The raven hopped from the railing and landed on Lucan’s shoulder.
###
“You know, I’ve been to the Inn of the Crowned Helm,” said Timothy. “They have the most splendid beer.”
Lucan lifted an eyebrow. “During your search for the San-keth, I suppose?”
“Of course,” said Timothy. “The inn had to be searched, after all. And searching is thirsty work.”
Mazael stalked across the square. The townsfolk hastened to get out of his way. “Splendid beer, you say? If this goes well, I’ll buy you an entire barrel.”
He threw open the door and stepped into the Inn of the Crowned Helm. The gathered merchants and townsmen looked up at him. The inn’s master scurried over, bowing and scraping. He had wide, fearful eyes for Mazael, and even wider eyes for Timothy’s black wizard’s coat.
He failed to notice Lucan.
“Nothing, thank you,” said Mazael, striding past. “I wish to speak with a merchant about a purchase. Harune Dustfoot? Is he upstairs?”
“Yes, lord,” said the master, still bowing. “Do you wish to try my beer? I’ve even some wine…”
“Thank you,” said Mazael again, climbing the stairs. Lucan pointed at one of the doors. Mazael nodded, drew Lion, and kicked open the door. The room was large and spacious, with windows looking over the square. It even had a table and a chair.
Harune Dustfoot sat in the chair, wrapped in his dusty cloak, holding a tankard of beer.
Lucan and Timothy stepped to either side of Mazael, hands raised for magic.
Harune did not look alarmed.
“Lord Mazael.” Harune set the tankard on the table. “It is an honor to see you again. Have you come to kill me?”
“Who are you?” said Mazael. Lion hadn’t burst into blue flame, as it did when confronting creatures of dark magic.
“I told you, my lord,” said Harune. “I am Harune Dustfoot, a merchant of fine cheeses.”
“Cheeses, you say?” said Mazael. He waved his sword over the furniture. “Quite a fine room, for a merchant of cheeses.”
“My customers appreciate my cheeses,” said Harune, “and my friendly charm.”
“I’m sure,” said Mazael. “And do they appreciate your protective spells, your wards against divinatory magic? I’m sure those are helpful indeed to a man in the cheese trade.”
“Ah,” said Harune. He nodded at Lucan. “I suppose young Lucan here told you about that?”
“You can see him?” said Mazael.
“Of course I can see him,” said Harune. “He’s standing there plain as the day, after all.” He shrugged. “He’s using a particularly potent mind-clouding spell, true, but he’s still standing there.”
“You’re a wizard, then?” said Lucan.
“No,” said Harune. “I haven’t the spark.” He smiled. “Or that particular madness, if you will.”
“Then who are you,” said Mazael, “in truth?”
Harune shrugged. “Does it matter? I am a simple wanderer, and nothing more.”
“I’m sure,” said Mazael.
“I think you came here to ask me something,” said Harune. He spread his hands. “Why not just ask it?”
Mazael lifted Lion, the blade gleaming. “Do you recognize this?”
“Of course,” said Harune. “Your sword. Quite distinctive. I saw you use it during the fight with the bandits. And you carried it in the tournament. A splendid victory, by the way.”
“Thank you,” said Mazael. “Ever met a Dominiar commander named Aeternis?”
“I did, some years ago,” said Harune. “It was during the wars in the Old Kingdoms. He seemed a solid enough fellow.”
“He told me that you sold him Lion,” said Mazael.
“I did,” said Harune.
“And did you know it was a sword of old Tristafel, a weapon of power?”
Harune stared at him, unblinking. Then he sighed. “I did.”
“And where did you find it?” said Mazael.
“Have you ever heard,” said Harune, “of the Cirstarcine Order of monks?”
“I have,” said Mazael. “They helped me fight Skhath and Simonian.”
“They fight the San-keth and the Demonsouled everywhere,” said Harune. “As you have taken it upon yourself to do.”
“How did you know Simonian was Demonsouled?” said Lucan, eyes narrowed.
“The Cirstarcians told me,” said Harune. “And I tell them many things. I work for them, in a way. When I learn something they might wish to know, I tell them. And sometimes they tell me things in return.”
