Demonsouled Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

And Ultorin was going insane.

  Sykhana glanced at Ultorin, a tower of black armor atop his horse, the bloodsword strapped to his back. For the moment, at least, he was not raving. His skin had gone deathly pale, and the veins in his neck and hands looked more black than blue. Flecks of venomous yellow dotted his gray eyes, and he flinched away from the sunlight as if it caused him physical pain.

  The bloodsword was killing him. Sykhana only hoped he lasted long enough to reach their goal, for Aldane to become immortal and powerful. Because if he did not, if he died before they did...

  "No," she hissed. Malavost would keep his promise. Aldane would live forever.

  She cradled the child, her child, close against her chest, and watched as Malavost and Skaloban approached Ultorin.

  "The scouts report," said Malavost in his calm voice. "The knights and lords of the Grim Marches have gathered east of Cravenlock Town. Twenty-five thousand of them in all, with perhaps seven or eight thousand heavy horse."

  Skaloban's tongue flicked at the air. "A powerful force."

  "Bah!" said Ultorin. Dark circles ringed his eyes. "Nothing. They are nothing! I have a hundred and sixty thousand Malrags at my command." His hand touched the hilt of his bloodsword. "My command! I will sweep away our enemies and dance through their corpses!"

  He laughed then, long and loud and full of madness.

  Skaloban's head reared back in alarm, the skeletal hands of his carrier coming up in the beginnings of a spell.

  "Most certainly, Grand Master," said Malavost, unmoved by Ultorin's display. "You could indeed smash the army of the Grim Marches. But that would not bring you your vengeance against Mazael Cravenlock, would it? Not in the way that you desire."

  "Vengeance?" said Ultorin, his voice dropping to a growl. "I will have my vengeance upon him. I will see blood and death and misery wreaked across the Grim Marches." He smiled, yellow-flecked eyes growing wide. "I will see fire and death wreaked upon the entire world!" He ripped his bloodsword free and lifted it over his head. "I will watch the world burn!"

  "And so you shall," said Malavost. "If you proceed as we have discussed." Sykhana marveled at his ability to remain so calm. "For once we reach our goal, you can rain death upon the entire world, and no one will be able to stop you."

  Ultorin snarled, and then all at once lucidity seemed to fill his eyes once more. "Yes. Yes, you are right, wizard. We must hew to the original goal." He looked at his bloodsword, as if confused to how it had gotten there, and returned the weapon to its scabbard. "I can smash the army of the Grim Marches, yes. But there are twenty-five thousand of them, and Lord Richard's seven thousand heavy horse could make us pay heavily. If they damage us enough, they could keep us from reaching our goal."

  "The solution is simple, Grand Master," said Malavost, and laid out a plan.

  Ultorin nodded. "That will work. I will command the balekhans to make it so. Again you have proven your worth to me, wizard." His face screwed up with rage once more. "I will make Mazael pay for what he has done! I will avenge Grand Master Amalric's death!" He ripped the bloodsword free and pointed it to the west, towards Castle Cravenlock. "Do you hear me, Mazael? I will make you scream!"

  "I suggest we move at once, Grand Master," said Malavost.

  Ultorin rode into the ranks of Malrags, shouting for the balekhans to attend him.

  For a moment Skaloban and Malavost stood in silence. Aldane squirmed in Sykhana's arms, frightened by Ultorin's outburst, and she soothed him.

  "That human is insane," said Skaloban.

  "Oh, unquestionably," said Malavost, unperturbed. "And it's only going to get worse, I'm afraid. Amalric Galbraith was a potent Demonsouled, and any weapon forged with his blood will be too powerful for a mortal to handle. The bloodsword will induce a slow but steady deterioration of Ultorin's sanity. And he's used it to heal his wounds, as well, by draining the life force of Malrags. This will increase his strength and stamina, true, but greatly increases the risk of certain...physical abnormalities developing."

