Demonsouled Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  Mazael shoved back from the table and stood. “And what of Lady Rachel Cravenlock?”

  “Her fate has yet to be decided,” said Lord Richard. “I would prefer to spare her life.”

  Mazael laughed at him. “You call this a parley? This is a bill of execution.”

  “Lord Mitor’s fate and the fate of his allies has been sealed,” said Lord Richard. “I have no desire to parley with them. You, however, are a different matter.”

  “What?” said Mazael.

  “Have you not yet realized it?” said Lord Richard. “I sent my old crow to Castle Cravenlock in hopes that Lord Mitor would send you as his emissary. Sir Tanam was instructed to work towards that end.”

  Mazael sat back down. “Is that it? You want me to join you, and in return for my undying loyalty, I’ll become the next lord of Castle Cravenlock once Mitor’s hangs?”

  Lord Richard did not blink. “Yes.”

  “No,” said Mazael. “I’ll not...”

  “Not what?” said Lord Richard. “Betray your brother? Sir Mazael, did it not occur to you that Lord Mitor has already betrayed you? He did not send you here to parley a peace. He sent you here in hopes that I would capture you or kill you. He is afraid of you. Lord Mitor and Lady Marcelle have proven incapable of producing children. You are his lawful heir, whether he likes it or not. Most men in your position would have killed Lord Mitor and taken his place by now.”

  Mazael remembered what Lord Adalon had said in the nightmares. “No. I’ll not do it. Do you think I’ll betray my brother and my sister for the damned castle? Mitor can keep it. I’ll have nothing to do with you.”

  “I did not expect you to,” said Lord Richard. “And why not? Your brother has lied to you at every turn.”

  “What do you mean?” said Mazael.

  “Have you ever wondered why I sent Sir Tanam to abduct Lady Rachel?” said Lord Richard.

  “A hostage,” said Mazael.

  “Lord Mitor would not have cared what I did with Lady Rachel,” said Lord Richard. “I sent my old crow to seize Lady Rachel because of the sorcery she practiced. She could have provided me with valuable information on the San-keth cult at Castle Cravenlock.”

  “No,” said Mazael, slamming his fist down onto the table. Lord Jonaril arched a bushy eyebrow. “I listened to this slander once at White Rock. I will not listen to it again. I have seen the zuvembies. I know they’re real. But I have not seen San-keth, nor fools worshipping snakes. I will not listen to this.”

  “Then you shut your ears to the truth,” said Lord Richard.

  “The San-keth cult has been in Castle Cravenlock for at least thirty years,” said Lucan. His voice resembled the rustling of dead leaves. “I’m fairly certain Lady Arissa was involved.”

  Mazael snorted. “I lived at Castle Cravenlock for nine years! I would have noticed.”

  “Most of the cult’s activity centered at Swordgrim in Lady Arissa’s time,” said Lord Richard. “We found some of their scrolls once I had defeated Lord Adalon’s host and retaken Swordgrim.” His dark gaze settled on Mazael. “How do you think I gathered the men to face Lord Adalon? To regain my family’s place, yes. But the lords of the Grim Marches liked the worship of the snake god no more than I.”

  “This is nonsense,” said Mazael.

  Lord Richard continued as if Mazael had not spoken. “I killed all the snake-worshippers I could find. Undoubtedly some survived and restarted the cult at Castle Cravenlock.”

  “Slander,” said Sir Nathan.

  “It is not,” said Lord Richard. “I considered offering Toraine in marriage to Lady Rachel for a number of years. When I decided to make the offer, the rumors of San-keth worship had already begun. At first I discounted them. But the peasants near Castle Cravenlock began disappearing. Then reports of the zuvembies filtered in. And then Lord Mitor showed signs of rebellion. I sent Sir Tanam to make the offer anyway, and to investigate. Sir Tanam?”

  The Old Crow cleared his throat. “That was about six, seven months ago, as I recollect. I found the castle and town in sorry shape. I hadn’t yet heard that Sir Albron had replaced Nathan Greatheart as armsmaster.” He laughed. “Never seen a sorrier lot of troops, and I’ve seen quite a few sorry soldiers in my day. And the town was worse. Armsmen ran the place like it was their private kingdom. There was this one fellow, Brogan, had the temperament of a whelping bear and all the wits of a stone.”