“Like where to find Lion?” said Mazael.
“Yes,” said Harune, closing his eyes. “It was…ten years ago. Yes. Ten years. In a ruined tower far south of the Old Kingdoms, overlooking the sea. Your sword had lain in a vault under that tower for centuries. Even millennia, for all I know. The Cirstarcians had hidden it there until it was needed. They told me to take the sword and sell it to someone in the Old Kingdoms or Mastaria.”
“Why?” said Mazael.
Harune shrugged. “Because a powerful Demonsouled was in the Old Kingdoms.”
Mazael felt a chill. Had the Cirstarcians known about his Demonsouled nature?
Harune kept talking. “They knew that Demonsouled would rise to power, and they wanted Lion ready to fight.”
“That’s…a foolish plan, if I may say so,” said Timothy. “Suppose Lion wound up in the hands of a bandit? Such a man wouldn’t oppose a Demonsouled. And suppose the sword was lost?”
“You underestimate Lion’s magic,” said Harune. “The spells used to create it are far stronger than anything used today. It was imbued with purpose, with power to fight the creatures of darkness. It will seek them out. The sword’s magic will not permit it to be lost. Throw it into the sea and a passing wave will bring it back to shore. Fling into a pit and a man will explore that pit, seemingly by chance.”
Mazael looked at Lion with a new, uneasy light.
“So I sold the sword to Sir Commander Aeternis,” said Harune. “He seemed valiant enough, the sort of man to fight against evil without hesitation.” He shrugged. “Then you defeated him and took Lion with you to the Grim Marches.”
“Hardly a brilliant plan,” said Lucan. “And mayhap you place too much faith in the magic of old Tristafel. They were mighty, but they were not gods.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” said Harune. “Lion went to the Grim Marches, not to the Old Kingdoms.” He smiled. “But there was a mighty Demonsouled in Castle Cravenlock, was there not? Lion was needed there. And now it comes back to Knightrealm and Mastaria, where it might be needed again.”
“Sophistic rubbish,” muttered Lucan.
“Needed again?” said Mazael. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t know?” said Harune. “Surely you must by now.” His face tightened. “The San-keth. They swarm over Knightcastle, their changelings disguised as servants and common folk.”
“We know,” said Lucan. “We’ve been working to stop them.”
“With limited success,” said Harune. “Kill one changeling and five more will take its place. Have you found their master yet? Have you found Straganis?”
“How do you know that name?” snapped Lucan. “Perhaps you are in league with him.”
“I know the names of all seven San-keth archpriests,” said Harune. “They are all mighty and utterly mad. For all their power and guile, all their rage, they gain nothing. They spend their lives in hopes of regaining their lost limbs, in restoring their people, yet reap nothing but torment. I pity them..
“I do not pity them,” said Mazael, finding his voice, “for they have tried to kill my sister far too many times for mercy.” His hand tightened around Lion’s hilt. “This sword was made to fight the powers of darkness, you say? Then fine. I will find Straganis and end this.”
“That will not end it,” said Harune. “Do you think this is just about you, Lord Mazael, about your sister? The San-keth wish you bot
h dead, yes. But your deaths are a minor concern to them.”
“Then they’re here to kill Lord Malden,” said Mazael, “are they not?”
“Of course,” said Harune, “but why?”
Timothy shrugged. “Why not?”
“Lord Malden scarcely believes that the San-keth exist, despite what you’ve told him,” said Harune. “Why would they kill Lord Malden?”
Mazael remembered the dream after his first night with Morebeth, remembered the Old Demon sitting in Lord Malden’s throne, mocking him.
“Not why,” whispered Mazael. Timothy and Lucan frowned at him. “Not why. But who. Who is Straganis’s master?”
Harune nodded. “Yes.”
“What do you mean?” said Timothy.
“I think,” said Harune, “that the San-keth act under the direction of a powerful Demonsouled.”
Mazael suppressed a shudder.
“It has always been thus,” said Harune. “The San-keth are mad with hate, and so are most Demonsouled. Yet the Demonsouled are stronger, and can manipulate the San-keth, use them as weapons and pawns.”