  "The man is unreliable!" said Skaloban. "His madness places our plan, indeed, the Vessel himself, in dire jeopardy! You should have wielded the bloodsword yourself."

  Malavost lifted his eyebrows. "Pardon, honored Skaloban, but do I look like a fool? I have survived this long by knowing my limitations. And no mortal can safely wield the power of the Demonsouled - most Demonsouled themselves eventually descend into homicidal madness." He smiled, briefly. "As the Dragon's Shadow will soon discover. No, honored Skaloban, Ultorin is...disposable. A necessary sacrifice to reach our goal. His sanity will continue to deteriorate, true, but he will last long enough for us to fulfill the Vessel's purpose."

  "See that he does," said Skaloban, his black-slit eyes turning to Sykhana. "And you see that the Vessel reaches the Door of Souls safely. Fail, and it will not go well with you."

  He turned and stalked away, green sparks flashing from the joints of his skeletal carrier.

  "It is," murmured Malavost, so softly Sykhana almost didn't hear, "always such a pleasure conversing with you."

  "How soon," said Sykhana, "until Ultorin decides to kill us?"

  "He won't," said Malavost, glancing at her. "And even if he does, I will dispose of him, and find another fool to wield the bloodsword. We need the bloodsword's control over the Malrags. We do not particularly need Ultorin to be the one to wield it." He smiled. "Now, come. We have a battle to watch. And is it not fitting that the Vessel should witness the destruction of his enemies?"

  ###

  War drums boomed over the plain.

  Mazael rode past rank after rank of pikemen, their chain mail covered by black tabards marked with the red dragon of the House of Mandragon. Rows of horse archers, sitting ready with their short bows and javelins. Footmen equipped with shields and heavy maces. And the heavy horse, knights and mounted armsmen, armored in plate and chain, lances and swords ready in their hands.

  Twenty-five thousand men, led by one of the most cunning and battle-hardened lords in the kingdom.

  Mazael hoped that would be enough.

  He found Lord Richard beneath the black Mandragon standard, clad in his armor of red dragon scales. With him waited Lord Robert, Lord Astor, Lord Jonaril, Sir Tanam, and his other chief vassals. Toraine waited atop his horse, a black shadow in his dark armor.

  “Lord Mazael,” said Richard Mandragon, utterly calm. “Welcome.”

  “My men are at your disposal, my lord,” said Mazael.

  “Good,” said Richard. “Lord Athaelin, Lady Romaria, Sir Hagen, welcome. Today we shall end this fight.”

  “What is the plan, then?” said Lord Robert Highgate. In his mail and surcoat, Lord Robert looked rather like a shiny metal pear.

  “Our task is simple,” said Lord Richard. “We find Ultorin and kill him. Once he is dead, the Malrags will turn upon each other, and we can destroy them at our leisure.”

  “How shall we draw him out?” said Lord Astor. “He must know we will try to kill him. Surely we would not be foolish enough to expose himself to unnecessary risk.”

  “We have an unfair advantage, my lord Astor,” said Lucan, face shrouded in his cowl. “Ultorin hates Mazael, hates him beyond all reason. And the bloodsword is eating at his mind.” His hand tightened on his black staff. “He will take foolish risks, if he thinks he can cut down Lord Mazael. And twice now Ultorin has set traps for Mazael.”

  “I shall command the reserve,” said Lord Richard. “Lord Astor, you will command the footmen in the center. Lord Robert, you will command the horsemen of the left wing. Toraine, you shall command the horsemen of the right. Sir Tanam, you have charge of the mounted archers. My lord Athaelin, I would be honored if you would take command of the foot archers.”

  “The honor shall be mine,” said Athaelin.

  “You, my lord Mazael, shall command the vanguard,” said Lord Richard.

  Romaria frowned.

  “Of course,” said Mazael. “But why?”

  “Because Ultorin h
ates you,” said Lord Richard. “You presence at the forefront of the battle line will draw him out. And once he is drawn out, we can strike him down and end this war.”

