Demonsouled Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  Mazael looked into the camp, where Romaria sat with Athaelin by a fire. "You may be right. But...the price for that power was still more than I wanted to pay."

  Lucan's smile was brittle. "What we want, my lord, has little bearing upon what we actually receive."

  ###

  The next day Romaria and her father went scouting together.

  It had been too long, she realized. Too long since she had glided through the trees of the Great Southern Forest, moving from shadow to shadow without making a sound. Too long since she had felt her boots grip the mossy soil, since she had heard the wind rustle through the leaves of the great oak trees.

  Deepforest Keep was her home, but she had not missed it very much. But, gods, she had missed the Great Southern Forest.

  She and Athaelin moved silently through the trees. They had both learned from the hunters of the Elderborn, and years of practice proved just as effective a teacher. Now Romaria could move through the Forest without a whisper of sound.

  Athaelin held up a hand. "Let's rest for a moment. I doubt there are any Malrags in the area."

  Romaria nodded and leaned against a tree. Her father reached into his pack, handed her some hard bread and jerky. She took a bite, washed it down with a swig from her waterskin. The salty food was less than pleasant, but certainly better than nothing.

  "I wonder where all the Malrags went," said Athaelin around a mouthful of bread.

  "Deepforest Keep," said Romaria. "Ultorin wants to attack it, and the Malrags follow him. Or at least his bloodsword."

  Athaelin nodded. "Your mother asked about you."

  Romaria froze. After a moment she forced herself to relax. "Did she?"

  "Ardanna wanted to know what had become of you," said Athaelin. "At the time I thought Mazael had killed you."

  Romaria scowled. "And I suppose the High Druid was delighted to hear the news."

  Athaelin hesitated, which was all the answer Romaria needed.

  "Did she want to send Mazael congratulations?" said Romaria, voice tighter than she would have liked.

  Athaelin sighed, pulled his shield over his shoulders, rested it against his knees. The ancient bronze shield with its patina of age, the symbol of the Greenshield, the Champion of Deepforest Keep and Defender of the Mountain.

  "No," he said at last.

  "But I doubt she was grief-stricken to hear of my death," said Romaria.

  "She thought it should be avenged," said Athaelin. "That the Elderborn blood within you should not have been spilled with impunity."

  "Even if the blood was in a filthy abomination of a half-breed," said Romaria.

  "Do not speak of yourself like that," said Athaelin, scowling. "You are brave, and skilled, and have survived trials that few could endure. Ardanna will accept that you have returned to Deepforest Keep. I will make her."

  Despite herself, Romaria almost smiled. "And when have you ever been able to make her do anything?"

  "There is a first time for everything under the sun," said Athaelin. "Besides. You know what the Seer said about you."

  Romaria sighed. "That I would save Deepforest Keep."

  "You doubt him?"

  "No," said Romaria. "I've seen his visions come true enough times. He said that Mazael and I would save each other, and so we have. But they never come true in the way you might expect. And I wonder what his vision means."

  "Mazael," said Athaelin.

  Romaria snorted. "Is this the part, Father, where you express disapproval? You already tried to kill him once."

  "He's Demonsouled," said Athaelin, "is he not?"

  Romaria said nothing.

  "I've seen him in battle," said Athaelin. "I've seen how he mows down the Malrags like so much wheat, how his minor wounds seem to heal up very quickly. I've seen how his men follow him without question." He shook his head. "Gods, I've even started following his commands without thinking. But he has control of himself, does he not?"

  Romaria closed her eyes. "Aye. The Old Demon himself is Mazael's father. Do you remember those undead things that appeared in the Forest? The Old Demon raised them, disguised as the necromancer Simonian of Briault. And he was the one who killed me." She shook her head. "Or...struck me down, I should say."

  "But Mazael does have control of himself?" said Athaelin.

  "Yes," said Romaria. "The Old Demon tried to corrupt him. Rachel betrayed him, left him to die in the San-keth temple below Castle Cravenlock. Mazael would have killed her, but I stopped him. Or I helped him stop himself. But he does have control of himself. The Demonsouled power has not warped him into a monster."

  "Good," said Athaelin. "I've killed minor Demonsouled before, but never have I seen one who mastered the darkness within. I always heard that such a man would be a warrior without peer." He shook his head, and raked a hand through his gray hair. "Watching Mazael fight, I can believe it."

  "So...you will not act against him?" said Romaria. "Even knowing what he is?"

  Athaelin snorted. "You're in love with him, daughter, and you're no fool. I doubt you would take a monster to your bed. If you trust him, then so do I."

  Romaria smiled. "Thank you."

  He reached over and touched her cheek. "And he seems to make you happy. You haven't had much joy in your life, Romaria, I know. And much of that is my fault. But..."

  Something moved in the trees behind Athaelin.

  Romaria exploded to her feet, snatched her bow from her shoulder, drew an arrow, and released, all in one smooth motion. Athaelin scrambled to his feet, reaching for his sword, and Romaria shot another arrow.

