Demonsouled Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  Shortly before midday, they came to the slaughtered village.

  Only a few folk dwelt in the hills, miners and goat-herders, living in isolated villages of stone and timber. But stone walls had been knocked down, and most of the timbers burned. The remaining timbers had been set in a ring around the village.

  And atop the jagged end of every timber dangled the impaled corpse of a villager, men, women, and children, their foreheads branded with the sign of the Dominiar Order.

  “Find them,” snarled Mazael, staring at a dead girl. “Find them now.”

  The outriders scoured the hills, and found no trace of any Dominiars. But Mazael had other resources at his disposal. Trocend and Timothy worked divinations, and found a band of a hundred Dominiar footmen lurking in a wooded ravine seven miles southward. Mazael marched the army south, sealed off the ravine, and sent in the men.

  The battle was very short. The horror at the village had put a fire in every man, from the proudest vassal to the lowliest footmen. Lord Malden's justice was often harsh, and that of the Justiciars more so.

  But no one did such things in Knightrealm and lived.

  After the last Dominiar had been killed the army camped, and Mazael took counsel with his commanders.

  “There are at least three more bands like this roving the hills,” said Trocend, face feverish. Divination spells seemed taxing work, and necessity had forced Trocend and Timothy to work their spells constantly. “Pillaging, burning, and murdering, I doubt not. Sent ahead of the main Dominiar host, most likely.”

  Mazael scowled into the campfires. “That's not good.”

  “No, it's not,” said Sir Commander Galan. “There's only one good pass through the mountains, and it leads straight to Tumblestone. If Amalric is confident enough to send parties ahead...that means Tumblestone has already fallen.”

  “Or,” said Tobias, “Amalric is confident that Tumblestone will fall, and he can spare the men.”

  “That,” said Gerald, “or that he has raised enough men that the absence of a few hundred does not trouble him at all.”

  “None of those possibilities are good,” said Mazael. “But if Tumblestone had fallen, then Amalric and the main Dominiar host would be here already. He'd have left only a small garrison to defend Tumblestone. Trocend. Timothy. Are there any signs of the main Dominiar force coming through the pass?”

  Trocend and Timothy shook their heads in unison. Mazael's eyes flicked over to a nearby tent, where Lucan leaned against a spear, disguised as a common footman, though that damned raven still perched on his shoulder. He gave a slow shake of his head.

  “Though,” added Trocend, “I think there may be men in the pass. At least a thousand.”

  “Damnation,” said Mazael. “Amalric sent men to fortify the pass. These marauders are just raiding parties, nothing more. Damn him. A thousand men could hold that pass against even a large army for weeks, if they were well-provisioned.”

  “We don't have weeks,” said Tobias. “Tumblestone is strong, and Lord Rainier is a grim fighter...but not even Tumblestone's walls could turn the whole might of the Dominiar Order.”

  “No,” said Mazael, “we have no time. None at all.” He thought for a moment, head bowed. “We will keep marching to the pass. We can do nothing until we see how matters stand there. If we have to force the pass, so be it.”

  “Tumblestone might fall while we tarry,” said Gerald, his blue eyes flinty, “and its people fall into the hands of that butcher Amalric.” The slaughter at the village had filled him an icy, merciless fury. If Tobias died young and if Gerald came to the lordship of Knightcastle, then the Dominiars would have an enemy more implacable than Lord Malden.

  “It might,” said Mazael, shaking his head. The thought filled him with disgust. “It might. Then we will face Amalric and the Dominiars in the pass or in the hills, and do what we can to avenge the folk of Tumblestone. But if we have the chance to save Tumblestone, then we must take it.” He looked to Trocend and Timothy. “Keep working your spells. If we come across any more raiding parties, we will take them. And if you find any scouts, kill them. I want no survivors to warn the men at the pass, or even Amalric himself. If we can take them by surprise, all the better.”

  They carried out his orders.

  ###

  The next day, the fourth from Knightcastle, they came to the pass.

  The hills climbed sharply into craggy, weathered mountains. A single pass, little more than a steep-sided valley, cut through the mountains. After the conquest of Tumblestone, Lord Malden had built a broad road through the bottom of the valley.