  Mazael nodded. It made perfect sense. And if both Mazael and Gerald were killed in the battle, and Aldane was not recovered from the San-keth...then Rachel would be the heir to Castle Cravenlock. And Lord Richard could force her to marry Toraine, and forever end any threat from the Cravenlocks.

  Lord Richard would do anything to ensure the peace of the Grim Marches.

  “If I find Ultorin,” said Mazael, “I will kill him.”

  “Good,” said Lord Richard, turning. “Lucan. Join the other wizards with the reserve. We will need your skills to counter any attacks from the Malrag shamans.” Lucan nodded. “Sir Gerald, you may do as you wish, of course. But I would be grateful if you would remain with me in the reserve. Your father, as you know, does not think highly of me, and I would not give him further cause for grievance.”

  “Of course,” said Gerald with a bow. “But if I see my son, I will take whatever action I think best.”

  “As you will,” said Lord Richard. “To your commands, my lord.”

  Mazael turned Hauberk, towards the banners of the vanguard. Romaria steered her horse besides his.

  “He's hoping you will fall in the battle,” said Romaria, her voice low.

  “I know,” said Mazael. “I'll just have to disappoint him, won't I?” He paused. “Where will you go?”

  “With the mounted archers,” said Romaria. “I'd ride into battle with you, but I'm not a knight.” She gave him a sad smile. “Good luck to you, my love.”

  He reached over and took her hand. “And to you, my love.”

  Mazael turned and rode for the vanguard, while Romaria left for the mounted archers.

  ###

  Aldane cried in Sykhana's arms.

  The constant booming of Richard Mandragon's war drums had frightened him. Sykhana rocked the baby in her arms, trying to soothe him. None of the Malrags cared about his cries, of course. Except from time to time a pair of white eyes turned towards him, and Sykhana knew the creatures were thinking about killing him, torturing him.

  As they had killed and tortured that woman and her baby in the burned village...

  Sykhana shook aside the image and made herself listen.

  -We are ready-

  The voice echoed in Sykhana's mind. A balekhan stood next to Ultorin's horse, its massive black sword in hand.

  -Release us to battle. We shall slaughter your enemies, great Master. Their blood shall fill the earth, and their screams shall be music to your ears-

  “Richard Mandragon's host has drawn itself into battle formation!” said Skaloban, his voice croaking with alarm. “They are ready for us!”

  “Of course they are, honored Skaloban,” said Malavost. Sykhana wondered if the San-keth cleric noticed the faint note of scorn in Malavost's voice. “That is the entire point of the plan, is it not? That we draw the full attention of Lord Richard's host?”

  “Yes,” said Ultorin, drawing his bloodsword. “We will draw his attention...and then the whole world shall feel my vengeance!”

  He lifted the bloodsword into the air and roared, and a hundred thousand Malrag throats answered him, the creatures howling their terrible battle cries to the sky. It was louder than thunder, louder than an earthquake, the most terrible noise Sykhana had ever heard.

  “Kill them!” bellowed Ultorin. “Kill them all! Kill them all!”

  The Malrag attack surged forward.

  ###

  The Malrag war cry died away, its echoes lingering over the plain.

  A half mile away Mazael saw the vast dark mass of the Malrag host, thousands upon thousands of them.

  And then as one, the Malrags began running forward, still howling, the earth thundering beneath their armored boots.

  Chapter 17 - The Battle of Castle Cravenlock

  “My lord,” said Sir Hagen, voice low and urgent. “My lord, your orders?” For the first time that Mazael could remember, Hagen Bridgebane sounded anxious.

  Looking at the charging Malrag horde, Mazael could hardly blame him.

  “Hold,” said Mazael. Sir Hagen waited at his right, and Sir Aulus at his left, the black Cravenlock standard flying from his lance. Hopefully Ultorin would see it.

