Demonsouled Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  “One other thing,” said Romaria. “He said our fates rest in each others’ hands. He said that I must save you, and that you must save me, or we will both be lost forever.”

  “Don’t leave me,” whispered Mazael. “I can’t face this myself. If it weren’t for you, I would have slain Mitor and Simonian and likely half the castle.”

  Romaria nodded and took his hand. “Only if you promise not to leave me.”

  “I do,” said Mazael. They sat together for a long time.

  He looked at his healed hand and thought of Demonsouled.

  Chapter VIII

  1

  The Old Crow Roosts

  Mazael awoke to pounding at his bedchamber door.

  He had fallen asleep in one of the room’s great overstuffed chairs, Romaria curled besides him. She had sat up beside him until he slipped into exhausted stupor, and for some reason her presence kept the nightmares away.

  Mazael wanted to kiss her. He dared not. Rage had unlocked the demon within his skull. What if passion did the same? He was afraid for her. He was afraid of himself.

  How far he had fallen. A month ago he had feared nothing.

  The pounding redoubled. “Sir Mazael!” came Adalar’s voice, faint through the thick wood. “Sir Mazael, you must come at once!”

  Romaria’s eyes fluttered open. “We have company.”

  “He wouldn’t come for nothing," said Mazael. Suppose the madness took him and he slew Adalar in his rage? How could he face Sir Nathan?

  Mazael rose pushed the door open.

  “Sir Mazael,” said Adalar. “Lord Mitor commands your presence in the courtyard at once.”

  “Why?”

  “We’d best go, Mazael.” Gerald waited behind Adalar with Wesson at his side, clad in his finest surcoat. “You’ll never believe who’s come to pay Lord Mitor a visit.”

  Mazael strode into the stairwell and looked out the window. A band of armored lancers sat atop their horses within the barbican. One of the lancers held a tall standard, flying a banner with a black crow clutching a craggy rock in its talons.

  The banner of Sir Tanam Crowley.

  Mazael swore. “Crowley. Is he mad? Mitor’s liable to give him a swift axe to the back of the neck.”

  “He only brought fifty men,” said Gerald. “There was some commotion. The guards nearly opened fire on sight. Sir Tanam said something, and they went to fetch Lord Mitor instead.” Gerald frowned. “Perhaps he went mad. Surely he knows Lord Mitor will exact vengeance for Lady Rachel’s abduction.”

  “Oh, he’s here for a reason, all right,” said Mazael. “Lord Richard’s reasons. Lord Richard is up to something here, don’t doubt it. Adalar, get my armor and my sword belt. Gerald, send Wesson to get Timothy. Lord Richard’s younger son is supposedly a skilled wizard, and he could have sent other wizards as well. It’s possible there’s some trickery here.”

  Adalar retrieved Mazael’s weapons and armor, Wesson returned with Timothy in tow, and they descended the stairs of the King's Tower. Lord Mitor and his court waited near the keep, surrounded by two hundred armsmen in Cravenlock colors. Sir Nathan stood with the armsmen, and Simonian waited in Mitor's shadow. Mazael wondered why Mitor had been foolish enough to allow Sir Tanam to inside the castle.

  Sir Tanam sat atop his horse with his lancers. His face was still bruised.

  “Sir Tanam!” called Mazael. “How unexpected to see you once again.”

  Sir Tanam grinned a gap-toothed smile and rode over. “The same to you as well, Sir Mazael. I’d not expected to see you at all. My lord Richard was most displeased.”

  “I can imagine,” said Mazael. “Two men and a boy making off with his prize.”

  “Dreadfully embarrassing,” said Sir Tanam. He scratched at his nose. “Gods, that aches. You punch like a mule, you know.”

  “Will you now take the opportunity for repayment?” said Mazael.

  Sir Tanam laughed. “Gods above, no. War is war, after all. You could have killed me, and I certainly would have killed you had I the chance, so I’m grateful to have gotten off with a few bruises and a sore jaw.”

  “My brother might be forgiving. I am not,” said Mitor. Sir Albron stepped to his side, Rachel waiting behind him. “Might I remind you, Old Crow, that you broke my good faith when last you visited my castle? You abducted my sister. It was only through good fortune that Lady Rachel was returned to me. Why should I not repay your betrayal with death?”

  Sir Tanam shrugged. “For one, Lord Richard commanded me. He seems to think that your sister is consorting with dark powers.” Rachel tensed, and Albron's smiling gaze fixed on the Old Crow.