  Now the road had been dug up and piled into an earthwork across the narrowest part of the pass. Sharpened, fire-hardened stakes stood at angle before the earthworks. Behind the wall Mazael glimpsed the glint of armor, and the cold eyes of watching Dominiar footmen.

  Mazael swore, at length, under his breath. He rode with his commanders towards the wall, stopping just out of bowshot.

  “You were right, Mazael,” said Gerald. "This isn't good."

  “Not at all,” agreed Mazael, watching the earthwork. It even had a sturdy wooden gate. “Not at all.” He half-hoped for the gate to burst open, for the Dominiars to launch a sortie. Mazael might then have a chance to storm the fortification.

  But the gate remained closed.

  “They even have a pair of catapults back there,” said Trocend, his left hand tracing spells, “and at least a half-dozen ballistas.” He grunted, fingers twitching. “Probably more.”

  “Can we force it?” said Mazael.

  “Probably,” said Sir Commander Galan. He shook his head. “Perhaps. But it would be a dreadful bloody slaughter. We'd lose...oh, perhaps a third of the footmen.”

  “Gods,” muttered Mazael. That would come to over four thousand men.

  “And that assumes our men will not break,” said Gerald. “In the face of such slaughter, they might turn and run.”

  Galan gave him a look. “My armsmen will not break.”

  “They won’t,” said Mazael, “but your footmen are professional fighters. Most of ours are peasant conscripts. Brave enough, aye, but if the battle turns against them, they'll run.” He glanced back at their army. “And your thousand aren't enough to force the pass.”

  “So what do we do?” said Tobias.

  Mazael didn't know.

  “Might we lay siege?” said Lord Tancred, mopping his sweating brow. “If we cannot take it by storm?”

  “We cannot,” said Gerald. “If we delay much longer, Tumblestone will fall.”

  “We may have no choice but to let Tumblestone fall and face Amalric on a ground of our choosing,” said Galan.

  Gerald scowled. “Then shall we sell the people of Tumblestone over to that butcher?”

  “We can't besiege that fortification in any case,” snapped Mazael, cutting off Lord Tancred. “Sieges only succeed when you starve out your enemy. They can bring up as much provender as they need, I doubt not, and have ample supplies of water.”

  “Tumblestone may have already fallen,” said Galan.

  “No,” said Mazael. “If it had, the main Dominiar host would already be here.”

  “I doubt we can save Tumblestone,” said Galan. “Let us then fortify this end of the pass, preparing our own earthworks and defenses. When Amalric comes, let him spend his men to break into Knightrealm proper.”

  “We would fail,” said Mazael. “This pass is the quickest path from Tumblestone to Knightcastle, but it's only a day and a half ride around the mountains to the south. Amalric has only to swing around the mountains to come upon our flanks. Then we'll be trapped between him and the force in the pass.”

  “Then let us march around the mountains ourselves!” said Tobias.

  Mazael shook his head. “And a thousand men will watch us march away. They'll send warning to Amalric, and he'll be ready for us. Besides, it's a day and a half's ride, but a three days' march for an army of this size.” He paused. “Tumblestone will
fall by then.”

  “It might have fallen already,” muttered Galan.

  “We can't go through the pass,” growled Tobias, “and we can't go around, and we can't wait for the Dominiars here. What are we going to do?”

  It had been five years since Mazael had commanded this many men in battle, and he had not forgotten the weight, the fearful burden. If he made an error, if his judgment proved unsound, thousands would die. Of course, if he did nothing, then Amalric would kill tens of thousands anyway. He had to find a way to save Tumblestone, had to find a way to stop Amalric before he slaughtered more innocents. Mazael stared at the pass, eyes hard, mouth pulled into a grim line.

  He saw a way to do both. It was a horrible risk, but Mazael saw no other choice. If he tried to force his way through the pass, his army might fall apart. If he tried to circle around the mountains, Amalric would meet him and destroy him. And if he sat here, thousands would die in Tumblestone.

  “This is what we're going to do,” said Mazael.

