Demonsouled Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  The Malrags ducked behind their shields, hoping to avoid the barrage, and Mazael had his chance. He raced past one of the great bears, locked in battle with an Ograg, and ripped Lion across the Ograg’s leg in passing. The creature stumbled, the great bear’s jaws locking about its throat, and Mazael kept running.

  Athaelin dueled Ultorin, driving him back step by step, Ultorin panting as he tried to keep up with the older man’s attacks. Mazael ran faster. If he could just reach Ultorin now, Mazael could land a killing blow and end this fight.

  A Malrag leapt into his path, and Mazael beheaded the creature and kept running.

  Athaelin twisted, pushed past a two-handed block of the bloodsword, and shoved. Ultorin staggered, and Athaelin reversed his sword, locked both hands around the hilt, and plunged the blade into Ultorin’s belly. Ultorin’s eyes bulged, and he shrieked, spittle and black blood flying over his jagged fangs.

  Athaelin twisted the sword.

  Ultorin seized the crosspiece of Athaelin's sword and used it to pull himself closer, the blade sliding deeper into his guts. The wound, no doubt, caused him excruciating pain. But Athaelin's sword could not kill him.

  And Ultorin, Mazael suddenly understood, realized that.

  And even as the thought came to him, Ultorin brought the edge of his bloodsword crashing into Athaelin's shoulder. The Champion of Deepforest Keep staggered, his face going gray as the bloodsword's edge sank into his chest. The darkness-masked sigils upon the blade burned hotter, and Athaelin withered before Mazael's eyes.

  "Father!" shouted Romaria.

  Her next arrow hammered into Ultorin, but the wound vanished even as the arrowhead penetrated his flesh, healed by her father's stolen life force.

  Mazael flung himself forward, both hands around Lion's hilt. Ultorin saw him coming at the last minute and kicked Athaelin off his sword, but too late. Mazael stabbed the sword into Ultorin's side, flames pulsing from the blade and into the wound Ultorin wailed and wrenched free from Lion, staggering, hand clutched to his side. Mazael stalked after him, raising his sword to finish the fight.

  The Ograg came out of nowhere, its massive spike mace swinging for Mazael's chest. He ducked, but the edge of a spike clipped his armored shoulder, and the force of the blow sent him sprawling. He scrambled back to his feet, intent on following Ultorin, but it was too late. Ultorin retreated behind a wall of Malrags and Ogrags, bloodsword in hand.

  "Mazael!" It was Gerald's voice. "We must go! Now! Before they overwhelm us."

  Mazael looked around, saw the Tribe of the Bear in full retreat before the Ogrags and the Malrags, saw Gerald and Romaria backing towards the gate, Romaria shooting any Malrag that drew too near.

  He cursed, slung Romaria's father over his shoulders, and ran for the gate.

  The Malrag horde pursued him.

  ###

  Lucan watched Ultorin retreat into the ranks of Malrags, a bitter taste in his mouth. They had come so close! Another few heartbeats and Mazael would have killed Ultorin. And now they would not have another chance. Ultorin could not be foolish enough to expose himself again, and the Malrags had gained a strong foothold below the gates.

  Mazael sprinted through the gates, the last one through, Athaelin over his shoulders. The gates began to swing close, but too slowly, too ponderously. The advancing tide of Ogrags and Malrags would make it through before the gates shut.

  "Quickly!" shouted Ardanna, lifting her staff. "Before it is too late!"

  The druids followed her lead and cast their spells.

  Great stone hands reached from the earth, wrapping around the gates and the stone archway above them. The hands clenched, and the gates of Deepforest Keep fell in ruin, rubble and broken stone collapsing with a mighty roar. For a moment Lucan thought that Ardanna had betrayed them, or that she had gone mad. But then the stone hands themselves disintegrated, even as more rock and stone rose from the earth. Within seconds the gates had been sealed beneath tons of broken rock.

  But not for long, Lucan suspected. Thousands of Malrags and Ogrags had gained the ground before the gates, with thousands more streaming up the road below the walls, despite the Elderborn archers. Ultorin need only launch one massive assault to gain the walls, backed by the magic of the shamans and Malavost. He would lose thousands of Malrags, but he had tens of thousand to spare.

