Demonsouled Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  Lion stopped the sword of the Destroyer with a clang, red flames and blue flames snarling at each other. Mazael heaved, shoving Amalric back, and leapt to his feet. He went on the attack, driving at Amalric, slashing and thrusting, Lion blazing in his fist. Amalric backed away, growling, the sword of the Destroyer blurring in his hands, seeming to shield him in a veil of flame and shadow.

  He was too fast, too strong. Mazael could not land a blow. Amalric spun, twisting past Mazael's blade, and stabbed. The blow tore upon a wound on Mazael's forearm. Mazael staggered back, trying to parry. Amalric hacked again and again, Mazael trying to parry, his arms trembling with the effort. The flames of both swords snarled and howled. Amalric locked blades, strained, and shoved Mazael back. Before Mazael could regain his balance, Amalric struck his face with the pommel, opening a gash across his jaw.

  Mazael stumbled back, spitting out blood. The wounds he had taken from the sword of the Destroyer burned like fire. Nor did they seem to be healing. Perhaps the sword’s power prevented Mazael's Demonsouled blood from closing the cuts.

  He had not even hit Amalric once.

  “Fool,” said Amalric, laughing. “Look at you. You could have become the Destroyer. You could have taken the Great Demon's throne for yourself. And look at you! You can barely hold that sword upright.” He laughed, deep and mocking. “Why did Morebeth think you strong? You’re nothing but another weakling mortal.”

  “Then stop talking,” said Mazael, trying to hold Lion steady, “and strike me down already.”

  Amalric's laughter sounded like a chorus of agonized souls. “If you wish.”

  He sprang at Mazael, the sword of the Destroyer trailing a curtain of flame. Mazael charged him, their swords meeting with a scream. They flashed through a dozen blows in as many seconds, blue fire blazing, crimson flames snarling. Mazael stopped thinking, his hands moving faster than his mind. His teeth pulled back from his lips in a snarl, mirroring Amalric's grimace. The Demonsouled rage crept into his mind, bit by bit, filling his limbs with burning power. He dared not let it claim him, dared not let it dominate him.

  Yet without it, he might not have the strength to defeat Amalric.

  More fury burned it him. He parried, feinted, and slashed at Amalric's head. Amalric ducked, spinning away, and Lion clanged off Amalric's breastplate. Amalric growled and ducked back, launching a backhand at Mazael's face. Mazael parried again, sidestepped, and slashed, opening a gash across Amalric's left arm. Amalric roared in fury and stepped back, sword raised in guard, eyes on Mazael's face.

  And even as Mazael watched, the wound on Amalric's arm disappeared. Mazael’s own Demonsouled healing had never closed wounds with such speed.

  “Do you think,” rasped Amalric, the fires from his sword reflecting his eyes, “that you can kill me? I am the heir of the Great Demon! No mortal can strike me down.”

  “The Great Demon said the same,” said Mazael, “and he is no more.”

  Amalric howled and sprang at Mazael, the sword of the Destroyer raised over his head. Mazael sprang aside, the sword plunging past his shoulder. Amalric spun, his blade whirling into a slash for Mazael's knees. Mazael caught the blow, and Amalric turned the parry, sword flying up, and slashed open Mazael's thigh.

  Mazael snarled in pain, fresh fury flooding him, filling him with new strength. He regained his balance and launched a furious attack at Amalric. Amalric backpedaled, whipping his blade back and forth to stop Mazael's attacks. Mazael lost himself to the rage, driving Amalric back. They fought across the battlefield, past the warring knights, past the fleeing footmen and the burning siege engines. The footmen took one look at their burning swords and fled. Their duel took to the bluff overlooking the harbor, to the lines of smoke rising from the smoldering ships.

  Amalric's mouth tightened into a rigid line of concentration, the red glaze in his eyes brightening. He flung himself into the attack, slashing and stabbing like a madman. Mazael stood toe-to-toe with him, trading blow for blow, the swords ringing like bells. He saw nothing but Amalric, nothing but the raging flames of the swords. Mazael caught a descending blow, shoved, and sent Amalric stumbling back. Mazael spun and sent Lion slashing across Amalric's knee. Amalric bellowed, almost losing his balance. Mazael stabbed for Amalric's face. Amalric jerked back, Lion tearing a bloody gash across his forehead and jaw.

