Mazael stabbed his lance into a Malrag, the heavy blade crunching past armor and sinking into the creature's neck. Yet the Malrag showed no fear, no sign of pain, even pulling itself up the shaft to claw at Mazael's arm. Mazael plunged the lance into the creature's chest again, and the Malrag toppled, wrenching the weapon from Mazael's hand.
Challenger galloped through the Malrag mob, breaking free on the other side. Mazael wheeled the big horse around, drawing Lion from its scabbard with a metallic hiss. The ancient steel blade glimmered in the torchlight, seeming to flash and flicker.
And then Lion jolted in Mazael's hand. Power flowed up Mazael's arm, and the light reflecting in the sword's blade turned blue. A halo of sapphire radiance crackled around the sword, and then the blade burst into raging azure flame. Lion had been forged long ago by the great wizard-smiths of ancient Tristafel, created to destroy things of dark magic.
It seemed that the Malrags, whatever else they were, were also creatures of dark magic.
Mazael shouted, kicked Challenger into motion, and rode back into the fray, striking right and left. The Malrags had shown no fear of steel weapons, even of wounds and death, yet they flinched away from Lion’s raging blue flame. Mazael struck the arm from one Malrag, and the head from another, Lion blazing like an inferno in his fist. The Malrags reeled back, and Mazael's knights and armsmen fell upon them.
The enemy broke and ran. The creatures did care about pain or injury, but they feared Lion's flame, and Mazael's men were more numerous and better armed. Dozens of Malrags sprinted into the darkness around the town. But others raced through the ruined gate, vanishing into the streets of the town.
Damnation. They could go from house to house, killing. Or hide themselves in the cellars and attics to attack later. For that matter, the ones fleeing from the town could band together and raid some of the smaller villages.
"Sir Hagen!" said Mazael. Hagen rode to Mazael's side, his sword and armor splattered with black Malrag blood. "Take seventy men. Hunt down as many of those devils as you can. I'll deal with things here." Hagen nodded. "Sir Nathan!" The old knight turned, greatsword in one hand. How he managed to use such a massive sword so effectively from horseback, Mazael had no idea. "Get the rest of the men together. We'll have to go from street to street, finish off the Malrags."
Sir Nathan shouted the commands, and Lucan rode to Mazael's side, that strange black staff laid across his saddle.
"My lord," said Lucan. "Listen to me. I’ve read the ancient records. Every Malrag warband has two leaders. A shaman, a spell caster. Probably the one that cast that lightning bolt upon the gate. And a chieftain, a war leader...a 'balekhan', in the Malrag tongue. The Malrags will not give up until both of them are dead."
"Then we'll simply have to kill them both," said Mazael. "You and Timothy can deal with the shaman, I trust?"
Lucan sneered. "Please."
Mazael turned Challenger toward the ruined gates. He rode into the town, his men following after. Some of the militiamen hurried from the walls, while Mazael ordered others to stand guard over the ruined gates. Hooves rang against the cobblestones, but Mazael saw no sign of any Malrags. Where had they all gone? At least a hundred had made their way into the town.
He heard the sounds of fighting coming from the town square. The square held two large buildings. The Three Swords Inn, four stories of mortared stone and trimmed beams. And the town's church, a massive domed structure, dating from the old kingdom of Dracaryl. When the town was under attack, the women and children fled to the church...
The women and children.
The sounds of fighting grew louder.
Mazael cursed and kicked Challenger to a gallop, his knights and armsmen following.
Chapter 2 - Balekhan
Five Malrags lunged out of a narrow alley, brandishing their weapons. Lion's flame burst to fresh life, and Mazael swung, the blade ripping into a Malrag's neck. Around him the other horsemen crashed into the Malrags, trampling them to the ground.
Then the street was clear of enemies, and Mazael's men flooded into the town square.
Forty or fifty of the town's militia stood in ranks before the church's doors, forming a line of spears and shields. Perhaps a hundred Malrags charged at them, howling and roaring, black axes and spears in hand. Yet the militiamen held, and did not run, even as the Malrags ripped into them. They were fighting to defend their wives, their children, their homes.
They were Mazael's people, and he would make the Malrags regret ever having set foot in the Grim Marches.
"At them!" he bellowed, lifting Lion high as he kicked Challenger to a gallop. The horsemen thundered forward, and a cheer went up from the beleaguered militia. The Malrags spun, turning to face the new threat, but too late. The horsemen ripped into them, Malrags dying beneath stamping hooves and flashing weapons. Mazael brought Lion down in a massive overhead blow, splitting a Malrag skull,. He spun Challenger in a circle, looking for any sign of the shaman or the balekhan.
The air tingled. It was Mazael's only warning before a bolt of emerald lightning screamed from the sky, painting the church and the struggling men with ghostly light. The bolt exploded into the square's center, throwing chunks of molten stone into the air, the blast knocking men and horses to the ground. Challenger whinnied in alarm, rearing up on his hind legs. The big horse had been trained withstand the sight of blood and violence, but not lightning bolts raining from the sky. Mazael lost his balance and fell, his armor clattering against the cobblestones.