  “Liar!” said Rachel.

  Albron stepped forward, his hand resting on his sword hilt. “You besmirch the honor of my betrothed. That is most discourteous.”

  Sir Tanam laughed. “Discourteous? You wrong me. I have never been discourteous to a lady.”

  “You did kidnap her,” said Mazael.

  “Well, true,” said Sir Tanam. “But we were very courteous about it.”

  “Enough!” said Mitor. “I will not listen to you mince words with my armsmaster!”

  Sir Tanam frowned at Albron. “Your armsmaster? Sir Nathan looks younger than I recall.”

  Mitor ignored the jibe. “You did these crimes at the command of Richard Mandragon? Well, those accusations are a lie, a vicious slander. Lord Richard is my vassal, I am the liege lord of the Grim Marches!”

  Sir Tanam scratched his nose. “Lord Richard disagrees, my lord.”

  “Indeed?” said Simonian. “Men oft believe the strangest things, my lord knight.”

  Sir Tanam looked at Mitor. “Oh, truly.”

  Mitor sneered. “Let your precious Lord Richard slander. Let him lie until he runs out of breath. I’ll take him to task soon enough. I am the rightful liege lord of the Grim Marches. Richard Mandragon is a traitor and a usurper. I shall enforce my justice.”

  “Really?” said Sir Tanam. “I am most curious, my lord. How do you plan to do that?”

  Mitor laughed. “Did you not see the great army surrounding my castle, Old Crow? Are you blind? My armies shall crush Lord Richard’s and send him fleeing back to Swordgrim.”

  “Indeed?” said Sir Tanam. “Truly, my lord, your army seems formidable. So formidable, in fact, that I rode right through them. No one noticed my presence until my men and I knocked at your gates. Indeed, my lord, I fear for Lord Richard if he must face men such as yours.”

  “Wars are not always won through swords,” said Sir Albron.

  “Truly,” said Sir Tanam. “Is that where the sorcery comes in, then?”

  Albron smiled. “One more warning, sir. I’ll not have you insult my betrothed.”

  “Bah!” said Mitor. “You came here for a reason, Crowley. Have done with it. I’ll not have all my day wasted with your squawking.”

  Sir Tanam bowed. “As you say, my lord. Your army is clearly superior. You’ll soon have the chance to prove it. Lord Richard’s army is three days march from here.”

  Mitor jerked. “What?”

  “Impossible,” said Albron.

  “Quite possible,” said Sir Tanam. “After Sir Mazael’s most splendid rescue of his sister, I made haste for Swordgrim. Once Lord Richard had heard my news, he marched. He had already gathered his armies. With him is all the power of Swordgrim, the armsmen of his loyal vassal Lord Jonaril Mandrake and a dozen other lords...including Lord Astor Hawking of Hawk’s Reach, Sir Commander.” Sir Tanam bowed to Sir Commander Galan. “Perhaps you’ll have the opportunity for a reunion.”

  Sir Commander Galan made a fist. “You mock me?”

  “Not at all,” said Sir Tanam. “I speak the truth. Lord Richard is three days from here with twenty-five thousand men. You really didn’t know? Your scouts must be formidable, my lord Mitor. Truly, I fear for my lord Richard.”

  “Do not mock me!” snarled Mitor. “Has the Dragonslayer sent you to surrender, to submit himself to my rightful lordship?”
/>
  Amusement flickered across Crowley’s battered face. “Not at all. Lord Richard wishes for this to end without bloodshed. Consequently, he is giving you one final chance, Lord Mitor. Disband your armies and travel to Swordgrim with your court and family. You will face his judgment for your acts. He will be merciful. These are his terms.”

  “What acts are those?” said Mazael.

  Sir Tanam scratched at his nose again. “Ah...well, treason, to start, rebellion, murder, inciting banditry...oh, and sorcery and idolatry. Let’s not forget those. Lord Richard has no quarrel with you, Sir Mazael. You acted out of ignorance when you freed Lady Rachel. No doubt you’d have sided with Lord Richard had you known the truth.”

  “I will not fight against my sister,” said Mazael. “These stories of a San-keth cult are the worst sort of slander.”

  “Perhaps,” said Sir Tanam. “I’ve heard stranger things, but not many. You do know, Sir Mazael, that if you side with Lord Richard, you’ll become the new lord of Castle Cravenlock once he is victorious?”