  Amalric roared and seized the wrist of Mazael's sword arm. Mazael clawed at the hand, feeling the bones in his wrist strain. The sword of the Destroyer came up, moving for a killing slash. Mazael seized Amalric's sword wrist and shoved. They roared and grappled like fighting wolves, spinning like two mad dancers, tottering on the edge of the steep bluff. The sword of the Destroyer waved in Mazael's face, while he tried to break his sword hand free and stab Amalric. Amalric strained, bending Mazael's wrist backwards, the sheer strength of his arm pushing Mazael's hand back. Mazael felt his muscles straining, his bones groaning. He shoved forwards, his forehead slamming into Amalric's gashed face, his boot cracking against Amalric's knee.

  Both men fell apart with a gasp of pain. Mazael fell to one knee, panting, sweat and blood sheeting down his face. Amalric reeled back a few steps, blood sliding down his black breastplate.

  The gash on his face had healed.

  “Fool,” grated Amalric, wiping the blood from his eyes. “You miserable fool. You cannot kill me. Look at you! You can barely stand!”

  Mazael staggered back to his feet, raising Lion. The sword of the Destroyer had inflicted innumerable small cuts and nicks during their fight. None of them had healed, and every last one burned like fire.

  “Wretch!” screamed Amalric. “Throw yourself down and worship me, and I might spare your useless weak life!”

  “I denied and rejected your father,” said Mazael, raising Lion to guard, “and I deny and reject you!”

  Amalric's roar could have shattered stone. He leapt forward like a tiger. Mazael beat aside the thrust and struck back, striking past Amalric's battered armor, opening a wound in his side.

  Amalric ignored the blow, kept coming, kept attacking. Mazael gritted his teeth and tried to parry. The red-blazing sword of the Destroyer seemed everywhere, stabbing high, swinging low, slashing at Mazael's face.

  Mazael stumbled back, to the edge of the bluff, and the loose earth beneath his boot crumbled away. He flailed for a moment, trying to keep from falling and rolling down the bluff. Amalric struck with a massive, two-handed swing, and opened Mazael's left leg from calf to thigh.

  Mazael groaned, his leg exploding with agony. It buckled beneath him, and he fell hard on the knee, the jolt sending an explosion of pain from his toes to his teeth. Amalric's pommel caught him across the face, snapping his head back, blood flying from his face. The world spun around Mazael, and he could not stand, could not focus, could not even think.

  “I am,” spat Amalric through clenched teeth, “the true heir of the Great Demon. Not you, not matter what she said!”

  He raised the sword of the Destroyer for the killing blow.

  ###

  Adalar saw Mazael fall, his left leg a bloody ruin, his face bruised and battered.

  He had seen the flames of the magical swords from across the battlefield, had run through the chaos and the carnage, bellowing Amalric's name. And now Lord Mazael was on one knee before Amalric, about to fall to Amalric's blade.

  And it was all Adalar's fault.

  He sprang forward with a scream of denial and rage, the axe in both hands, raised high over his head.

  Amalric, his attention focused on Mazael, did not even begin to turn until Adalar brought the axe hammering down with all his momentum and fury behind it, the heavy metal head cracking through both cuirass and chain to bury itself in Amalric's spine.

  ###

  Amalric howled, his back arching, his sword slashing at the air. Mazael blinked his cloudy eyes just in time to see Adalar plunge a bloody axe into Amalric’s back. Amalric roared again and his fist sent Adalar flying. Adalar hit to the ground and did not
move. Amalric staggered towards him, jerking and reeling, the sword of the Destroyer twitching in his hand.

  The sight of Amalric stalking towards Adalar filled Mazael with fresh strength.

  He sprang up, ignoring the agony in his left leg, taking Lion in both hands. With all his remaining strength he plunged Lion through the rent in Amalric's cuirass, into the wound Adalar had made. Lion plunged through Amalric's chest, the tip smashing against the inside of Amalric's breastplate.

  Lion's azure fire exploded into Amalric's flesh.

  Amalric wailed and wrenched free from Lion, reeling like a drunken man. Mazael lurched ahead, trying to land another telling blow. Lion clanged off Amalric's feeble parry, and Mazael overbalanced and tumbled into Amalric.

