Demonsouled Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Stop,” said Mazael, “now.”

  Ardanna ignored him, and Romaria screamed.

  And fury blossomed in his mind.

  One moment he stood between Romaria and Athaelin. The next he stood over the High Druid, his boot upon her chest, Lion's tip resting at her throat. Ardanna's haughty arrogance disappeared in shock, and for the first time a hint of fear appeared in her golden eyes.

  “I told you,” said Mazael, voice quiet, “to stop.”

  Every Elderborn man in the courtyard had his bow drawn, the arrows pointed at Mazael.

  Romaria collapsed to the ground, shivering, and Athaelin bent over her.

  “You must leave at once!” said one of the Elderborn druids, her face livid with fury. “You have dared to draw a blade against the High Druid! Leave, or we shall shoot you and all your men where you stand.”

  Gerald drew his sword, and Lucan lifted his hand, green flames writhing around his fingertips. Rachel backed away from him, eyes wide.

  “Stop this folly!” bellowed Athaelin, still on one knee besides Romaria. “Have you gone mad, Ardanna? You attacked your daughter!”

  “She is a vile abomination,” spat Ardanna, “and not my daughter.” Her golden eyes remained fixed on Mazael. “You must go, human lord. You must go now. Take your precious abomination and do not return to Deepforest Keep.”

  “As you wish,” said Mazael, taking his boot from the High Druid's chest “I will take her, and my men, and go.”

  Athaelin surged to his feet. “You are indeed mad, Ardanna! One hundred thousand Malrags descend upon Deepforest Keep, and you turn away aid? Because you cannot get over your useless hatred of Romaria?”

  “As you wish,” said Ardanna. “The human lord and his men may stay. But the abomination must be expelled from Deepforest Keep.”

  “No,” said Mazael. He slid Lion back into its scabbard. Whatever else happened, he would not start a bloodbath here that would deprive Deepforest Keep of its ablest defenders. “No, you've shown me your true colors, my lady Ardanna. If you will expel Romaria, then I will go with her, and you may face the Malrags on your own.” He would find a way to get to Ultorin, to get Aldane back from the San-keth. “Romaria has saved my life, and shown her valor to me many times over. If you expel a woman of her courage...then you do not deserve my aid.”

  “As you will!” spat Ardanna, climbing to her feet, but the fear returned as she looked at Mazael. “Go! Take your filthy abomination, and go...”

  “No.”

  The deep voice was soft, yet it carried over the shouting.

  An Elderborn man stood at the base of the Champion's Tower, leaning hard upon an oak staff. He was the first Elderborn Mazael had seen to show signs of age, his hair long and gray, his face weathered and marked with deep lines. The Elderborn, Romaria had told him, could live for a thousand years, which meant that this man had to be truly ancient. His eyes were silver, clear and bright, like polished coins.

  “Seer,” said Ardanna, dipping her head in a quick bow.

  The Seer. The Elderborn druid who had foreseen that Mazael and Romaria would meet, that she would save him, and he would save her.

  Who had predicted that she would save Deepforest Keep.

  The Seer's silver eyes settled upon Mazael, and he stared back without flinching.

  “So,” said the Seer. “It has come at last.”

  “The abomination must be expelled, Seer,” said Ardanna, and Mazael realized that the Seer's words carried greater weight than the High Druid's. “It will bring disaster upon us, and...”

  “No,” said the Seer. He walked into the circle of trees, limping, leaning on his staff. “No future is certain. And doom lies heavy upon Deepforest Keep, upon the world. For if Deepforest Keep falls, then all the world shall fall with it. If Romaria, the daughter of the Greenshield, remains here, then Deepforest Keep might fall.” He gazed at Ardanna. “But if she departs, then Deepforest Keep shall certainly be destroyed. This I have foreseen.”

  “But...”

  “This,” repeated the Seer, with perfect, calm, “I have foreseen.”

  Ardanna stared at him, hands tight around her staff, but at last gave a short, sharp nod.

  Romaria climbed to her feet, dark circles under her eyes, gazing at her mother with loathing.

  “Mazael, son of House Cravenlock,” said the Seer. “Will you stay, and fight alongside us?”

  “I see no reason why I should,” said Mazael. “My men and I hardly seem welcome here.”

  “This is so,” said the Seer. “But I know what you seek. You seek your nephew's safe return, and the destruction of your foes, the necromancer and the corrupted knight.”

  “So?” said Mazael. “I suppose you'll tell me that if I leave Deepforest Keep, I will surely die?”

  “All men die,” said the Seer. “Whether human or Elderborn. And no one can see the future. Not even I. But if you leave Deepforest Keep, your nephew will surely die. And your foes will gain power beyond your ability to oppose, and will come north to seek your ruin. This I have foreseen.”

  “Mazael,” said Rachel, voice tight. “Aldane. If you go, Aldane will die.”

  And Ultorin and Malavost had to be stopped. Whatever they wanted from the ruined temple atop Mount Tynagis, Mazael had to keep them from it.