  “Treason!” bellowed Lord Marcus Trand. He shoved his way to Mitor’s side. “My liege lord, I knew he plotted against you from the start. Let me...”

  “Silence!” said Mitor. “Speak not another word, Old Crow, or else you and my brother will die inch by inch.”

  “It is folly, you know,” said Simonian. “Lord Mitor is the rightful liege lord of the Grim Marches. The gods will surely favor him and grant him victory. Stand with him now, while you still can, Sir Tanam.” He smiled. “It is not yet too late.”

  Sir Tanam laughed. “Whatever gods you pray to favor Lord Mitor, I’ve no doubt. But I’m quite sure the gods of heaven favor Lord Richard.”

  Mitor quivered with rage. “A moment, Old Crow. My advisors and I need to discuss my answer for Richard Mandragon’s follies.”

  Sir Tanam bowed. “By all means. Do hurry, though. You only have a few days left.” Crowley crossed the courtyard and rejoined his lancers.

  “Impudent old crow,” said Sir Albron. “So Lord Richard wished to send his rightful liege lord an emissary? Well, my lord, let us make an answer. Hack off the Old Crow’s head and send it back. Richard Mandragon will have his answer.”

  “That is dishonorable in the extreme,” said Sir Nathan. “Will you advise Lord Mitor to murder a guest?”

  Sir Albron’s malicious smile fixed on the old knight. “Honor, Sir Nathan? Where is the honor in abducting Lady Rachel?“

  “Lady Rachel was neither harmed nor mistreated,” said Nathan. “There is a difference between that and slaughter.”

  “Indeed,” said Albron. “Perhaps when I’m your age I’ll have gained the wisdom to understand it. Sir Tanam is a fool, my lord Mitor. He has marched with fifty men into the heart of your power. Kill him now. Let Richard Mandragon know the price of opposing you!”

  Mazael scoffed. “Sir Tanam might be a fool. But if you listen to Albron, Mitor, you’re a bigger fool still.”

  Albron’s glittered like cold gems. “Why is that?”

  “You dare call me a fool?” said Mitor, spinning on Mazael.

  Mazael waved a hand at Sir Tanam’s men. “Look at them, Mitor! Why were you so foolish as to invite them inside the castle? Look at the way those lancers are positioned! You give the order to attack and they’ll ride you down before your men can react.”

  Mitor flushed. “They...no, they wouldn’t dare...I am the liege lord...they cannot...”

  Lord Marcus blanched. “Perhaps it would be better to parley.”

  “Bah!” said Sir Commander Galan. “Are we to fear this rabble? A Justiciar Knight could take them five-on-one.”

  “Fine, then!” said Mazael. “It’s in your hands, Mitor. Command your armsmen to attack. Pray Sir Albron’s steel will protect you. Trust in Simonian’s arts to defend you. But you had best hope that you were wise in your choice of servants, or else you’ll taste the Old Crow’s lance.”

  Mitor’s eyes flicked from Simonian, to Albron, and then to the Old Crow’s lancers. For a moment Mazael thought that Mitor would order his men to attack. Mazael’s hand clenched around Lion’s hilt. He would make certain Rachel survived, at least.

  “No,” said Mitor. “I’ll not have men say I stooped to the level of Richard the Usurper. I’ll not murder men in the shadow of my castle. We shall parley with them. I intend to send Lord Richard a message.”

  “What message shall we send, my lord?” said Sir Albron.

  “We shall tell Sir Tanam that his thieving master must disband his army. Richard shall come before me and acknowledge my liege lordship. He may then return to his northern estates, for I intend to take Swordgrim as mine once more. But he must leave his son Toraine as my hostage, to ensure his obedience.”

  “Lord Richard will never agree to such terms,” said Sir Nathan.

  Mitor scoffed. “I expect he won’t! I am the liege lord of the Grim Marches! He will come to me and ask for peace, or else I shall sweep him from the face of the earth.”

  “With what?” said Mazael. “With the ten thousand rabble you have crouching outside your gates?”

  Mitor’s lips pulled back from his teeth. “You go too far!”

  “I have not gone far enough!” said Mazael. “Think, my lord brother! This is your last chance. You can’t believe that this rebellion of yours will succeed. With what will you defeat Lord Richard? Your soldiers? He has fifteen thousand more than you. Simonian’s arts? Lord Richard will have brought his vassals’ court wizards. With Sir Albron’s leadership? Albron can’t even set a decent guard. Lord Richard isn’t threatening you. He’s giving you one last chance to turn back from the abyss.”

