Demonsouled Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

The men shouted and raced to the remaining three ladders, shields raised, spears extended.

  “And I,” said Lucan, “will see if I can distract Malavost.”

  Mazael nodded and ran to join the spearmen, Athaelin at his right hand.

  Lucan opened his mind to the bloodstaff, and the raging power flooded through him. He wanted to lash out around him with his magic, butchering human and Elderborn and Malrag alike. But some part of his mind held control, and instead he loosed the staff's full might at Malavost.

  Vaguely, he realized that Aldane Roland might be with Malavost, but he did not care. The death of one infant was a small price to pay to keep Sepharivaim from rising once more.

  ###

  The green light faded, and Sykhana saw the living roots at the base of the bluff go still. Three of the massive ladders remained against the wall, and a steady torrent of Malrags poured up them.

  “Well enough for now,” said Malavost, flexing his fingers. “I suggest, Grand Master, that you order more ladders constructed, and…”

  His eyes widened.

  A flare of blood-colored light blazed atop the walls of Deepforest Keep, and a ribbon of crimson flame leap out, weaving back and forth like a drunken bird.

  It was heading right for them.

  Malavost moved faster than she had ever seen him move. One moment he stood among the Malrag shamans. The next he stood by the side of her horse, left hand closing about her ankle, his right coming up in a magical gesture.

  "What..." began Sykhana.

  Malavost barked a spell, and a shimmering globe of blue light surrounded them.

  An instant later the ribbon of crimson flame slammed into the globe. There was a deafening roar, and a flash of fiery light. A blast of hot wind washed over them, almost throwing Sykhana from the saddle, sending Malavost's long coat flapping behind him like black wings. She closed her eyes and clung to Aldane, trying to keep from falling to the ground.

  Then the light cleared, and Malavost's blue glow vanished.

  Sykhana blinked the afterimage from her eyes. Around them, a half-dozen trees burned, reduced to smoldering ruin. A score of Malrags lay scattered on the ground, their armor half-melted, the air heavy with the stench of their scorched flesh. Ultorin stood some distance away, still bellowing at the Malrags. Sykhana doubted that he had even noticed the magical attack.

  "Ah," said Malavost at last. "It seems that the Dragon's Shadow can hit harder than I expected." He smiled. "I underestimated him. Though not by very much."

  "He almost killed Aldane!" said Sykhana. Some part of her mind realized that Lucan Mandragon had almost killed her as well, but she hardly cared. Aldane was all that mattered. "You promised, wizard! You said Aldane would live forever in power and splendor. He can't do that if the Dragon's Shadow kills him!"

  "I told you that Aldane would reach the summit of Mount Tynagis," said Malavost, "and I keep my word. I have not brought Aldane Roland all this way only to see him die within sight of his destiny." His pale blue eyes fixed on her, his white hair stirring in the hot breeze rising from the burned ground. "But do not fear, Sykhana. When the time comes, I shall break Lucan Mandragon as easily a child breaking a twig."

  ###

  The druids' magic and Lucan's spells had destroyed seven of the massive ladders, but three remained, scores of Malrags swarming up each one.

  "This is the hour, men of Deepforest Keep!" bellowed Athaelin, bastard sword in his right hand, the ancient Greenshield upon his left arm. "Stand fast and fight! Your wives and children rely upon your arms, your sons and daughters look to you to keep the safe! Fight, and make the Malrags curse the day they ever dared to turn their filthy eyes towards Deepforest Keep!"

  Mazael saw terror in the spearmen's eyes, saw the sweat dripping down their faces, but they lifted their spears and cheered the Champion of Deepforest Keep nonetheless. Mazael raised his own shield on his left arm, Lion burning in his fist.

  No sooner had he done so then the Malrags leapt over the ladders, howling their dreadful war cries, black axes ready in their hands.

  Mazael sprang to meet them, Lion trailing azure fire, and behind him the men of Deepforest Keep shouted and charged into the fray.

  ###

  Rachel gripped the railing in white-knuckled hands, watching the melee rage along the walls. She saw Mazael in the midst of the bloody chaos. No Malrag could stand before his wrath, or against his sword's burning fires. Yet the battle swayed back and forth, and she saw the endless tide of Malrags pushing the spearmen back towards the Champion's Tower.

  Towards her refuge.

  Rachel grimaced. She was the wife of Sir Gerald Roland, the youngest in a long line of Roland kings, lords, and knights. She would not flee like a frightened peasant girl! And yet, she knew, if the Malrags overran the Champion's Tower, they would kill her. Gerald might have to watch her die.

  And if she perished, she would never see Aldane again.

  The druids in the circle of oaks below the Great Traig, she decided. She could take refuge there, watch the battle upon the walls.

  And she had heard some of the Elderborn. A well in the Garden of the Temple led to the caves, the caverns that climbed to the temple atop Mount Tynagis.

  The temple where the San-keth wanted to turn her son into a monster.

  If the battle went badly and the Malrags forced their way into the city, Sykhana would take Aldane to the caverns. To the well.

  And Rachel would have her chance at last.

  She snatched her dagger from the table and ran from the room.