  “Very well,” said Mazael, looking to the Seer. “I will fight alongside you against the Malrags. But let me make myself clear. If anyone tries to harm Romaria again, I will leave. Is this understood?”

  “Ardanna,” said Athaelin.

  The High Druid's voice could have cut stone. “Your terms are acceptable.”

  “Now,” said Rhodemar with some asperity, “perhaps we can discuss our defense? Or shall we stand here and bicker until the Malrags cut us all to pieces?”

  Both Athaelin and Ardanna looked ashamed, if only slightly, but Romaria's venomous glare at her mother did not waver.

  “The Malrags come in great numbers,” said Rhodemar. “Our scouts counted at least one hundred and twenty thousand of them. Undoubtedly there are more, but Lord Mazael says one hundred and fifty thousand of them left the Grim Marches.”

  “Our tribes will have put up a fierce fight,” said Ardanna, lifting her chin, “and our arrows shall have thinned the ranks of the foe.”

  “But not by very much,” said Rhodemar. “As to what they want, or who leads them, we do not yet know.”

  “But I do,” said Mazael. “The Malrags are led by Ultorin, a Dominiar knight, Malavost, a necromancer of power, and an unknown number of San-keth clerics. Ultorin has a sword forged in Demonsouled blood, which gives him the power to command the Malrags.”

  “A bloodsword?” said Ardanna. “My people have encountered such weapons before. They bestow terrible power, but inevitably drive their wielders into madness.”

  Lucan looked away, rolling the black staff between his palms.

  “Malavost is probably controlling Ultorin somehow,” said Mazael. “The San-keth also kidnapped my nephew, Sir Gerald's son. Ardmorgan Sil Tarithyn of the Tribe of the Wolf believes that Malavost and the San-keth want to seize the ruined temple atop Mount Tynagis and claim it for themselves.”

  Ardanna's golden eyes narrowed. “They would dare,” she hissed, “to defile the sacred temple. We shall not allow it. We...”

  “The Door of Souls,” said the Seer.

  Again everyone looked at the ancient Elderborn.

  Lucan frowned. “The...Door of Souls? What is that?”

  “I know what your foes seek,” said the Seer. He looked at Gerald. “And I know why your son has been kidnapped.”

  “Why?” said Rachel, stepping to Mazael's side. “Why? For the love of all the gods, please tell me why.”

  “In ancient times,” said the Seer, “the High Elderborn communed with the spirit world and spoke with its princes and lords. Their mightiest wizards could even enter the spirit world, through an artifact called the Door of Souls.”

  “An artifact,” said Mazael
, understanding, “within the temple atop Mount Tynagis.”

  “You speak true,” said the Seer. “The Door of Souls is perilous, which is why my people have guarded Mount Tynagis for long centuries, why we made the pact with the men of Deepforest Keep. If Malavost acted alone, I would say he simply wished to seize the Door's power for himself. But with the San-keth, and the child...no, he wishes something different.”

  “What?” said Rachel. Gerald grabbed at her arm to support her. “What is he going to do?”

  The Seer looked at her, his weathered face grave. “Your son shall become Sepharivaim reborn.”

  “I don't understand,” said Rachel.

  “Do you know the story of the San-keth?” said the Seer. “How once they walked as you and I do, with arms and legs, until they followed their god Sepharivaim into wickedness, and the rest of the gods stripped the San-keth of their limbs and forced them to crawl in the dust to humble their pride. And Sepharivaim himself was cast down and defeated. But a god cannot be slain, even by other gods. Sepharivaim's body was destroyed, and his spirit cast into the dark void between the worlds. A mortal wizard of sufficient skill could use the Door of Souls to draw Sepharivaim's spirit back into the world and infuse it into a mortal body.”

  “A mortal body,” said Mazael, understanding like at last, “like Rachel's son.”

  Rachel's hands were at her mouth, her face white.

  “If it were as simple as that,” said Lucan, “why have the San-keth not done this long ago?”

  “Because it is not simple,” said the Seer. “They would need a wizard of great skill and power to even attempt the summoning spell.”

  “Malavost,” said Mazael.

  “And they would need a way to force their way past Deepforest Keep and reach the temple,” said the Seer.

  “Ultorin and the Malrags,” said Mazael.

  “And they would need a special child,” said the Seer. “Not just any mortal body could receive the soul of a god. The child would need to be young, in his first year. And he would need to be born of a woman who had been marked by Sepharivaim, yet had rejected him. For an apostate's child would be vulnerable to such possession...”

  Rachel started to weep. “I did this. I did this. Oh, Aldane. Oh, I'm sorry. Gerald, I'm sorry. This is my fault, my fault, all my fault...”

  Gerald led her to a stone bench and sat her down, and Rachel buried her face in her hands, still weeping.

  “Then we know the purposes of our enemy,” said Ardanna, but even she looked shaken, “and we must find a way to defeat him.”

  “The way is simple,” said Mazael.

  “Oh?” said the High Druid. “So confident?”