“Yes,” said Timothy. He swallowed. “Simonian was Demonsouled, and he was in league with Skhath.”
“He was,” said Mazael. Timothy didn’t know the half of it. The Old Demon had used Skhath and the San-keth, but they had meant nothing to him. The destruction of the Grim Marches had meant nothing to him. The Old Demon had only wanted to unlock Mazael’s Demonsouled nature, and if that failed, to kill him.
“Yet the San-keth are always betrayed,” continued Harune, shaking his head. He sighed. “They are foolish enough to view the Demonsouled as allies or pawns, and are too blind with their hatred to see that the Demonsouled are stronger.”
Mazael said nothing.
“So, then, what do the Demonsouled want?” said Timothy.
Harune shrugged. “Power. Dominion. The throne of a tyrant, I suppose, for the greatest Demonsouled all have the soul of a tyrant.” His eyes flicked over Mazael. “And the children of the Old Demon burn with the hottest madness of all.”
“The children of the Old Demon?” said Mazael, his voice hoarse.
“Most Demonsouled have but a small part of their souls twisted by demon magic,” said Harune. “Some never notice it, live their lives free of the curse. Some others become killers, even twist themselves into inhuman monsters. But they are rare, and can be killed, though with difficulty.” He sighed and rubbed his face. “But the Old Demon was the son of the Great Demon itself. He is half a god. And the children of the Old Demon are all filled with demon power. They also have the power to lead others, to dominate them, to work their will over men until they become slaves.” He paused. “Have you ever heard of the Destroyer?”
“It’s a legend of old Tristafel,” said Mazael, remembering what Lucan had told him. “One of the Old Demon’s children will rise up, become stronger than his brothers, and crush the lands of men. He will rule with an iron fist and a bloody sword, and claim the Great Demon’s empty throne.” Was that Mazael’s fate? To succumb to his demon blood and become a monstrous god, or to fall at the hands of another of the Old Demon’s children?
“Yes,” said Harune. “And that is what I think is happening. One of the Old Demon’s children yearns to become the Destroyer. Perhaps he hides among the Justiciars, or the Dominiars, or Lord Malden’s court. Either way, the San-keth work at his bidding.”
Harune was more right than he knew. One of the Old Demon’s children stood before him, after all. Yet Mazael wanted peace, wanted to stop this war. But what if another of the Old Demon’s children stood in the shadows, pushing both Lord Malden and the Dominiars towards war? Could Mazael stop it?
Did he even have the strength to face another of his monstrous father’s sons?
“You seem quite well informed,” said Lucan, voice cold. “Did the Cirstarcians tell you all of this? Or have you another source of knowledge?”
“I have told you,” said Harune, “all that I know. Doubtless you know things that I do not. I know you don’t trust me. Indeed, I see no reason why you should. But I swear to you, on the names of Amatheon the father, Amater the lady, and Joraviar the knight, that I have spoken no false word.” He leaned forward. “The Cirstarcine Order sent me to Knightcastle to help, however I could. You, Lord Mazael, you are the only one working to stop the San-keth.” He spread his hands. “Therefore I will help you however I can.”
“Then help me,” said Mazael. “Find me as many changelings as you can. Help me to find Straganis, and kill him. And if you are right, if one of the Old Demon’s children is our true enemy, then help me to kill him.”
“I will,” said Harune. “I swear it.”
“And I’m sure your oath is precious,” said Lucan.
“Yes,” said Harune. “It is.”
###
“I do not trust him,” said Lucan.
Mazael walked from the Inn of the Crowned Helm, head bowed in thought. He had expected Harune Dustfoot to provide answers.
Instead, he had more questions.
“The Cirstarcians are secretive, yes,” said Timothy. “But they move openly enough when they feel the need.”
“I don’t know,” said Mazael, scowling. “Who cast those wards over Harune?”
“It’s rumored that many senior Cirstarcians are powerful wizards,” said Timothy. “They could have laid the spells over Harune.”
“Many things are rumored,” said Lucan, “but few things are true. I’m sure Straganis could cast spells of that nature.”
“Spells,” said Mazael. “You told me that you knew a spell to determine the nature of a creature from a drop of its blood. Could you work such a spell over Harune?”
