Demonsouled Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  Mazael saw the reason why a moment later.

  A score of Malrags raced after her, axes and spears in hand, their colorless eyes wide and eager for the kill.

  "No," said Mazael, drawing Lion and kicking Hauberk to a gallop.

  The Malrags turned to look as Lion erupted into blazing azure flame. And as they did, the black wolf lunged forward, fangs ripping, and two of the Malrags fell, hamstrung. The rest hesitated, caught between fear of the wolf and fear of Lion's flame, and Hauberk crashed into them, knocking one Malrag to the earth. Mazael struck, driving Lion into a Malrag's skull, even as Hauberk kicked another Malrag.

  But there were too many of them. Mazael urged Hauberk forward, but the Malrags followed, stabbing and slashing. He parried one blow, then another, but a spear bit into his hip, and the edge of an axe grazed his calf. He snarled in pain and killed another Malrag, even as a spear dug through his armor and into his shoulder.

  Then a thunderclap rang out, and invisible force seized the nearest Malrags. Lucan stood in his saddle, hand raised, gray light flickering around his fingertips. Mist swirled below his horse, and a pair of shadowy beasts leapt from the mist, each looking like a cross between a hyena and a scorpion. The spirit beasts tore into the Malrags, rending them to pieces. Hauberk screamed in pain and fury and ripped free of the Malrags. Mazael leaned forward, putting the horse's momentum behind his swing, and Lion took another Malrag's head.

  Even wounded, the wolf moved with grace and power, dealing death at every turn.

  It was over soon, most of the Malrags slain, the rest fleeing. Mazael brought his panting horse to a stop, Lion dangling from his fist.

  The wolf stared at him. Her flanks heaved with exhaustion, her legs trembling, her blue eyes glittering.

  Mazael slid Lion back into its scabbard and dropped from the saddle.

  The wolf backed away, fangs bared in a noiseless snarl.

  “Romaria,” said Mazael.

  The wolf went rigid.

  “Careful,” murmured Lucan. “She might rip your throat out.”

  Mazael risked a glance at Lucan. The younger man’s hood was thrown back, his dark eyes fixed on the wolf.

  “Closer,” said Lucan.

  Mazael took a step towards the wolf, and she crept back.

  “Do you remember me?” said Mazael. “I remember you. I remember kissing you for the first time, on the steps of the King’s Tower. I remember watching you use a bow, or give coins to the hungry children in Cravenlock Town.”

  He took another step, and this time the she did not back away.

  ###

  Lucan watched as Mazael drew closer to the great black wolf.

  Every line of the wolf’s form shivered with tension. Lucan could not tell if she was about to flee in terror, or spring upon Mazael in rage.

  And if she did, Mazael was in a great deal of danger. His Demonsouled nature allowed him to recover from all but the most grievous wounds. But if his heart was pierced or his head smashed, he almost certainly would die. There had never been a chance to test it, of course, but Lucan knew that Mazael’s regenerative power would only go so far.

  And he needed Mazael alive.

  He sat atop his horse, ready to cast the spell.

  And if that failed, if she attacked Mazael, Lucan would kill her. He would regret doing it, of course. He, too, knew what it was like to lose a woman one loved.

  But Mazael had lost Romaria once before…and Lucan was reasonably certain that he could endure losing her again.

  ###

  “And you stood with me against the Old Demon, at the end,” said Mazael.

  He was only a few paces from the wolf, now, and still she gazed at him with that mixture of fear and terror. How close did he have to be for Lucan to cast the spell? Did he have to touch the wolf? The gods only knew how she might respond to that – she might flee, or she might rip his hand off.

  “You saved me,” said Mazael, “you kept me from murdering Rachel, from murdering Mitor. You kept the Demonsouled part of my nature from overwhelming me, from turning me into a monster.”

  The wolf did not move.

  “Do you remember this?” said Mazael, lifting the silver coin on its chain. The wolf trembled, blue eyes fixed upon the coin. “You used to carry this. I kept it, to remember you. To remind myself of all you did for me.” He took a deep breath. “To remind myself of how much I love you.”

  Another spasm went through the wolf, worse than before.

  And then she changed, the lines of her form blurring and melting, her body shrinking and reshaping itself. One moment a great black wolf stood before Mazael. The next Romaria Greenshield crouched naked before him, her black hair wild and tangled, her pale skin marked with both Malrag blood and her own.

  Bit by bit she straightened up, heedless of her nudity, blue eyes fixed upon his face. Her expression flickered from rage to fear and back again.

  “Romaria,” he said.

  Something like recognition came into her expression. “Mazael?” Her voice was thick, rusty, as if she had not used it for a long time. “You…are Mazael?”

  He nodded. They stood face to face now, perhaps a foot or so apart.

  “Yes,” he said. “You remember me?”

  “Remember?” said Romaria, as if the word confused her. “It…I…you. I…remember you. We kissed.” A smile flickered over her lips. “There was…we fought together. I remember a chapel. A demon. Red light.” Her hands twitched towards her chest, where the Old Demon’s spell had burned away her heart and lungs. “Pain. I…remember pain.”