  Deepforest Keep would fall. They had lost.

  ###

  Mazael dropped to one knee, breathing hard, and lowered Athaelin to the ground.

  Chaos filled the plaza below the ruined gate. Barely half of the Tribe of the Bear had returned from the attack on the Ogrags. Dust rose from the mountain of rubble choking the gates. The surviving members of the Tribe of the Bear shifted back into their Elderborn forms, tending to their wounds.

  The triumphant roars of the Malrags outside the walls echoed over the plaza.

  "Father," said Romaria, pushing to Mazael's side. "Father!"

  Athaelin Greenshield, his shredded armor wet with blood, his face withered from Ultorin's bloodsword, did not answer.

  A moment later his eyes closed, and did not open again.

  Chapter 28 - Retreat

  “Father,” repeated Romaria once more, bowing her head over Athaelin’s corpse.

  Rhodemar hurried down from the ramparts, a stricken expression on his face. Behind came Lucan, breathing hard, leaning upon his staff with its glowing symbols. Ardanna followed them both, her face expressionless as she gazed upon the dead Champion of Deepforest Keep.

  “What…what do we do now?” said Rhodemar.

  For a moment no one answered.

  Mazael grimaced, rose to his feet. With Athaelin dead, it seemed that he had indeed taken command of Deepforest Keep’s final defense.

  “Get back to the walls,” said Mazael. Everyone turned to look at him. “All of you! Every Elderborn able to hold a bow, and every man of Deepforest Keep still able to hold a spear.”

  They stared at him.

  “Go!” said Mazael. “As soon as Ultorin can get the Malrags and Ogrags organized, he’s going to throw everything he has at us. If we don’t stop him, he’ll be over the walls and into the city before the hour is past.” Not to mention what Malavost and the Malrag shamans might do.

  “Why bother?” said one of the spearmen, bleeding from a cut across his brow. “It’s over. The Greenshield is slain. We are lost. We…”

  Mazael backhanded the spearman, sent him sprawling to the flagstones. “It’s not finished until we are dead, and we still live.”

  “You heard him,” said Romaria, looking at the spearmen and the Elderborn. “My father gave his life to defend this city! Can we do any less?”

  “Do,” said Ardanna, her voice quiet, “as the Greenshield says. To the walls!”

  The spearmen and the Elderborn turned and ran to the ramparts.

  “What did you call me?” said Romaria.

  “Athaelin is dead,” said Ardanna, her face twisting with rage and loathing. “And you are the eldest of his blood. You passed the Ritual of Rulership, if only hours ago. So you are the new Greenshield, the Champion of Deepforest Keep and the Defender of the Mountain.” Her golden eyes blazed. “As loathsome as it is that a half-blood abomination should ever become the Defender of Mount Tynagis.”

  Romaria gave a mirthless smile, her eyes red with unshed tears. “Oh, fear not. I will not be the Greenshield of Deepforest Keep for long. Nor will Deepforest Keep itself endure for much longer. So you will not have to endure this shame overlong, will you?”

  Ardanna said nothing, her hands tight against the oak of her staff.

  “Go to the walls,” said Romaria. “With the other druids. Perhaps your magic will hold off the Malrags for a little longer.”

  “As the Greenshield wishes,” said Ardanna, her voice ice. She marched away, the other druids following.

  “I will go to the walls, as well,” said Lucan. “Perhaps if Ultorin makes an error, I can strike him down.”

  “And I, as well,” sa
id Gerald, his face grim. “If we are to die here, then I will do so fighting. Maybe, if the gods are good, I…will have a chance to win my son free from the San-keth, before we fall.”

  “Do you want to go back into the city?” said Mazael. “To find Rachel?” He didn’t know where she was. The Champion’s Tower, he hoped – the Malrags had not broken into that.

  Gerald took a deep breath. “No. She is safe, for now. And if the city does fall…I would rather not see her die.”

  “Go,” said Mazael. “I will join you shortly.”

  He left, leaving Mazael alone with Romaria.

  And with the corpse of her father.