He scrambled back to his feet, ignoring the ache, and looked around for the source of the lighting bolt.
He spotted the Malrag shaman. The creature perched on the rooftop of the inn. It was thinner and smaller than the other Malrags, almost spindly. It wore a ragged robe of black leather, sparks of green light crackling around its clawed fingertips.
And unlike the other Malrags, a third eye, blazing with cold emerald light, rested in the center of its forehead.
"Lucan!" shouted Mazael, running towards the inn.
###
Lucan Mandragon flung out a hand, muttering an incantation under his breath. Power welled up within him, and his magical senses reached out, searching for the source of the spell that had summoned the lightning.
He found the source atop the inn, crouching over the battle, ragged robes blowing in the nighttime wind.
So. A Malrag shaman. Such a creature had not been seen in the Grim Marches for over a century. Lucan wondered why the Malrag warband had attacked Cravenlock Town, of all places. The Malrags must have crossed Great Mountains to enter the Grim Marches, and Castle Cravenlock was six days' march from the nearest foothills.
Which suggested the unpleasant possibility that other Malrag warbands had crossed the mountains, and roamed the Grim Marches even now.
But Lucan could worry about that later, after he had crushed the Malrag shaman.
He knew quite a few spells to destroy things. Places. People.
It wasn't by choice. His master, Marstan, had been a respected master wizard. He'd also been a necromancer, and tried to use his spells to steal Lucan's body for his own. Lucan had fought him off, killing him in the process...but not before he had received Marstan's powers. His knowledge.
His memories, full of blood and death and torture and misery.
Well. Lucan would put that knowledge to good use now.
He lifted a hand, gathering more power, and muttered a spell. Magical force gathered, and Lucan clenched his fist, loosing a psychokinetic blast that would hurl the Malrag shaman from the rooftop and smash it against the street below.
The shaman spun, the glowing third eye in its forehead narrowing, and worked a spell of its own, clawed hands flickering through intricate gestures. The air around the creature shimmed, and Lucan's spell shattered against the power of the creature's ward.
His eyes widened in astonishment. That spell should have killed the shaman. There were master wizards who lacked the power to block Lucan's strike.
And even as Lucan drew in power for another spell, the shaman gestured. Green lightning fell from the sky, swallowing Lucan.
###
Mazael sprinted towards the inn’s door, Lion in hand. He had to kill the Malrag shaman, before the creature could rain more spells upon his men. Could Lucan defeat the shaman? But even if Lucan distracted the creature, that might be enough for Mazael to reach the roof and plunge Lion into the shaman’s back.
The shaman gestured, its third eye narrowed, and another bolt of lightning thundered out of the black sky. Lucan and his horse vanished in the green flash, and the shockwave knocked Mazael off balance. He staggered several steps and crashed into a Malrag. The creature snarled, exposing jagged yellow fangs beneath its gray lips, and drew back its spear for a stab.
Mazael was faster. He bashed the Malrag across its face with his shield. Black blood and yellowed fangs flew from its jaw. He twisted, and ripped Lion through the Malrag's throat with a single powerful blow. The Malrag fell, choking on its own blood. Mazael stepped past the falling corpse, looking around.
There was no sign of Lucan Mandragon.
Mazael struck down another Malrag and started for the inn.
And then he froze.
A Malrag was staring at him.
But this Malrag was different than the others, different from the shaman. It stood eight feet tall. Instead of black chain mail, it wore elaborate black plate, the armor adorned with scenes of dismembered men and women. White eyes glimmered behind its masked helm, and it carried massive serrated sword in its left hand.
The first Malrag he had seen, Mazael realized, carrying a sword.
Which meant that this was the Malrag war leader, their chieftain.
The balekhan raised its sword in a black blur and sprang at Mazael, roaring.
###
Lucan staggered to one knee, leaning hard upon the black metal staff in his left hand.
His wards, his defensive spells, had turned the worst of the Malrag shaman's lightning strike. They had not saved his horse, which lay in pile of smoldering char a few feet away. Around him the fight raged, militiamen and knights struggling against Malrag warriors. One of the Malrags looked at Lucan and grinned, hefting a black axe.
Lucan snarled, muttered a spell, and made a hooking motion with his right hand. A patch of gray mist swirled before him, and a creature sprang out of nothingness. It looked like a deformed hybrid of a tiger and an octopus, and was even more hideous than the Malrag. It was a predator of the spirit world, bound and summed by Lucan's will.
The Malrag hesitated for just a moment, which was long enough for the deformed thing to loose a hideous shriek and spring upon the Malrag, fangs and talons tearing. The Malrag collapsed, the spirit creature's barbed tentacles glistening with black blood.
"Guard me," commanded Lucan, climbing back to his feet.
He turned his attention back to the Malrag shaman, gathering his magical strength for another strike.