  “I met him,” said Mazael. "Briefly."

  “Castle was worse,” said Sir Tanam. “The servants were scared to death, just the same as the peasants. It only took a bit to figure out why. They were scared of the cult. Seems a large number of the castle residents had taken up the worship of the snake god. Lord Mitor and Lady Marcelle had, as well as Sir Albron Eastwater. Perhaps Sir Commander Galan Hawking as well.” Lord Astor sighed. “And there was that Simonian villain as well. I’ve spent a few years on the other side of the mountains and visited Briault for a few weeks. The peasants there still whisper about this necromancer Simonian. Thoroughly unpleasant fellow. Tales have him down to the tee. So, with the zuvembies, the peasants’ stories, and Simonian of Briault as Lord Mitor’s guest, a blind man could have seen what was going on. I’d seen the San-keth cult during the war with Lord Adalon, and now I was seeing it again.”

  Sir Nathan closed eyes.

  “Sir Tanam returned to Swordgrim with his news,” said Lord Richard. “I was most displeased. I did not throw down one Cravenlock lord and the accompanying San-keth cult only to find myself confronted with another. I sent word to the Cirstarcian monastery west of Castle Cravenlock. They sent Brother Silar and other monks to assist my cause.”

  Mazael raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

  Silar grinned. “My order has been here for centuries. We remember the old tales. And we remember the dark magic and necromancy that a serpent-cult brings.”

  “I had no other recourse but war,” said Lord Richard. “I called my vassals and gathered my armies. I also commanded my son to investigate using his skills.”

  Lucan’s lips twisted. “It was fairly obvious. Dark magic hangs about Castle Cravenlock like a stink. Even a wizard of mediocre skills like Master Othar could have detected it.”

  Mazael shifted in his seat. “You knew him?”

  Lucan smiled, and for an instant the bitterness vanished from his face. “Of course! I apprenticed under him, once I had finished my training at Alborg. He was no magister, certainly. But a finer master I could not have found elsewhere.” Bit by bit the sardonic mask cast returned to his features. “I contacted Othar through the use of a magical sending. He already shared many of my lord father’s suspicions. We soon had a regular correspondence. He believed that there was a San-keth temple hidden within Castle Cravenlock. Master Othar planned to investigate that temple, if possible.” His empty eyes fixed on Mazael. “I have not heard from him since.”

  Mazael remembered Othar’s last words to him. “Master Othar is dead.”

  Lucan’s face could have been carved from stone. “How?”

  “Necromancy of some sort,” said Mazael.

  Lucan snorted. “And do you need any more proof to confirm this ‘slander’, my lord knight? Or shall I beat you over the head with it?”

  “Lucan,” said Lord Richard, and the Dragon's Shadow fell silent.

  “I sent Sir Tanam to capture Lady Rachel,” said Lord Richard. “I am almost certain she was involved in the San-keth cult.”

  “No,” said Mazael. “No.”

  “It does not matter. Were she innocent, she would have been safer at Swordgrim than at Castle Cravenlock. Were she guilty, as I believe she is, then she would have proven a valuable source of information. It was at this point, of course, that you intersected with events.” Lord Richard leaned back in his chair. “Now, do you see why you must join me? There is no other choice. You will get the castle and the lordship once Lord Mitor is dead. But what of that? The cult of the serpent people is an abomination. Their necromancy and dark wo
rship pollute the land. The Cirstarcians and Deepforest Keep see this. So would the Justiciars, if they did not hate me for reclaiming the lands stolen from my family.” The Dragonslayer made a fist. “When I rose against your father, my goal was to exterminate the San-keth cult root and branch. That your father was inadvertently allied to the cult through Lady Arissa was an unfortunate circumstance. And I will do the same once more. I will destroy this new cult and wipe it from the memory of man. And you will either stand with me or against me.”

  Mazael thought of his mother and her hateful spite. Mazael could imagine her in a serpent cult. But Rachel? He could not imagine Rachel in a San-keth cult...but he had not seen Rachel for fifteen years. And he thought of Simonian, the way the wizard's murky eyes stared.

  “I don’t know,” said Mazael.