  Mitor went deathly pale. His hands clenched into fists, the knuckles shining white through his skin, and for a moment, just a moment, despair covered Mitor's face. For the first time Mazael wondered what had driven his older brother to rebellion.

  Then Mitor's face hardened. “You will regret those words, Mazael. I’ve tolerated you and your arrogance long enough. When I come into my liege lordship, there will be a reckoning, do not doubt it. With the Mandragons, with all the fools who supported them, and with you.”

  “My lord speaks justice,” murmured Simonian.

  “Your lord is a fool,” said Mazael, disgusted.

  Mitor swept away from them.

  “You’ve reached a decision, my lord?” said Sir Tanam.

  “Old Crow!” said Mitor. “You may carry this message back to your murdering lord. Tell Richard Mandragon that he is to disband his armies and dismiss my vassal lords from his service. Then he and his sons, Toraine and Lucan Mandragon, must come with all haste to Castle Cravenlock where they shall submit to my judgment.” Mitor smiled. “I have not decided if I shall be merciful. Most likely not.”

  “I see,” said Sir Tanam. “Lord Richard’s not like to welcome those terms.”

  “I know that!” shouted Mitor. “If Richard wants peace, let him come to me and grovel for it!”

  Sir Tanam sighed. “Then it looks as if I’m to wear out my poor horse riding back and forth between Lord Richard’s camp and here.”

  “I should take your head and send it back to Mandragon,” said Mitor.

  Sir Tanam shrugged. “That would solve my problems, at any rate, but that would bring you quite a few more.”

  Lord Marcus huffed. “Who would miss an old crow?”

  “I would,” said Sir Tanam.

  “My lord, sir knight,” said Simonian. “There is no need for this squabbling. Lord Richard sent you here to parley? Then let my lord and Lord Richard parley. My lord Mitor, why not invite Lord Richard here to discuss your differences?”

  “Very well,” said Mitor. “You speak wisdom, Simonian.” He turned to the Old Crow. “Let Lord Richard come, if he wishes to parley. Let him speak for himself!”

  Sunlight glittered off Sir Tanam’s battered armor. “Actually, Lord Richard anticipated such a request. He invites you to come to his camp.”

  Mitor laughed. “Bah! Does
Mandragon think me such a fool! I will not walk into the arms of his treachery!” Mazael refrained from pointing out that Mitor had almost ordered Sir Tanam's death. “Why should I trust a lord whose vassal would abduct an innocent lady out from under my roof? I am Richard Mandragon’s greatest enemy!”

  Sir Tanam’s smile was sardonic. “Of course.”

  “I have no doubt that Mandragon has his armies waiting in ambush for me, should I prove foolish enough to come to his camp,” Mitor said. “Yes, yes, Mandragon knows he cannot take my host in a fair and honorable fight. He is reduced to conniving ambushes.”

  Sir Tanam smiled. “Indeed, my lord. I could not have said it better myself. I can see your wisdom in fearing treachery. Why not send an emissary in your name?”

  “Bah!” said Mitor.

  Simonian shifted. “It is a prudent suggestion, my lord. Perhaps Lord Richard can yet be made to see reason. Why should this end in bloodshed?” His rough voice took on a note of irony. “Send an emissary, my lord, someone who can negotiate in your name.”

  “Suppose Richard decides to commit an act of treachery anyhow?” said Mitor.

  Simonian shrugged. “That is a risk the emissary shall simply have to take, I fear. But what better way to die than in the service of a wise and powerful lord?”

  “Sir Nathan!” said Mitor. The old knight stepped forward.

  “My lord?” said Nathan.

  “You’ve been looking for a way to serve me,” said Mitor. “This is the sort of thing that would have suited fat Othar, but the fool chose to eat himself to death rather than to serve his rightful lord.” A single muscle tightened near Nathan’s eyes. “I am sending you as an emissary.”

  Sir Tanam nodded. “A respectable choice, my lord. Sir Nathan Greatheart is famed wide and far. But Sir Nathan does not have a high title, nor vast holdings. The good Sir Nathan has not the authority to treat with Lord Richard.” Sir Tanam glanced at Mazael. “Best send someone with higher rank, my lord. Someone of your own blood, perhaps.”

  “It is Nathan or no one,” said Mitor.

  “Lord Mitor,” said Mazael.

  Mitor turned. “What?”