“Unfortunately, no. His wards against divination are powerful enough to render my spell useless.”
The fat raven dropped from the sky and landed on Lucan’s shoulder.
“Why does that damned bird keep following you around?” said Mazael.
“Ravens posses just enough wit to be useful,” said Lucan, “so I tamed the beast to act as a pair of eyes.”
The raven loosed a derisive caw.
“So,” said Mazael. “Magic will not give us an answer. We are left with our wits. Why do you distrust Harune so?”
“Harune did not tell us anything we did not already know,” said Lucan. “We knew about the San-keth. We knew about Straganis, and Harune likely learned about Straganis at Tristgard, just as we did. And you already suspected a Demonsouled behind the San-keth. Harune but strung these facts together with a few vague warnings of impending doom. A common technique of tricksters and rogues. At best, he is a charlatan. At worst, he is an agent of the San-keth, or Straganis himself in disguise.”
“Then why didn’t he kill us all?” said Mazael.
Lucan grimaced. “You seem determined to trust this man.”
“I don’t want to trust him. I want to know the truth of him.” Mazael glanced at Timothy, who still looked troubled. “You can often read people well. What do you think?”
“I think.” The frown lines in Timothy’s forehead deepened. “I think…Harune seems to be what he claims to be. He was telling us the truth. But I doubt he told us all of it. He wasn’t telling us something…whether about himself, or the San-keth, I don’t know.”
“See?” said Lucan.
“And there was something else,” said Timothy. “Something that bothered me…ahh!” He slammed his right fist into his left palm. “Something about him unsettles me, or reminds me of something, but I cannot think of what it is!”
“That’s good enough for me,” said Mazael. “Lucan, can you keep an eye on Harune?”
“Oh, I shall.” Lucan scowled up at the Inn of the Crowned Helm. “Believe me, I shall.”
2
Courtship
Mazael Cravenlock and Morebeth Galbraith walked together through the Arcade of Sorrows.
He had expected Sir Commander Amalric’s embassy to depart after Malleus had left i
n a rage. Instead they remained, brooding in their guest quarters. Mazael wondered why. Lord Malden’s vassals gathered outside Castle Town, both petty knights and mighty lords with hundreds of vassals at their command. And reports had come of the Dominiars riding north, bands of their footmen gathering near Tumblestone.
Yet Amalric’s embassy lingered, and Mazael was glad, for Morebeth had remained with the embassy.
They walked together, arm in arm, yet Mazael cared not who might see. A lord had every right to take a lady on a walk around Knightcastle’s walls. Besides, everyone already knew about them.
“I have to ask you something,” said Morebeth, glancing at him.
“Ask,” said Mazael.
“What do you think will happen?” said Morebeth.
“With what?” said Mazael.
“This war,” said Morebeth, “that seems unavoidable.”
Mazael sighed. “I don’t know.”
“All of Lord Malden’s vassals are eager,” said Morebeth.
“They are fools,” said Mazael, “all of them. I saw them sitting around a map of Mastaria, choosing which lands to claim after the war is done. Never mind defeating the Dominiars first. There are knights who already think themselves lords of places they have never been, nor will ever see.” He sighed again. “I wonder if half of them will live to see their new lands.”
“So do you think the Dominiars will win?” said Morebeth.
“They might, or they might not,” said Mazael. “Lord Malden is overconfident. He thinks he can smash the Dominiars with ease. One grand charge of knights and it’s over.” He shrugged. “Of course, the Dominiars are just as overconfident.”
“My brother is an overconfident, prideful fool,” said Morebeth, “so you are right about that, at least.”
“I don’t know who will win,” said Mazael. “I do know we will see carnage and sorrow before this is done.”
Morebeth looked at him, eyes glinting. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”
Mazael looked back at her, struggling for the words. “Do…you believe in Demonsouled?”
“You mean the Old Demon, the Destroyer, those stories?” said Morebeth. She shrugged. “I never gave it much thought. The priests prattle on about it, of course, but they’ll say anything to exact their tithes. And men are malignant enough. They hardly need some dark force to spur them to evil deeds.”
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