  “There is no middle ground,” said Lord Richard. “Will you stand by and let the cult spread across the Grim Marches like a plague? It is a disease and I will stamp it out. If you stand with Lord Mitor, I shall crush you.”

  “What proof is there?” said Mazael. “This is all supposition. What proof do you have?”

  “What further proof do you need?” said Lord Richard. “If you wish to blind yourself to the truth, that is your folly. I am offering you a chance to escape your brother’s fate.”

  Mazael’s palm smacked against the table. “You don’t have any proof.”

  “The zuvembies.” Lord Richard ticked off the points on his fingers. “The disappearing peasants. Lord Mitor’s timely rebellion. I have all the proof I need, indeed, all the proof that any reasonable man would require.”

  “Reasonable man?” said Toraine. “A reasonable man, Sir Mazael, you are not. You shall never see the truth. Father, I say have off with his head and have done with it.”

  “Silence,” said Lord Richard. “And why, Sir Mazael, do you persist in blinding yourself?”

  “I blind myself to nothing,” said Mazael. “My sister could never have been involved in this. Never. Not her.”

  A dead quiet answered his pronouncement.

  “Then you leave me no choice,” said Lord Richard. Mazael’s hand shot to Lion’s hilt. “I’ll not attack you here. Return to Castle Cravenlock and share in your brother’s...”

  “Wait!” said Timothy. "My lord, please, wait." All eyes fell on the wizard, who swallowed and tugged his beard.

  “What?” said Lord Richard.

  “Sir Mazael, you trusted Master Othar’s judgment, correct?” said Timothy.

  “Absolutely,” said Mazael.

  “Do you remember the morning after Master Othar’s funeral?” said Timothy. “When I told you of Master Othar’s journal?” Mazael nodded. “It was warded and sealed. I could not read it.”

  Lucan smiled. “Not surprising. The old man was clever enough to protect his investigations. I designed the ward for him myself.”

  “Then you would know how to release it,” said Timothy. “My lord knight, you trusted Master Othar’s judgment in life. Trust it now that he is gone. I propose that we return to Castle Cravenlock and unseal Master Othar’s journal. You say there is no proof? Master Othar would have found proof, one way or the other.” The young wizard struggled for words. “The fate of so many lie in your decision. My lord knight, look at what Master Othar had to say before you make a choice.”

  Lord Richard looked to his wizard son. “Can you teach Sir Mazael's wizard the spell to open the journal?”

  Lucan clenched a hand. “Certainly, my father. He has the badge for dispelling. The spell to open the ward sealing the journal is no more than a specific variant.”

  Lord Richard turned to Timothy. “And are you willing to learn the spell?”

  Timothy bowed beneath the Dragonslayer’s black gaze. “Yes, my lord.”

  “And you, Sir Mazael?” said Lord Richard. “What of you? You seem so certain of your brother’s innocence. If the words of Master Othar indicate otherwise, if they show that Lord Mitor has invited the necromancer Simonian and the San-keth cult to his court, will you stand with me?”

  Mazael could believe Mitor would sell his soul to the San-keth. But he could never believe it of Rachel. “I will do it. I shall return to Castle Cravenlock and read Master Othar’s journal. And I will prove that you are wrong.”

  “Perhaps you shall, sir knight,” said Lord Richard. “Perhaps you shall discover that Simonian of Briault has tricked and betrayed your simpleminded yet innocent brother and his misguided wife. Perhaps you shall then rid his court of the blight, saving myself and my vassals the trouble of killing him. We can all then go home.” He paused. “But I know better. You shall discover the truth. You are in for some very hard lessons.”

  Mazael did not flinch from Lord Richard’s stare. “One of us is.”

  Toraine was aghast. “You can’t be serious, father. You invite this Cravenlock into the heart of our camp, tell him all our plans, extend to him your mercy, and then let him go? This is madness! He shall tell his brother everything he has seen here. It shall be our undoing...”

  “I have no intention of letting Sir Mazael undo us,” said Lord Richard, a hint of anger creeping into his iron tones. “Either way, he shall work to our advantage. Either he shall kill Simonian, or he shall discover the truth of his family and return to us. Our position shall be strengthened.” He waved his hand. “And Lord Mitor cannot stop us. Leave and do not return until you have composed yourself.”