  The Malrags thundered closer.

  “My lord,” said Hagen. “Your commands?”

  “Hold,” said Mazael, risking a look over his shoulder, at the Mandragon banner flying over the reserves. Far in the distance he saw the walls and towers of Castle Cravenlock atop the crag. Rachel could see the battle from the walls, along with the wives and mothers and daughters of his vassals and knights.

  He hoped he could bring them victory. That he could return their husbands and sons and brothers.

  “My lord!” said Hagen.

  Lord Richard's war drums boomed out, sounding the charge.

  “Now!” said Mazael. “Charge!” He lifted his lance. “Charge!”

  Sir Aulus blew a long blast on his horn, and the vanguard, two thousand heavy horse, roared in answer. Hauberk leapt forward in excitement, and around Mazael the knights of the Grim Marches rolled forward, lances lowered.

  ###

  Sykhana watched the wall of horsemen gallop at the charging Malrags, and felt a shiver of fear. They couldn't possibly reach her and Aldane. They couldn't cut their way through tens of thousands of Malrags.

  But she wondered if Gerald Roland rode among them, eager to retrieve his son and avenge the death of his wife, and Sykhana felt something cold touch her spine.

  No! Aldane was hers!

  “Shamans!” bellowed Ultorin, gesturing with his bloodsword. “Give them a welcome!”

  ###

  Blasts of green lightning screamed down from the sky, plunging into the vanguard like knives. One struck a dozen feet from Mazael, sending two knights screaming to the earth.

  They died, trampled beneath the hooves of their comrades.

  “Charge!” said Mazael, gritting his teeth. They had to reach the Malrags. They had to reach Ultorin.

  ###

  Lucan felt the magical energy swirl overhead, saw green lightning rip out of the sky.

  “Wards!” he said to fifty men in long black coats and cloaks near him, the court wizards of the lords of the Grim Marches. “To counter the lightning. Follow my lead.”

  He lifted his hand and began casting a spell. The wizards of the Grim Marches, save for Timothy, feared him, or hated him. They knew Marstan's reputation.

  But they would obey him.

  Lucan lifted his hand, and the wizards released their spells.

  The next bolt of lightning struck an invisible barrier and vanished. Lucan gestured, throwing his full power into the spell. Two more lightning bolts screamed down, only to strike his barrier and rebound into the Malrag ranks, ripping them apart.

  ###

  More lightning came thundering out of the sky, only to bend at the last minute, twisting to strike down the Malrags.

  Lucan and Timothy and the other wizards had come through.

  Then there was no more time. Mazael lowered his lance and set himself, boots digging into Hauberk's stirrups. The vanguard crashed into the charging Malrags, the air filling with the clang of armor and the sound of tearing flesh and cracking bone. A Malrag fell beneath Hauberk's hooves, the big horse barely slowing, and Mazael rammed his lance through a Malrag's jaw with such force that the steel point exploded out of the back of the creature's head. Some horsemen fell, dying beneath Malrag spears and axes, but more, far more, Malrags perished.

  Mazael killed another Malrag, and another, his mind racing. Again and again the Malrags had proven that they could not stand up to a charge of heavy horsemen on level ground. Yet Ultorin had thrown the Malrags in a huge attack against the knights. Why? Did he hope simply to bury the army of the Grim Marches in sheer numbers?

  The lance ripped from Mazael's hand, buried in a Malrag's ch
est, and he swept Lion free from its scabbard, the blade ablaze with azure fire.

  He cut down more Malrags, and more, always more.

  And looking at the sea of Malrags that stretched before him, he realized that Ultorin might indeed be able to bury them under sheer numbers.

  ###

  The war drums boomed out, and Romaria's light horse sprang forward.

  Around her galloped Mazael's militia horse archers and Sir Tanam's raiders. Before them the vanguard plunged into the Malrag horse, driving through them like a scythe through wheat, and Romaria saw a flash of blue flame.