  She laughed at his expression.

  "What?" said Athaelin, scowling, looking back and forth. "What is it? Malrags?"

  She laughed again, pointing with the bow. "Look!"

  Two deer lay upon the ground, her arrows jutting from their throats.

  Athaelin grinned. "Good shooting."

  "At least we'll have fresh meat tonight," said Romaria.

  ###

  Rachel rode in the center of the column, surrounded by knights. Mazael had insisted - she wore no armor, and one arrow fired from the trees could kill her. Rachel agreed without any protest. She needed to stay alive to get her son back.

  "Thirty-seven," she said.

  Gerald looked at her, his armor flashing in the rays of sunlight leaking through the leafy canopy overhead. "Thirty-seven what?"

  "Days," said Rachel. "Thirty-seven days since I last held Aldane."

  Gerald closed his eyes, nodded. "I know."

  They rode without speaking for a while, the only sound the crack of branches beneath the horses' hooves. Mazael rode with Athaelin and Sir Cavilion at the head of the column, speaking in low voices. Romaria and most of the Elderborn were gone, scouting for Malrags and hunting for provisions. Romaria said that the Malrag invasion had sent the deer herds fleeing in all directions. They might have fresh venison and pheasant every night until they reached Deepforest Keep.

  "Do you think we'll ever see Aldane again?" said Rachel.

  Gerald nodded. "We'll get him back."

  "Do you really believe that?" said Rachel. "Tell me the truth."

  Again they rode in silence.

  "I don't know," said Gerald at last. "This...has turned out to be more than I ever expected. At first I thought the San-keth only wanted revenge on you. But then we rode into a war. And the San-keth are working with Ultorin and his Malrags..." He sighed, pulled off his gauntlets, and rubbed his face. "We are caught up in great events, my wife. Our son is caught up in great events."

  "I just wish I knew why," said Rachel. "If the San-keth...if the San-keth wanted to hurt Aldane, I could understand that. But why kidnap him? Why take him with the Malrags to Deepforest Keep?" She gazed at the endless tangled branches of massive trees. "I wish I knew why."

  "We will know why," said Gerald. "We'll find Ultorin and kill him. And when the Malrag host turns on itself, we'll get Aldane back."

  He spoke so confidently. Rachel wondere
d if he believed it himself. But she understood. He could not show weakness in front of his men.

  "It's almost midday," said Gerald. Both Mazael and Athaelin insisted that they travel all day, and take their meals in the saddle. Or on foot, when the ground became too uneven, and they had to lead their horses. "There's still some fresh pheasant left. I think..."

  The distant sound of a war horn rang out, echoing through the trees.

  Gerald frowned, hand flying to his sword hilt.

  An instant later a blast of green lightning blazed down from the sky, the thunderclap following.

  Chapter 20 - Falling Leaves

  "Form up!" roared Mazael, jumping from his saddle. "Knights to the front! Archers, ready your bows!"

  Fighting from horseback in the dense forest would be useless at best and suicidal at worst. The knights and armsmen scrambled from their saddles, shields on their arms, swords in their hands. Behind them the archers stood ready, arrows resting against their bows.

  "The reserve!" said Mazael. "Stay with the animals!" Twenty-five armsmen and twenty-five archers, along with Circan, fell in guard formation around the pack horses and the destriers. Rachel waited by the pack horses, her face tight with anxiety. Gods, how many times had she watched Mazael and Gerald go into battle, wondering if today they would not return?

  He swallowed. Romaria was out there, with the Elderborn scouts. Another blast of emerald lightning flashed to the west, the roll of thunder coming a few heartbeats later. Had the Malrags caught Romaria and the Elderborn? Were they fighting for their lives even now? Mazael wondered if he should lead the men in the direction of the lightning, if...

  A moment later Romaria crashed through the trees, breathing hard, four Elderborn scouts at her heels.

  "Mazael!" she said. "Two miles south of here, in a circle of traigs. Forty Elderborn are trying to hold off a hundred and fifty Malrags. The Elderborn are holding their own..."

  "But the Malrags have one of those damned shamans," said Mazael, glancing at Lucan.

  "Two, actually," said Romaria. "The Elderborn have a druid, but she's overmatched. I don't know how much longer they can hold."

  Mazael glanced at Lucan, who stood a short distance away, wrapped in his black cloak. He nodded, his eyes glinting beneath his hood. He was ready.

  "Should we aid them?" said Sir Cavilion, frowning. "I mean no disrespect to your people, my lord Athaelin, my lord Romaria. But our best chance at reaching Deepforest Keep lies in speed and stealth. If the Malrags notice us, or if they call up reinforcements..."

  "No," said Mazael. "We aid them. If we come across more bands of Elderborn, we'll assist them as well. The more we can gather and take with us to Deepforest Keep, the better chance we'll have against the Malrags when Ultorin launches his assault."

  Cavilion nodded and drew his sword.

  "Let's go," said Mazael. "Romaria, lead the way."