  “The Old Demon,” said Mazael. “He killed you. Or, I thought he killed you. Instead, his spell did…this to you.”

  “I can’t remember,” said Romaria. “Anything. I want to remember.”

  “I can help,” said Mazael, holding out his hand. “The Old Demon’s spell tore your soul in half. It can be healed. Just take my hand, and you’ll remember.”

  She hesitated, staring at him for. Then she reached out, and put her hand, thin and strong, against his.

  ###

  Lucan watched as Mazael and Romaria stood staring at each other. His magic waited for his command. Ready to restore Romaria’s torn soul…or to strike her dead.

  She took Mazael’s hand.

  Touching. They were close enough for the spell to work.

  Lucan began casting the spell, green light flickering around his fingertips, and Romaria’s face twisted with fury.

  ###

  Romaria snarled, every muscle in her body going rigid.

  “What is it?” said Mazael. He half-expected to see another band of Malrags charging at them. But the only Malrags he saw were dead. Lucan sat atop his horse, muttering, green light flashing around his hands.

  The spell.

  “Magic!” screamed Romaria, her eyes wild. “Magic killed me. The Old Demon’s magic!”

  “This spell will help you…”

  “You lie!” said Romaria. “You lured me to my death. You let the Old Demon kill me! And now you’re trying to kill me again!”

  “No!” said Mazael. “I’m not, I swear it, I…”

  She changed.

  The woman vanished, and in her place stood the great black wolf, pressed up against Mazael, eyes ablaze with fury, claws sliding against his armor. And before Mazael could react she drove him to the ground, paws straining against his shoulders.

  Her jaws closed around his throat, fangs stabbing through his skin. Mazael heard the sound of ripping meat, felt the hot blood splatter across his face and neck, and everything went black.

  ###

  Lucan cursed as the black wolf's jaws closed around Mazael's throat.

  There was no more time.

  He finished his spell, flung out his hands, and the wolf disappeared in flash of swirling green flame.

  Chapter 15 - Rebirth

  For a long time, Romaria Greenshield had been lost to herself.

  She had lain in darkness, full of pain, her mind dri
fting in oblivion. Bit by bit she forgot herself, forgot the pain, forgot everything. Sometimes images flickered through her mind. Fire and magic. A man, tall and strong, with a brown beard and gray eyes.

  Then she awoke, clawed her way free from the crypt, and fled across the wild plains.

  Yet dark things stalked the plains, filled with corruption and malevolence. And still the gray-eyed man with the sword of azure fire haunted her dreams. Seeing him filled her with fear, as if something horrible had happened to her the last time she had met him. Yet seeing him in danger from the dark things filled her with even greater fear, so she went to battle besides him, rending the dark creatures with fang and claw.

  And her fear for him warred with her fear of him.

  And then green fire devoured her world.

  ###

  Romaria awoke on the hard ground, naked and cold, her body aching and her skin smeared with dried blood.

  She got to her knees, blinking with confusion. How had she come to be here? This was the Grim Marches, wasn't it? Her father had sent her north, to investigate the undead things. Her memory churned. She remembered Castle Cravenlock. A stone chapel. A Demonsouled wizard, standing upon an altar.

  His magic plunging into her chest, burning her, killing her...

  She looked down at herself, at the unmarked skin of her breasts, at Mazael Cravenlock lying before her, bleeding to death from a torn throat.

  The memories came back in a rush.

  "Oh, gods!" said Romaria, trying to staunch the blood flowing from his throat. "Mazael. Mazael!"

  "He'll be fine."

  Romaria looked up.

  Lucan Mandragon stood a short distance away, leaning on a black metal staff.

  There was something...wrong about him.

  In her wolf form, Romaria's sense of smell had been enhanced, and she smelled something vile inside Lucan. Some poison working its way through his veins, killing him, corrupting him, changing him into something monstrous.

  But even that was nothing compared to the vile stench of his staff.

  "Lucan," said Romaria. She remembered him, from Lord Richard's war against Mazael's brother Mitor. "What have you done to yourself?"

  Lucan slumped against the staff, and for a moment he looked so young, so tired. "What was necessary. I...needed greater power, to meet the threats that faced me. And so I found it..."

  Mazael shuddered, drawing a gagging breath, and Romaria forgot about Lucan and his corrupted staff.

  "Oh, gods," she whispered. "I killed him."

  "No," said Lucan. "He is Demonsouled, remember? Even now his wound closes."

  He was right. Romaria saw the edges of the terrible gash in his throat closing, the blood flow slackening. She had seen his Demonsouled power close his wounds before. Soon he would recover.

  But Mazael looked different than she remembered. Older. A little leaner. Fresh lines on his face. As if he bore new cares and worries since she had last seen him...

  How long ago had that been?

  "Lucan," said Romaria, "how long...how long...was I like that?"