And no sooner had he done so than another blast of lighting ripped out of the sky. Lucan changed his spell, casting a ward instead, and flung out his hands. The lightning bolt snarled around him, sparking and spitting, and leapt back to strike the shaman.
But the Malrag shaman cast a spell of its own. The lightning bolt rebounded from its outstretched hands and ripped into the inn, blasting away half of the roof in a spray of burning splinters. Lucan made a slashing motion, and loosed invisible force to hammer at the shaman. Some of the remaining shingles shattered into dust, but the Malrag shaman cast another ward, absorbing the Lucan's attack.
And the shaman loosed still another lightning bolt. Again Lucan raised a ward, the lightning shattering against his spell to splinter against the ground in crawling emerald fingers. This time Lucan lacked the strength fling back the bolt at the shaman.
Yet the lightning was just as strong as the first strike. If anything, it was stronger.
Lucan reeled, dizziness washing through him, head spinning with the effort. The shaman was stronger, he realized. Thanks to Marstan's memories, Lucan had the greater skill. But a man with a scalpel would not win in a fight against a man with a hammer, and Lucan's subtle skill simply could not stand against the shaman's raw power.
Not for very long, anyway.
The shaman flung another lightning bolt, and this time it took all of Lucan's skill and strength to stop it from devouring him.
###
The balekhan leapt at Mazael, the black sword falling like an avalanche.
Mazael got his shield up just in time.
He almost died anyway. The blow struck with terrible force, tearing a chunk from the shield, and Mazael stumbled back several steps. The balekhan leapt forward with catlike grace , sword looping for Mazael's head. He ducked the blow, sidestepped, and brought Lion around in a backhanded swing, the blade crunching into the armor plates across the balekhan's side. The balekhan snarled and jerked away, black sword coming up in guard.
Mazael lifted his shield and took a cautious step forward, Lion ready in his fist.
The balekhan regarded him for a moment, and then began to speak, the first Malrag Mazael had heard use words. The creature's voice was a snarling growl, its language strange to his ears.
And yet...and yet the meaning of the words echoed in his mind. As if the creature spoke directly to his thoughts.
-So you are the one-
Mazael circled to the side, the balekhan following his movement. Again the creature spoke.
-We have heard of you. Child of the Great Demon. I see the power blazing in your soul. Had you claimed your birthright, I would kneel before you and name you the Destroyer, as is only proper. But instead you have made yourself weak and pitiful-
"I have heard such boastings before, creature," said Mazael, "and from the lips of those more powerful than you. Weak or not, you dared to attack my lands, and you will die for it."
The balekhan laughed.
-Mortal fool! A worthy warrior you are, but still a fool. I have died many times before, and I shall die again, ere the Great Demon is reborn. But you shall not be there to see it-
The balekhan surged forward, black sword leading. Mazael dodged the attack and swung Lion, the burning blade connecting with the Malrag’s armored shoulder. The balekhan roared in fury and brought its fist around in a massive backhand for Mazael’s face. He got his shield up in time but the punch rocked him, splinters flying from the shield. The balekhan whipped the massive sword around, and this time the strike ripped the top third from Mazael’s shield.
He paced back several steps, moving out of the balekhan’s range. The creature was strong – stronger than any man he had ever fought, stronger than Mazael himself.
And Mazael was Demonsouled. His arm and shoulder ached from the pounding they had taken, but he already felt the pain lessen as the demon power in his soul healed his wounds, restoring his bruised flesh.
But he doubted even his Demonsouled nature could heal him if the balekhan cut him in half.
The Malrag leader roared, sword whipping over its head, even as more green lightning fell from the sky.
###
Lucan’s cloak and coat smoldered, wisps of smoke rising from their edges. He had only just turned the last lightning strike aside. Two or three more, he realized, and he would be finished.
And yet the Malrag shaman showed no signs of tiring. Crude its skill might have been, but the creature had a vast reservoir of magical power.
Power that Lucan could not match.
The summoned spirit creature kept the lesser Malrags at bay. For an moment he thought about summoning more creatures to attack the shaman, but dismissed the idea. He barely had enough to magic left to maintain the binding over the first creature, let alone to summon additional ones.
His hand tightened around the black staff, its sigils digging into his palm. Did he dare to…
Then he saw Timothy.
The older wizard sat atop his horse, hands flying through a spell. Timoth
y could not match Lucan's skill and power, but the other wizard did not lack for courage. Timothy flung out a hand, and a fist-sized blue spark leapt from his fingers to smash against the shaman’s defensive wards. The wards turned the spell aside with ease, and the shaman spun to face Timothy, claws flashing with green lighting.
But Timothy kicked his horse into motion, and the lightning blast missed him by a dozen yards. His horse whinnied and screamed, but Timothy kept the beast under control, and even managed to fling another blue spark at the shaman.
It gave Lucan all the opening he needed.
He drew in his remaining strength, muttering a spell, and loosed a blast of invisible force at the Malrag shaman. Its defensive wards screamed beneath the strain, and for a moment Lucan thought he had the creature.
Demonsouled Omnibus One Page 78