  ###

  Mazael tore his way through the fight, striking down Malrags right and left. His blood thundered through his temples, his heart beating like a war drum. This was a worthy fight, a struggle to defend the people of Deepforest Keep against Ultorin's Malrags, and Mazael let the battle fury rise without fear. As he fought to defend Deepforest Keep, his Demonsouled rage rose under the command of his disciplined mind.

  And with it he cut through the Malrags like a scythe.

  A Malrag lunged at him with a spear. He caught the point on his shield, shoved the creature back, and lashed out with Lion. The sword ripped open the Malrag’s throat, thick black blood sizzling across Lion’s blade. Two more Malrags came at Mazael, attacking with axes. Mazael sidestepped the first blow and swung his shield, catching the first Malrag across the face, broken fangs and black blood flying from its mouth.

  Before the creature could catch its balance, Athaelin was there, his bastard sword a blur. The Malrag fell, slumping against the battlements. The second Malrag slashed its axe at Athaelin, and he interposed his ancient bronze shield. The shield, Mazael realized, must truly be magical – the axe’s black steel did not leave even a scratch on the tarnished bronze.

  The Malrag stumbled, giving Mazael the opening he needed to take off its head.

  All around him the spearmen of Deepforest Keep struggled against the Malrags, the battlements slick with blood, both crimson and black. Men screamed and killed and died, and the Malrags bellowed their horrible war cries, flinging themselves into the chaos with abandon. A spearman fell, his helm and head cloven by a Malrag axe, only for two other spearmen to run the victorious Malrag through.

  The men of Deepforest Keep fought well, as well as Mazael had ever seen men fight. But there were just too many Malrags. If they did not get those damned ladders off the wall, the Malrags would overwhelm the defenders.

  “The ladders!” shouted Mazael, killing another Malrag as he did so. Athaelin was at his side, sword whirling. “Drive them to the ladders!”

  The spearmen shouted and pressed the attack, fighting over the top of dying and wounded Malrags and men.

  Then Lucan appeared next to Mazael, lifting his staff, the runes cut in the black metal burning with sullen light. He made a throwing gesture, and the Malrags nearest the ladder staggered, as if struck by an invisible fist. Again Lucan gestured, and this time a dozen Malrags went flying backwards, tumbling over the walls to fall to their
doom.

  “Now, my lords!” shouted Lucan, his eyes wide with something like glee. “The ladders!”

  ###

  Lucan saw Mazael and Athaelin race forward, leading the men towards the ladders. Mazael snatched up an axe and began hammering at one side of the ladder. The ladder had been built out of tree trunks, but Mazael dug the axe deeper and deeper into the wood. Besides him two of the spearmen seized Malrag axes and joined in the effort.

  Lucan grinned. If he tried to simply destroy the ladders, Malavost could counter his efforts. But here, on the battlements, he was safely behind the ward spells woven into the stones of the walls. Malavost could not touch him here.

  For a moment Lucan wanted to lash out with his spells, to destroy every Malrag and human within sight. It would be so very easy to send Mazael tumbling over the wall, screaming to his death…

  No. Discipline.

  Lucan drew on the bloodstaff’s power, just a little bit of it, and flung a psychokinetic blast into the Malrags. Two of them tumbled over the battlements, falling to their deaths, while the other tumbled back, staggered.

  And Mazael and the spearmen cut through the first ladder, breaking it free from the spiked grapnels. For a moment the ladder wobbled, the broken ends scraping against the stone walls. Then it tottered and fell to the side, pulling down hundreds of Malrags with it.

  Lucan turned to face the Malrags swarming up the other two ladders, summoning more power for a spell.

  ###

  Sykhana watched another ladder tumble down the bluff, killing hundreds of Malrags in its fall, killing dozens more as jagged wooden debris crashed into the Malrag lines.

  She looked at the attack below the western wall, making its way up the road to the gates of the city. It, too, had not gone well. The Elderborn archers manned the western wall in force, and sent an unending rain of arrows into the Malrags. The tortoise formation had first frayed and then disintegrated into chaos. Dead Malrags carpeted the road with torn gray flesh and thick black blood.

  “Patience, Grand Master,” said Malavost. He had insisted that Sykhana dismount, and stood besides her, as if to guard her and Aldane from any stray Elderborn arrows.

  Or from Ultorin’s rage.

  “They are holding!” screamed Ultorin. Between his rage and the strange tumors growing from his jaw, his face looked like an inhuman thing, like some Demonsouled from a jongleur’s song. “They are holding, wizard! Mazael Cravenlock is in there, and my vengeance will not be denied!”

  “They have slain, perhaps, a thousand of your Malrags,” said Malavost with his unflappable calm. “Tens of thousands more await your command. For every Malrag the defenders kill, ten more can take its place. Bit by bit, we will wear them down. Then the city, and the Door of Souls, shall be ours.”

  Ultorin growled, but did not answer.

  The final ladder crashed in ruin at the base of the bluff.

  ###

  Mazael pulled off his helm, wiped the sweat from his brow. All around him the spearmen milled with activity. Some cheered and shouted taunts at the Malrags. Others tended to wounded comrades, or sharpened their weapons. Athaelin strode among them, offering encouragements and praising their valor.