  They toppled backwards, grappling at each other, and fell, rolling over and over each other down the bluff. Mazael kept his grip on Lion, his free hand clawing at Amalric's throat. They skidded to a stop at the bottom of the bluff, at the narrow beach before the lapping waves of the sea.

  Amalric's cuirass clanged away, its leather straps torn, and Mazael had his last chance.

  He stabbed at Amalric's chest, throwing all his weight behind the blow. He lost his balance and fell atop his sword, the lion's head pommel smashing against his ribs. But Lion's blade plunged into Amalric's chest, through his back, and into the sand. The azure flames blazed, streaming down the blade and into Amalric, like water pouring into a desert.

  Amalric screamed, clawing at Mazael, shuddering up and down the length of the blade. Mazael sagged against the sword, partly to keep Amalric pinned, but mostly from exhaustion and pain. Amalric's right hand closed around the hilt of the sword of the Destroyer, trying to raise it. Mazael stomped down, his boot landing on Amalric's wrist and shattering the bones.

  The crimson fires of the sword flickered madly, becoming more shadow than flame.

  “Damn you!” howled Amalric, clawing at Mazael with his free hand. “Damn you!” His wounds glimmered with sapphire flame, blue sparks twisting through his blood.

  Mazael stared down at Amalric, horrified. Lion had gone through Amalric's heart, the blade shining like a shaft of light. Yet Amalric still lived, still fought.

  “Why won't you die?” croaked Mazael.

  Amalric screamed again, blood frothing at his lips. The red glow in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a sharp blue glow, his arms and legs flailing.

  Adalar came to Mazael's side, wiping blood from his face. He stared down at Amalric, expressionless.

  “You'll pay for this,” spat Amalric, his voice weakening. A wave came to shore, the water brushing his hair. “My father...my father will...”

  “He cares nothing for you,” said Mazael.

  “She did this to me!” said Amalric, his eyes clouding. Blue flames danced in his mouth, writhing across his teeth. Lion's hilt trembled, shaking with Amalric's heartbeat. “That whore. That damned whore.” His lips peeled back in a vicious snarl. “My dear precious sister. She'll turn on you...just as she turned on me.”

  Mazael shook his head. “You're raving.”

  “My sister,” whispered Amalric. “Our sister.”

  Mazael went cold. “What?”

  “Our sister,” croaked Amalric. “She will destroy you as she has destroyed me. I...I....the child is mine! Mine!” He heaved against the sword once more. “I am the Destroyer! I will be the Destroyer...not...not her damned brat...”

  Mazael stared at Amalric's face in shock.

  “I am…the Destroyer…” said Amalric, groaning. Blue fire raged through him like a storm.

  He shuddered once more, his eyes bulging as if in horror, and then went still, the madness and the life draining from his eyes.

  Besides him the sword of the Destroyer shattered with a thunderclap, the red fire blazing once and then going out. The shards crumbled to smoking ash even as Mazael watched. He groaned, managed to stand, and wrenched Lion from Amalric's chest.

  The sword's azure flames went out.

  “My lord.”

  Mazael turned, wincing at the agony in his leg.

  “My lord.” Adalar was shaking, crying. “I'm sorry...it was all my fault. All of it.”

  It took some time for Mazael to remember how to speak. “What?”

  “He told me you were Demonsouled,” said Adalar, voice shaking. “I...I saw some of your wounds heal with uncanny speed. Amalric told me you were going to kill Lord Malden, take over Knightcastle for yourself. I believed him. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. He was Demonsouled, not you. He...he must have put a witchery in my mind, made me see those things.” He waved his hand at Mazael's torn leg. “I...you're...not healing now.”

  “No,” said Mazael. The wounds the sword of the Destroyer had inflicted had not healed, but he felt the start of a tingle against the pain.

  “I'm so sorry,” said Adalar, voice broken.

  “It doesn't matter,” said Mazael, limping towards him. “It...a Demonsouled is full of guile. He deceived us.” He looked back at Amalric's corpse. “We...all were deceived.”

  The implications, the terrible implications, of Amalric’s words filled him with horror. But everything that had happened since Blackfang had attacked Castle Cravenlock made sense, terrible grim sense.

