mazael watched the shadows, expecting each to hold a hidden enemy, but none appeared. Night fell, and Mazael called for a stop. Better to rest and delay a night than to have a horse break a leg in the darkness.

  They set up camp at a small hollow in the base of a weathered hill. Timothy cast a spell to make a six-inch jet of flame burst from his finger and started the campfire. Wesson saw to the horses while Mazael pulled out the scanty remains of their supplies.

  He saw a flicker of movement atop the hill. A large black hunting cat perched on the rocks above, firelight glinting off a yellow eye. Before Mazael could shout a warning, Romaria spun, her arms a blur, and an arrow sprouted from the cat's skull. It twitched and fell forward, landing with a meaty thump at the edge of the hollow.

  “What was that?” said Rachel.

  “A good shot,” said Mazael.

  Romaria grinned and lowered her bow. “That, and supper.”

  They skinned the cat and had fresh meat. Mazael and Gerald had long ago learned to eat when food was offered, and Romaria looked almost catlike herself in satisfaction. Rachel turned pale when they skinned the cat, excused herself, and went to sleep.

  “Women have little stomach for the sight of blood,” said Gerald.

  “That so?” said Romaria around a mouthful of meat. Mazael snorted laughter.

  “Lady Romaria is correct,” said Timothy. He pulled a chunk of hot meat from a bone. “All wizards are trained as physicians. If you’ve ever attended a woman in childbirth...well, it is not a sight for those with weak stomachs.”

  “I’ll take first watch,” said Romaria.

  “Why?” said Mazael.

  “I can’t sleep in this country,” said Romaria. “The gods only know what wanders this land at night.”

  “Mercenaries, bandits, and hunting cats,” said Mazael. “You’ve already taken care of the cat, so I suspect you’ll have little difficulty with the other two.”

  “Mercenaries and bandits don’t scare me,” said Romaria. “An arrow through the eye will fix them, just like the cat. It’s the walking dead, the zuvembies, that frighten me.” She looked out into the darkness. “Night’s their time.”

  “An arrow through the eye will stop a dead man?” said Mazael.

  Romaria snorted. “Not likely. But dead men burn, just the same as the living.” She pointed at the fire. “I mean to keep that going all night. It’ll keep away the animals, and if any of the zuvembies rise tonight, fire will ward them off.”

  “Pardon, Lady Romaria, but what was that word you used? Zuvembie?” said Timothy. “I speak five languages, yet have never heard that word.”

  “It’s Elderborn” said Romaria. “In Caerish, it means...oh, ‘demon corpse’, or ‘dead devil’. Not an exact translation, but you get the idea.”

  Timothy blinked. “You know the Elderborn?”

  Mazael laughed. "She said she was from Deepforest Keep, didn't she?"

  Romaria grinned. “Know them? I grew up with them. Who do you think taught me to use a bow like that? Lord Richard’s crossbowmen? The Elderborn have long been allied with Deepforest Keep. We look out for each other. In fact, they were the ones who first warned us of the dangers. Their druids sensed a disturbance. Not long after, the first zuvembie rose from the barrows.”

  “Mitor won’t believe you,” said Mazael.

  Romaria leveled a flat glance at him. “Is that so? Do you believe me?”

  Mazael thought it over. “I think I do. You don’t seem the sort to make up a wild tale. And Gerald and I saw a necromancer conjure up a shade once, before we killed him. That’s not the sort of thing you forget. I know such things exist. But Mitor won’t believe you.”

  “Why not?” said Romaria.

  “He’s a fool,” Mazael said. “And you’re a woman.”

  “I noticed,” said Romaria.

  “Mitor will look at you and see a woman carrying a man’s weapons and wearing a man’s clothes. At best, he’ll laugh at you. At worst, he’ll have you imprisoned for obscenity,” said Mazael.

  “Yet you believe me,” said Romaria. “Why?”

  Mazael laughed. “I had better teachers. My father was a kind fool and my brother is a cruel fool, but I don’t think it runs in the blood. Master Othar and Sir Nathan taught me otherwise.”

  “Sir Nathan Greatheart is a good man, and a friend of my father,” said Romaria. “In Deepforest, some of the Elderborn still tell the story how he helped save the Tribe of the Wolf when he was a young man.”