  Toraine stalked towards the tent flap. Lucan smirked at him, and for a moment Mazael thought Toraine would kill his younger brother. Then the elder Mandragon son stormed out into the camp.

  “Please forgive my son,” said Lord Richard. “He is often passionate.”

  “I know all about family troubles, my lord,” said Mazael.

  “Indeed,” said Lord Richard. “The evening draws nigh, Sir Mazael. I invite you and your companions to dine with my family and lord captains tonight.”

  Mazael was surprised. “I doubt they’ll approve.”

  “Why not?” said Lord Astor, chuckling. “Lord Richard tells us what we are allowed to approve.”

  “After all, we have established that you are not my enemy,” said Lord Richard. “Whatever choice you make, my hand shall be strengthened. Will you not eat?”

  “Then I shall be honored,” said Mazael. They rose.

  “Ah, not you,” said Lucan to Timothy. “I do believe you have a spell to learn.”

  3

  The Monk’s First Brother

  “What do you think?” said Mazael.

  “I do not know,” said Sir Nathan.

  Mazael and Romaria sat with Sir Nathan amongst the supplies of Lord Richard's camp. Night had fallen, and it was quiet here. The light from a thousand bonfires lit the camp, and guards marched back and forth on their rounds.

  “A serpent cult,” said Sir Nathan. “I would never have believed it. I heard the stories, of course, but I had always believed them to be nothing but stories. Dust and lies.”

  “Three months ago, I believed zuvembies to be stories,” said Mazael.

  “As did I,” said Nathan. “I do not know, Mazael. I simply do not. I did not know Lady Arissa well. I spent most my time in the field against Mandragon forces. But what little I saw was not favorable.”

  Mazael smiled. “I saw more of her. None of it was favorable.”

  “But could she have renounced all Amathavian gods, all that was right, and turned to the god of serpents?” said Nathan. “I do not know if I can believe it.”

  Mazael could.

  But Rachel...no, not Rachel.

  “And a cult now,” said Sir Nathan, “my heart tells me that such a thing cannot be. But my head tells me that I cannot know for certain. I have not spent much time in Castle Cravenlock over the last fifteen years. After Leah died and Lord Mitor dismissed me, I spent most my time at my keep. I doubt I have spent more than one day in ten at Castle Cravenlock. Lord Mitor holds so many secrets. And with this business of the zuvembies and Othar’s death...”


  “We’ll find out,” said Mazael. “We’ll know the truth, one way or another.”

  “I hope so,” said Sir Nathan, standing. “I shall retire. I am not so young and it has been a long day.”

  “Sleep well,” said Mazael.

  Mazael listened to the sound of feasting rising from Lord Richard’s command tent. Mazael had little appetite and left early, but Lord Richard had taken no offense. Mazael suspected that the feast had been given for Gerald’s benefit anyway.

  “A good man,” said Romaria, watching Sir Nathan leave.

  “Aye,” said Mazael. “I only wish we had a hundred more of him.”

  “Talk to Lucan Mandragon,” said Romaria. “He could conjure up a few.”

  “Gods,” said Mazael. “Certainly not. I’ve seen enough magic to last me a dozen lifetimes. Master Othar was a good man, but I cannot see how he could devote his life to spells.”

  “Spells and swords,” said Romaria. “Some are used for good, some for evil.” She looked at Mazael with calm blue eyes. “And how are you feeling?”

  Mazael flexed the fingers of his sword hand. “Well enough, I suppose. There’s been times...I wanted to kill Lord Richard when we spoke. But beyond that, I suppose I’m fine.”

  “And no nightmares, of course,” said Romaria.

  “No nightmares,” said Mazael.

  Romaria laughed. “I wonder what Lord Richard and his lord captains shall say when I go to your tent for the night.”

  “They’ll say nothing,” said Mazael. “It’s not as if we actually do anything.”

  “And does that disappoint you?” said Romaria.

  Mazael snorted. “What do you think?” He cupped Romaria’s chin and kissed her. “But...I don’t...” He scowled. “I’m pulled to you. The damned dreams. The magic in the sword. I nearly went insane and killed you and my brother. And then the healing. What is happening to me?”