  “No,” said Mazael. “But the path to victory is clear. We must kill Ultorin and destroy his bloodsword. Then the Malrags will turn up each other, and we can destroy them in the aftermath. It is the only way. I have seen your defenses, my lord Athaelin, my lady Ardanna, and I have seen your men and Elderborn. Your walls are high, and your men skilled. But Ultorin will smash your walls and slay your men. The sorcery of Malavost and the Malrag shamans will overpower your druids. They will leave Deepforest Keep a desolate ruin.”

  “And open the Door of Souls to unleash a horror upon the world,” said the Seer.

  “We must slay Ultorin,” said Mazael. “It is our only hope of victory or survival. Whatever else happens, we must find a way to kill him.”

  “Perhaps we should consider killing the child, as well,” said Ardanna, “should the opportunity present itself.”

  Rachel surged to her feet, her hands curled into fists, and for a moment Mazael thought she would throw herself upon the High Druid, but Gerald's hands closed about her shoulders.

  And even Gerald looked angry.

  “It is only sensible,” said Ardanna. “Even if we fail, even if Deepforest Keep falls, perhaps we can spare the rest of the world...”

  “You would like that, I'm sure,” said Athaelin. “The men of Deepforest Keep slain. But the Elderborn can wait in the forests until the Malrags depart, and...”

  “Damn it, enough!” said Mazael. “Your are on the verge of destruction, and yet both of you squabble like children! You will cooperate, or by the gods, I will leave you to your fate.”

  Athaelin gave a nod, and Ardanna looked away, saying nothing.

  “What do you suggest we do, then?” said Rhodemar.

  “Prepare for a siege,” said Mazael, “as you have been doing. Ultorin will send the Malrags against the walls. We must hold him off as long as we can, to exploit our advantage.”

  “What advantage?” said Ardanna.

  “Ultorin is insane,” said Lucan, voice quiet. “The bloodsword is destroying his mind, piece by piece. He will take risks, expose himself to dangers that a sensible man would otherwise avoid.”

  “Malavost and the San-keth will try to restrain him,” said Mazael, “but sooner or later he will make a mistake, and that will be our chance to strike.”

  “So be it,” said Athaelin.

  “The scouts say the main bulk of the Malrag host will be here in two days,” said Rhodemar.

  “Then I suggest we get to work,” said Athaelin.

  Chapter 23 - The Seer

  “I am sorry about Ardanna,” said Athaelin.

  Mazael, Romaria, and Athaelin stood on one of the balconies of the Champion’s Tower, the foothills sloping away into the Great Southern Forest below them. Mazael saw men marching on the walls, spears in hand, while the Elderborn followed, carrying their great bows. Women and children hurried back and forth, stacking quivers of arrows and bales of spears.

  “Why does she hate you so much?” said Mazael. “Because of Romaria?

  Romaria had not spoken since their confrontation with the High Druid and gazed grim-faced at the activity below.

  “Her hatred is nothing personal, either for me,” said Athaelin, “or Romaria. Ardanna...simply detests humans. She believes the Elderborn to be the superior race, because of their longer lives and greater magical prowess. It galls her that humans now possess most of the world, while only a few remnants of the Elderborn linger on in remote places. And it infuriates her that a child of mixed human and Elderborn blood walks Deepforest Keep.”

  “Infuriated or not,” said Mazael, “she will help defend Deepforest Keep, whether she likes it or no.”

  “Aye,” said Athaelin. “Ardanna is proud and cruel, but she will fight to save the city. And we have something more important to discuss than Ardanna's temper.”

  “What is it?” said Mazael.

  Athaelin took a deep breath. “I need you to take command of our defense.”

  “Father?” said Romaria.

  “You are the Greenshield, the Champion of Deepforest Keep,” said Mazael. “The command should be yours.”

  “The Champion's task is to defend Deepforest Keep and Mount Tynagis,” said Athaelin. “And I cannot do that, not as well as you can. I am skilled with sword and bow, true. But I have never led more than five hundred men in battle. Certainly I have never commanded the entire host of Deepforest Keep. But my daughter told me how you have commanded mighty armies in great battles, and Romaria is not one to exaggerate. In this, Mazael, your hands are more capable than mine. Take command of our defense.”

  “But your men respect you,” said Mazael. “I've seen the way they heed you. I am a stranger to them. They will not follow my lead.”

  “The men of Deepforest Keep respect me,” said Athaelin, “but...”

  “They love you, Father,” said Romaria.

  “Perhaps,” said Athaelin. “They may respect me, but I cannot save them. Even you might not be able to save them. But you have a better chance of keeping them alive than I do.”

  For a long moment they stood in silence, staring at each other.

  “Very well,” said Mazael. “I will take command of the defense.”

  Athaelin closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. “Thank you.”

  “But you will remain in com
mand,” said Mazael. “This is your city and your people. They will follow you, not me. So I will advise you. Whether you follow my suggestions or not is up to you. But you will retain command of Deepforest Keep.”

  Athaelin smiled at Romaria. “He is a clever one, isn't he?”

  For the first time since arriving in Deepforest Keep, Romaria smiled. “I've always thought so, Father.”

  Mazael squinted at the sky. “We've still three or four hours of daylight left, and we should put it to use. Here are my first suggestions...”