  The others looked at him.

  “We'll dig in, as if for a siege,” said Mazael. “Arrange the footmen, facing the earthworks. Then the horsemen will slip away from the rear, and make their way south, around the mountains, and ride for Tumblestone.”

  “Is that wise?” said Galan, frowning. “Splitting our force in the face of a stronger enemy?”

  “Even with our full strength,” said Trocend, “we barely match the Dominiars for numbers. If just the knights reach Tumblestone, they will be badly outnumbered.”

  “But,” said Tobias, “the Dominiars will be besieging the city.” His eyes glinted. “The footmen do all the work in the siege. The Dominiar Knights will be unhorsed, resting among the tents. If we come on them unawares, we might sweep them away.”

  “Their scouts will see us long before we can surprise them,” said Galan, shaking his head.

  “Trocend's arts can find their scouts,” said Mazael. “We can kill them before they warn Amalric. If we hit them hard and fast enough, we can throw them into flight, drive them off at our leisure.”

  “Risky,” said Gerald and Galan, in near-unison.

  “Oh, aye,” said Mazael, “but can you think of anything better?”

  No one did.

  “What if the Dominiars holding the pass try to break out, attack our footmen?” said Gerald. “They might put our footmen to flight.”

  “We'll leave the Justiciar foot,” said Mazael. “Can your men stand a Dominiar charge?”

  Galan scoffed. “We have fought the corrupt Dominiar Order for centuries. My men can stand a charge, and will hold your footmen firm.”

  “So,” said Mazael. “The footmen will remain here. If we do it properly, the Dominiars in the pass will think our entire army remains. The knights will ride around the mountains, and with the aid of Trocend's and Timothy's arts, we will take the Dominiars besieging Tumblestone unawares.”

  “What of supplies?” said Lord Tancred.

  “Every man will take as much as he can carry,” said Mazael, “but no more. We will need to ride light and fast.”

  “Suppose Amalric has foreseen this possibility?” said Galan, “and has more men lying in wait?”

  Mazael shrugged. “Then we'll deal with them.”

  No one said anything for awhile.

  “Gerald,” said Mazael. “I want you to take command of the footmen.”

  Gerald frowned. “I would rather ride with you and the knights.”

  “I know,” said Mazael, “but if we fail...you and Sir Tobias are the only sons of Lord Malden. Lord Malden will have no more legitimate sons.” He looked at Gerald, at Tobias, and then back at Gerald. “One of you must come out of this alive.”

  “It is a bold plan. We will be victorious,” said Tobias, banging his fist against his breastplate.

  “Yes,” said Mazael, envying the younger man his confidence, “I'm sure we will. Get moving. Much work lies before us.”

  ###

  “So,” said Lucan, “once more you need my help?”

  “Aye,” said Mazael, swinging from Mantle's saddle. “I do.”

  Lucan lounged before a campfire, still disguised as a common armsman, though the raven perched on his shoulder.

  “You know what I plan,” said Mazael. “We must...we absolutely must...take Amalric unawares. Trocend and Timothy can find Amalric's scouts, rid ourselves of them. But if Amalric has the help of Straganis or another San-keth cleric with divinatory arts...”

  “Then no matter how many scouts you kill,” said Lucan, “Amalric will still know you're coming.”

  “He will,” said Mazael. “Can you stop Straganis again?”

  “He almost killed me twice,” said Lucan, reaching into his ragged cloak. “He is my superior in both knowledge and power. I've defeated him twice, yes, but the first time was through mischance, the second through trickery. I'll not catch him off guard a third time. But I will face him again.”

  He pulled out a small glass vial. It was filled with a viscous, dark fluid the color of congealed blood. The fluid writhed and twisted within the vial, boiling of its own volition. Just looking at it made Mazael's head swim.

  “Do you know what this is?” said Lucan.

  “No,” said Mazael.

  Lucan smirked. “You don't recognize it?”

  Mazael shook his head.

  “Good,” said Lucan, tucking the vial into his cloak. “You're better off not knowing. It will give me the strength to defeat Straganis.”

  “What is it?” said Mazael. “Something dark?”