  But the battle was far from over.

  Mazael looked over the battlements, at the black sea of Malrags filling the foothills.

  An Elderborn messenger ran up, breathing hard.

  “What news?” said Mazael.

  “Rhodemar the Greenshield’s son sends news. The western wall holds,” said the Elderborn. “For now. Some Malrags have reached the gates, but not many, and the tribes shoot them with ease.”

  Mazael nodded. “Any sign of Ultorin?”

  “None.”

  Mazael frowned. “What about any Ogrags?”

  “None, either.”

  Why was Ultorin holding them back? Each Ograg was worth a score of Malrags in a fight. Mazael doubted that the Elderborn arrows could penetrate the Ogrags’ thick armor, and if enough Ogrags made it past the western wall, they could simply smash the gates and pour into the city.

  And Ultorin. They needed to lure Ultorin into the open. Deepforest Keep could not stand against the Malrag storm, not for long. Their only hope of victory was to find Ultorin and kill him.

  He had to draw Ultorin out.

  “Lucan,” said Mazael.

  Lucan stepped forward, leaning on the black staff. He looked terrible, his face pale and waxy, sweat dripping down his forehead. Yet his black eyes glittered, and he looked at the Malrags with something like mad glee.

  “Let Ultorin hear me,” said Mazael.

  Lucan grinned, nodded, and waved his hand. The air in front of Mazael rippled, and he sprang onto the battlement, holding Lion over his head.

  “Ultorin!” he roared, and his voice thundered over the Malrag host. “I’m still here, Ultorin! Is that the best you can do? Fling your wretched creatures against our walls? Are you too unmanned to face me yourself? Or will you hide behind the Malrags and their spells until I come for you?”

  ###

  It took the deaths of a dozen Malrags to calm Ultorin down.

  “Mere words, Grand Master,” said Malavost. Sykhana stood behind him, Aldane held against her chest. “Will you let mere words override your control? Victory is yours, if you will but choose patience…”

  “No more,” said Ultorin, his voice calm. Somehow, his calmness was even more terrifying than his rage. “I am going to take Deepforest Keep, wizard. I am going to butcher the men. I am going to rape the women, and then kill their children in front of them. And I will make Mazael Cravenlock scream for mercy, scream as I cut him apart inch by inch.”

  “Once we reach the Door of Souls,” said Malavost, “you shall have all the vengeance you desire. And so much more, besides.”

  “I care not!” said Ultorin. “I will have Mazael’s head. I will have it now!”

  “But…” said Malavost.

  “Ogrags!” roared Ultorin. “With me! All of you!” The massive plate-armored forms of the Ogrags gathered, towering over Ultorin and Malavost and Sykhana. “The rest of you, keep building ladders, and throwing them against the southern wall! I will have Deepforest Keep! I will raze it to the ground!”

  Another bloodcurdling cheer went up from the Malrags.

  “Ultorin!” shouted Malavost.

  Ultorin turned, yellow eyes narrowed. “What did you say, wizard? Did you dare speak my name?”

  “Forgive me, Grand Master,” said Malavost. “I ask only that you leave me command of a dozen shamans and a thousand Malrags. So I might contribute in your glorious vengeance against Mazael Cravenlock.”

  Ultorin snorted. “As you will.” He barked one more command, and then Ogrags followed him.

  The rest of the host surged towards Deepforest Keep, a half-dozen newly-built ladders carried forward.

  “At last,” hissed Skaloban. “Victory shall be ours.”

  “Sykhana,” said Malavost, voice urgent. “We need to act quickly.”

  “What?” said Sykhana.

  “Ultorin is going to get himself killed, the fool,” said Malavost, “and probably before he can break into Deepforest Keep. If he is slain before we can reach the Door of Souls, all of this will have been for nothing. Give me the Vessel.”

  “What?” repeated Sykhana. “Why…”

  Before she could react, Malavost plucked Aldane from her arms, cradling the baby in the crook of his elbow. Sykhana almost attacked him, almost plunged her fangs into his neck.

  Only the sure and certain knowledge that Malavost’s magic would crush her like an insect kept her in check.

  “This is what you shall do,” said Malavost. “Take command of the thousand Malrags and the dozen shamans. There is a secret tunnel that leads into Deepforest Keep, near the large tower in the southern wall. Unleash the Malrags and create as much havoc as you can. The shamans will be useful – once inside the walls, the wards will no longer hinder their spells. Between the chaos inside the w
alls, Ultorin’s assault upon the gate, and the attack on the southern wall, Deepforest Keep will fall.” His smile returned. “And the Vessel shall be immortal, as I promised you.”

  “A secret tunnel?” said Sykhana. “How do you even know about this?”

  “Through study." Malavost glanced at the walls. "Deepforest Keep was once a stronghold of the High Elderborn, built to guard their temple atop Mount Tynagis. And the High Elderborn always constructed a hidden tunnel in their strongholds, in case they needed to escape. Deepforest Keep is no exception. I performed a divination while Ultorin was busy posturing, and learned that the tunnel still remains.”