  “It doesn't matter,” said Mazael, tugging his shredded cloak over the wound in his leg. The tingling had intensified. “Come. Help me up the bluff. We've a battle to win yet.”

  Adalar hastened to his side.

  Behind them the rising tide washed away the Demonsouled blood of Amalric Galbraith.

  Chapter 11

  1

  Queen of the World

  But the battle was over when they reached the top of the bluff.

  Footmen streamed from the pass, and for a moment Mazael thought that the Dominiars had counterattacked. But the front ranks wore Justiciar tabards and armor, and the rest had the ragged look of Lord Malden's levies. Gerald must have found a way to force the pass. The gates of Tumblestone stood open, and Mazael saw men in Lord Rainier's colors marching across the field.

  Dead and dying men lay strewn across the field, the screams of the wounded piercing the air. Mazael limped across the bloodstained grasses, leaning on Adalar, Lion dangling from his fist. Justiciar footmen strolled along with long knives, finishing off the Dominiar wounded. Lord Malden's household knights rode stood guard over captured Dominiar footmen, watching as they threw down their pikes and stripped off their armor.

  “I think we won,” said Adalar. Mazael managed to nod.

  A band of horsemen galloped towards them, flying Roland banners, and Mazael saw Sir Tobias and Sir Gerald riding at their head.

  “Lord Mazael!” called Gerald. “You're alive.”

  “Barely,” said Mazael. “Find me a damned horse. They killed Chariot.”

  Tobias barked an order, and one of the footmen found a horse, the saddle splashed with dried blood. Mazael swung up into the saddle with a wince, his torn leg twitching. His head spun and his stomach twisted, but he managed to keep his saddle.

  “You're hurt,” said Gerald, “you need to...”

  Mazael waved his hand. “It'll keep. What the devil are you doing here? I thought you were on the other side of the pass.”

  “We were,” said Gerald, “but the Dominiar watchmen had grown lax. So some of the Justiciar footmen crept over the wall, murdered the watchmen, and opened the gate.” He shook his head. “They’ve done that sort of thing before, evidently. We broke the Dominiars, hastened through the pass, and came to Tumblestone in the midst of the battle. Just in time, too.”

  “Where's Sir Commander Galan?” said Mazael.

  “Dead,” said Tobias, face filthy with dust and sweat. “He was knocked from his saddle, and his own men trampled him before they could stop.”

  “Damn it,” said Mazael.

  “When we came down from the pass,” said Gerald, “the Dominiars had fled north, and we trapped them against the ridge. It was a sharp fight, but they threw down their weapons in the e
nd.”

  “What of Amalric?” said Tobias.

  “Dead,” said Mazael, not wanting to speak of it.

  “At Lord Mazael's hand,” said Adalar, with some fierceness.

  Gerald and Tobias looked at him in surprise.

  “He escaped,” said Mazael.

  “What should we do with the prisoners?” said Gerald. “We have thousands.”

  “Kill them all, I say,” said Tobias, his eyes flinty.

  “No,” said Mazael. “Take their armor and weapons, but let them go.” He looked over the field of corpses. “There's been enough slaughter for one day.”

  “We have won a great victory!” said Tobias. “The Dominiars' Grand Master dead, most of their commanders and preceptors killed, their host broken. Tumblestone belongs to the Rolands now and forever. We should follow up, take as much as Mastaria as we can.” His eyes glinted. “Perhaps we can even destroy the Dominiar Order entirely.”

  “And if Amalric Galbraith was indeed Demonsouled...” said Gerald.

  “He was,” said Adalar, “Sir Gerald, forgive me, but he was. Lord Mazael stabbed him through the heart, pinned him to the ground, but it still took him a long time to die.”

  “Then it was a great victory over the powers of darkness,” said Gerald. “Though we never did find Straganis.”

  “No,” murmured Mazael. “Straganis and the changelings were Amalric's tools, I think. Perhaps Straganis thought he was following the will of Sepharivaim, but he was doing Amalric's work the entire time. I'd wager Amalric killed Straganis and the changelings, once he had no further need of them.”

  He looked at the bloody field, shaking his head. Amalric had been stopped, yes. He would not become the Destroyer. But the Old Demon still waited in the shadows. And if what Amalric had said was true...

  “What should we do now?” said Gerald.

  “Take command,” said Mazael, making up his mind.