  “He and Master Othar taught me near everything I know,” said Mazael. “I was a wild, undisciplined, violent fool.” He grinned. “I suppose I still am.”

  Gerald took a sip from his waterskin. “No, you’re just mad.”

  Mazael laughed. “My mother hated me and my father ignored me. It was as if they wanted me to be cruel and lawless. I don’t know what would have become of me were it not for Sir Nathan and Master Othar.” He looked at the sleeping form of his sister. “And Rachel. Gods, if it weren’t for those three, I would probably have been another Toraine Mandragon.”

  “Well, it is quite late,” said Gerald. “I shall turn in.”

  “I’ll keep the fire burning,” said Romaria.

  “Why not prepare some fire arrows?” said Mazael. “If this...whatever you called them, these walking dead men show up, you can just shoot them full of flaming arrows. No need to get close with a burning brand.”

  Romaria stared at him for a moment, and then laughed. “That is a good idea! I should have thought of it myself.” She pulled strips of rags from her saddlebags and began to wind them around a few of her arrows.

  Mazael rolled himself up in his cloak and went to sleep.

  The morning dawned bright and clear and hot, and they resumed their eastward wide.

  “There,” said Mazael three hours later. “There’s Castle Cravenlock.”

  The castle sat at the edge of the hill country. overlooking a broad swath of cultivated land along the banks of the Eastwater. It perched atop the easternmost of the gray granite crags, its towers grim and strong, its walls crowned with battlements. The banner of the Cravenlocks, three crossed swords on a field of black, flapped over the castle towers. Mazael also saw the red rose on white of Lord Marcus Trand, the brown bow on green of Lord Roget Hunterson, and other banners. Mitor had visitors.

  “Home,” Rachel said.

  “A formidable fortress,” said Gerald.

  “Ugly place,” said Romaria. Rachel shot a furious glare at her.

  “I tend to agree,” said Mazael.

  “I don’t see a gate,” said Romaria.

  “The barbican’s on the other side of the castle,” said Mazael. “The main road from White Rock and the other villages leads through the town. We’ll take that way.”

  They rode past herds of grazing sheep,
and the shepherds gaped. Mazael grinned. He could imagine that two knights, a woman dressed in man’s clothing, a Travian wizard, a noblewoman, and a boy squire made quite a sight. They rounded the base of the hill and Cravenlock Town, an overgrown village of four thousand people, came into sight, smoke rising from hundreds of chimneys. The main road passed through the town's gates, and Mazael Cravenlock came home after fifteen years.

  The peasants teeming the narrow streets parted before them. A murmur of whispers rose up as they recognized Lady Rachel, a buzz of surprise spreading through the crowd.

  Mazael frowned. Why were so many people on the streets? At this time of day, they should have been in their fields or workshops.

  “Lady Rachel!” he heard one man say. “She’s come back.”

  Mazael stared at the peasants. He saw worry on their faces, and lines from years of hard labor. But most of all, he could saw the fear. Suddenly Romaria’s tales of zuvembies didn’t seem so outlandish.

  “That Sir Mazael,” another man said. “He must’ve rescued her. He could outwit the Old Crow, too. He killed the Grand Master of the Knights Dominiar, I heard it myself!”

  “Who’s the handsome knight, the one with the golden hair?”

  “That strange woman...wearing a sword?”

  He heard another voice, just at the edge of his hearing, that made his skin crawl. “Sir Mazael’s come back...he’ll set things right, he’ll put an end to this bloody business...”

  Romaria flipped a silver coin over her knuckles. Her hands moved with fluid grace through the gestures of the spell she had used yesterday. She thrust out both hands and threw handfuls of silver coins into the crowds. A gasp went up, and Mazael saw that the coins were real, this time.

  “How does she do that?” said Gerald as the peasants thronged around the coins.

  Mazael shrugged and waggled his fingers. “Magic.”

  They rode into the town square and Mazael reined Chariot up.

  “What in the hells?” Mazael said.

  Little wonder such a crowd had gathered.

  A gallows rose in the center of the square. A dozen Cravenlock armsmen stood around it in a ring, holding back the crowd with their spears. Some of the peasants screamed curses, and the town looked on the edge of a riot.