  "A little over two years," said Lucan.

  "Gods of the earth and forest," said Romaria, repeating the old Elderborn oath she had often heard her father use. "Two years? How is that even possible?"

  Lucan hesitated. "The Old Demon's spell was meant to kill you, but it instead split your soul asunder. The human half merged with Mazael's. The Elderborn half remained in your body, and its latent magic had...unusual effects. Hence your transformation into a wolf."

  "Two years," repeated Romaria. "Did I kill anyone?"

  "Only Malrags," said Lucan. "And you saved Lord Mazael's life several times. Do you remember anything?"

  "Some," said Romaria. "It was like a dream. Or a nightmare. And only now have I awakened. I think..."

  Mazael trembled, his mouth yawning wide as he gasped for breath.

  ###

  Red pain flooded Mazael, and darkness drowned him.

  Then consciousness filled him once more, and he wheezed for breath, coughing up a great deal of blood. He tried to sit up, and warm, strong hands took his shoulders, helping him up.

  "Breathe," said a woman's voice. A woman's familiar voice. "You took quite a wound. Even you will need a moment to heal it."

  Mazael opened his eyes, the world swimming into focus around him. He sat at the base of the hill and its ruined tower, dead Malrags scattered over the grasses. Lucan stood a short distance away, leaning on his staff.

  Romaria knelt besides him, hands on his shoulders, steadying him. She looked utterly exhausted. Yet the madness had vanished from her face. And those blue eyes looked so familiar.

  "Romaria?" said Mazael, his voice no more than a cracked whisper.

  She nodded, blinking.

  Mazael grabbed her hands. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I led you to your death. It was my fault, my mistake..."

  "Enough," said Romaria, squeezing his hands. "Enough! You didn't kill me. The Old Demon did." Her familiar crooked grin spread over her lips. "Though it seems the old devil didn't even do a very good job, did he? Not if I'm sitting here." She took a shuddering breath. "And you saved me."

  "No," said Mazael, turning his head. "Lucan did that. Thank you."

  Lucan inclined his head, but Romaria frowned, her muscles tensing beneath Mazael's hands.

  "I suggest," said Lucan, "that we return to Castle Cravenlock at once. There are still Malrag warbands roaming nearby, and we are exhausted.”

  “The Malrags,” said Romaria. “What are Malrags doing in the Grim Marches, anyway? I’ve fought Malrags before, but I never through to see any out of the mountains.”

  Mazael blinked. “You’ve fought Malrags?” Until a few months ago, no living man had seen a Malrag for over a century. Or so Mazael had thought.

  “Aye,” said Romaria. “When I traveled in the Great Mountains, before I went west to the Old Kingdoms. Vile things, full of cunning, and the only thing they enjoy is cruelty and butchery. Have they been raiding the Grim Marches?”

  "With a host tens of thousands strong, commanded by a man wielding a Demonsouled bloodsword.”

  “For the gods’ sake!” said Lucan. “We can discuss this at Castle Cravenlock. Might I remind you that I am exhausted, you are weakened, and Romaria is both unarmed and naked? If we encounter any Malrags now, we are probably finished.”

  Mazael looked at Romaria. In the chaos of the moment, he had almost forgotten that she was naked. He had thought her beautiful, two years ago, and he thought her beautiful now. Even beneath the dried blood and the scratches and cuts, even through his exhaustion, she was still beautiful.

  Gods, how he had missed looking at her. How he had wanted her.

  She stared at him, and he wanted to kiss her. But not here. Lucan was right about the Malrags.

  Mazael climbed to his feet, his damaged armor clanking, Romaria putting a steadying hand on his arm. “Here.” He tugged off his cloak and put it around her shoulders. “I doubt I should ride into the courtyard with you naked upon my horse.”

  That crooked grin flashed across her face once more. “Well. It would make quite a stir, wouldn’t it?”

  ###

  Romaria sat behind Mazael, wrapped in his black cloak, as they rode north.

  And as they rode, he told her what had happened over the last two years. Some of it she had expected. Gerald Roland married to Rachel. Mazael keeping peace between Lord Malden and Lord Richard. Some of it she had not expected. The Dominiar Order destroyed at the Battle of Tumblestone?

  “You killed Amalric Galbraith?” said Romaria.

  “Aye,” said Mazael. His voice was distant, as if recalling a memory that pained him. “He was Demonsouled. A child of the Old Demon. As am I.”

  “No,” said Romaria. “No. You’re nothing like Amalric Galbraith. He was a monster. The crimes he committed in the Old Kingdoms…he would put entire villages to the sword. Men, women, children.”

  “He did the same, near Tumbleston
e,” said Mazael.

  She squeezed his shoulder, beneath the damaged armor. “You did well to stop him.”

  And what Mazael had to tell her about the last few months was bad, very bad. A host of Malrags. A renegade wizard. Gerald’s and Rachel’s son kidnapped by a calibah. And the Malrag horde led by a madman with a sword forged from Demonsouled blood.