  “The darkest,” said Lucan. “But, fear not, there's no danger. At least not for you.”

  “Don't do anything foolish,” said Mazael.

  Lucan lifted an eyebrow. “Since I came to Castle Cravenlock, I have done nothing but foolish things. Yet I am still alive.”

  Mazael shook his head and walked back to Mantle.

  ###

  Lucan watched Mazael go, his fingers still wrapped around the glass vial.

  It felt warm beneath his fingers, almost hot.

  The distilled blood of Mazael Cravenlock, purified down to its essence, crackled with Demonsouled power. It would only give Lucan a few moments of strength, just a few heartbeats, but hopefully enough to crush Straganis once and for all.

  “He's a mighty lord,” croaked Mocker-Of-Hope in the thief's voice, “so he is.”

  “We will see,” said Lucan, “just how strong he is. And how strong am I.”

  ###

  They left at once.

  Mazael had the footmen encamp, digging trenches and piling earthwork walls. Soon a small city of tents rose before the Dominiar fortification. Mazael saw the Dominiar footmen climb to the top of their own wall, watching the work.

  And as the Dominiars watched the footmen, Mazael and forty-five hundred horsemen slipped around the rear of the camp, riding fast through the rugged hills. They passed more villages ravaged by Amalric's raiders, villages ringed by impaled corpses.

  Mazael felt his teeth grinding.

  They rode as fast as they could while sparing the horses' strength. Trocend's spells found a band of Dominiar raiders, a hundred and fifty strong, marching north. Galan's Justiciars swept them away in one brief and bloody charge. Mazael left the bodies to rot, ordering the men to keep riding. The roads were poor and often overgrown, and they did not make the progress Mazael had hoped.

  He drove them on after sunset, long after it had become too dark to see, and finally permitted the knights to stop and rest. They woke again before sunrise, and kept riding. A few hours later they came to the end of the mountain ridge, the country opening into the rocky hills and thin forests of Mastaria, the land of the Dominiar Order.

  They rode into Mastaria, hooked around the southernmost crag of the mountains, and galloped north for Tumblestone. Soon they came upon an excellent road in good repair. Malleus must have rebuilt for his planned invasion of Knightcastle. The road showed signs of the recent passage of many thousand
s of men. They rode northward, passing many small Mastarian villages. The peasants watched with flinty, cold eyes. They looked hungry. Amalric had taken the last of their food to feed his men.

  And so they sent no word, no runner or rider, to tell Amalric of Mazael's coming.

  A few hours later Knights' Bay came into sight, a broad, hazy, blue expanse, a finger of the great western ocean. The sea breeze ruffled the banners dangling from Sir Aulus's lance. Mazael ordered the men to ride faster. He felt time slipping away. If Amalric took Tumblestone, Mazael and the knights might find themselves trapped between Tumblestone and the Dominiar force holding the pass.

  Trocend and Timothy discovered a dozen scouts ranging through the country around them. Mazael dispatched bands of knights to hunt them down, and braced himself for the counterattack. Sooner or later, Straganis would sense Trocend's spells, and strike back.

  But no arcane counterattack came. For that matter, no counterattack of any sort appeared. Asides from the scouts, they encountered no other Dominiars. For the first time since leaving Knightcastle, Mazael began to feel hope. Maybe Amalric had miscalculated, failing to anticipate an attack from behind. He had sealed off the pass, but left only scouts behind him. And maybe the full weight of Straganis's arcane strength had been unleashed upon Tumblestone, leaving him with no power to sense Trocend's divinations.

  Or maybe Straganis and Amalric had fallen out.

  Mazael shook his head. The Demonsouled dominated and destroyed. Straganis may have thought himself the stronger, but in the end, Amalric had become the master. Mazael looked over the long lines of armored horsemen behind him. He fought against his Demonsouled nature, Romaria had died to save him from his black soul, and yet he still had become a lord and a commander. Would he next become a tyrant?

  Mazael shook aside his grim thoughts. He could not doubt himself now. If he failed, if he turned back, Amalric would become the Destroyer, and uncounted thousands would die.