  Romaria nodded and moved into the trees, the Elderborn fanning around her. Athaelin drew his bastard sword in his right hand, the ancient bronze shield upon his left arm. Mazael kept Lion in its scabbard. The sword would burn with azure flames as they drew closer to the Malrags, and he did not know how far the light would carry in the trees.

  His men marched south, keeping as close together as the massive trees and the tangled underbrush allowed. Mazael scanned the trees, hand resting on Lion's hilt. Had the Malrags used archers or javelin-equipped skirmishers, the close-packed formation of his men would have made them easy targets. Fortunately, the Malrags preferred hand-to-hand combat. Perhaps their love of cruelty and torture demanded it.

  Again a green lightning flashed down, followed by a thunderclap, much louder this time. Then the earth trembled for a moment beneath Mazael's feet, and he heard a distant rushing noise. He looked at Lucan.

  "Earth magic," muttered Lucan, staff held at the ready. "The druid is fighting back, I think."

  Mazael nodded, and they kept marching.

  Soon he heard the familiar bellow of Malrag war cries, and something else - voices shouting in the lyrical tongue of the Elderborn. He smelled smoke, the harsh scent of burning wood.

  Then, all at once, he saw the battle.

  A low hill rose in the forest, crowned by a ring of a dozen traigs, like white teeth jutting from a bone. About fifty Elderborn stood in the ring, clad in gray furs, firing their bows. Over two hundred Malrags milled at the base of the hill, armed with shields and axes. They crept slowly up the slope, the Elderborn sending volleys of obsidian-tipped arrows at every opening in the line. For every volley, some of the Malrags fell dying to the earth. Yet there were too many Malrags, and they were too well-armored. Mazael saw a balekhan at the rear of the Malrags, bellowing commands. The Malrags had formed a shield wall, and the Elderborn arrows could not penetrate. When the Malrags reached the crest of the hill, they would slaughter the Elderborn.

  A green lightning bolt streaked towards the Elderborn, only to veer aside and rip apart a tree in a spray of burning splinters. Mazael saw an Elderborn woman, clad in a cloak of brown fur, thrust her arms at the sky, an oaken staff in her hands. A druid then - and one on the brink of exhaustion, to judge from the trembling of her arms.

  Then the balekhan saw Mazael. It roared a command, and the Malrags turned, howling.

  Mazael ripped Lion free from its scabbard, the blade shining with azure fire.

  "Stand fast!" yelled Mazael as the Malrags charged.

  His men raised their shields, forming a wall, and behind him he heard the creak of the militiamen's bows.

  ###

  Lucan muttered a spell, wrapping himself in a veil of concealment. The spell Timothy had used against Malavost, it wrapped the light and shadow of the forest around him. It was not powerful enough to draw the notice of the Malrag shamans, and it would hide him from their eyes.

  He smiled. He might possess the greater power, but it seemed Timothy still had a thing or two to teach him.

  The Malrags charged at Mazael's men, heedless of the Elderborn arrows that ripped into their flanks. The creatures struck into the shield wall with a great crash, swinging their axes with abandon. Yet the shield wall held, the knights stabbing over the top of the shields, arrows from the militia hissing over their shoulders to plunge into gray Malrag flesh. Mazael fought at the front, Lion a storm of blue flame in his fist, and every blow flung a Malrag upon the earth. Lord Athaelin and Sir Gerald fought at his side, protecting each others' flanks. Arrows hissed out of the trees, and Lucan saw Romaria and the Elderborn scouts, picking off the Malrags one by one.

  They were winning.

  At least until the shamans took a hand. Two or three well-placed lightning bolts would kill half the knights.

  Unless Lucan took action.

  He strode through the trees, bloodstaff ready in his hands. He felt its Demonsouled power beneath his fingers, half-asleep, waited for him to call upon it, to fill him with strength and blazing might. But he dared not use it. Mazael was right - the staff's power let him perform feats of magic far beyond even his considerable skills, but it was killing him. He dared not draw upon that power.

  Not unless, of course, the situation was hopeless...

  He shook aside the thought. This situation, at least, was not hopeless. Two Malrag shamans were not beyond his powers, especially with surprise on his side.

  The first Malrag shaman stood in the shadows of a nearby tree, no doubt to provide cover from the Elderborn arrows. The shaman's third eye blazed with emerald light, and the creature turned towards the battle, hands lifted in the beginnings of a spell. Lucan felt the tremendous surge of power as the shaman summoned a lightning bolt.

  But this time, Lucan had the advantage.

  He drew in power and thrust out his hand. A psychokinetic burst erupted from his fingers, ripping into the Malrag with the force of a sledgehammer. The blast picked the creature up and smashed it against the oak tree with such force that its head shattered, black blood spraying across the trunk.

  Lucan whirled, p
reparing another spell, ready to strike before the other shaman could attack.

  His heart sank.

  Another shaman stood perhaps twenty yards away, all three eyes focused upon Lucan.

  A third shaman stood besides the second.

  They cast their spells as one, and green fire thundered upon Lucan.