  “I’m sorry,” said Mazael. “I tried to reach him, but…”

  “Shut up,” said Romaria, blinking. She wiped at her eyes. “You always blame yourself for things that are not your fault. Ultorin killed Father. Not you.” She shook her head, her hands clenching and unclenching. “The fool. The damned fool. If he hadn’t…he knew his sword couldn’t hurt Ultorin, the thing Ultorin had become. Why did he fight Ultorin alone? The fool. The damned fool.” Her voice broke on the last word, tears running down her cheeks.

  Mazael heard the rumbling outside the walls, the voices of thousands of Malrags joined together as they prepared to charge. They needed him on the battlements. Rhodemar could hold things together, but demoralized by the death of their Champion, the men of Deepforest Keep needed Mazael. More, they needed Romaria, their new Champion.

  But he stood over Athaelin’s body and put his hand on her shoulder.

  “I should go to the walls,” said Romaria. “Do you think we can still win?”

  “If Ultorin makes another mistake,” said Mazael. “If he’s foolish enough to expose himself. Then we can take him, and make him pay for everything he’s done.”

  But deep down, he did not believe Ultorin would make that mistake again, despite his obvious madness.

  Romaria closed her eyes. “You are a terrible liar.”

  “You know me too well,” said Mazael. “But you are the Champion of Deepforest Keep, Romaria, their liege lady. They must look to you and see confidence, see determination, and they must know that you will never stop fighting for them. Otherwise they will break and flee even before the Malrags reach the walls.”

  “You’re right.” Romaria took a deep breath. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?”

  “Probably,” said Mazael. “But everyone dies. Better to face it with sword in hand than to hide in a cellar, waiting for the end.” His hand tightened about hers. “And I saw you die, once before. This time we shall die together, side by side.”

  Romaria nodded. “Then let us meet our fates.” A faint shadow of her wicked grin flashed across her lips. “And perhaps take that murdering bastard Ultorin with us.”

  “The Greenshield,” said Mazael. “And the diadem. You should take them with you. To show the men of Deepforest Keep that they still have a Champion.”

  Romaria nodded and reached for the Greenshield.

  Then she froze, her blue eyes going wide.

  ###

  Malavost stood some distance from the gates, watching the Malrags and Ogrags prepare for the final attack.

  Aldane Roland rested in the crook of his left arm, asleep. The little brat cried constantly, so Malavost silenced him with a spell that kept the child in a trance. Aldane didn’t need to be awake for what Malavost had in mind, after all.

  Skaloban stood besides him, head swaying back and forth atop his undead carrier, tongue flicking at the air.

  Gods and devils, but Malavost was tired of listening to the San-keth cleric's endless complaints.

  But no matter. He'd be rid of Skaloban, soon enough.

  “The Vessel is in danger here!” said Skaloban. “If the druids sense our presence, they will strike us down.”

  “The danger is an acceptable one,” said Malavost. He had wrapped them both in a spell of cloaking and obscuring, one that made them invisible to the eye and difficult to detect via magical means. “The fighting men and Elderborn are focused upon the Malrags and Ogrags. And the full attention of the druids will be turned upon the shamans. We are safe enough here.”

  “You are too accepting of risk!” said Skaloban.

  Malavost favored the San-keth cleric with a bland look. “Life is risk, honored Skaloban. And if you dare the ultimate power, then you must dare the ultimate risks.”

  Skaloban hissed. “It is risky for Ultorin to lead from the front like this.”

  Malavost shrugged. “True. But an irrelevant risk. Once the Malrags get into the city, we have no further need of Ultorin. If he lives, no doubt he will lead the remaining Malrags to the Grim Marches and resume his war with Lord Richard. And if he dies, the Malrags will turn upon each other. Either way, it is of no importance. We shall have access to far greater power than Ultorin's Malrags.”

  Far greater power. For long years Malavost had plotted and schemed and studied.

  And now, within hours, his labors would bear fruit.

  He felt the weight of Aldane in his arm, his smile widening.

  “Look!” said Skaloban. “It begins!”

  Thousands of Malrags and hundreds of Ogrags charged the walls. Many of the Malrags carried ropes with grappling hooks, while the Ogrags were tall enough to simply climb up the wall.

  Very soon now, Deepforest Keep would fall.

  And Malavost's long-sought goal would be in reach.

  ###

  “Romaria?” said Mazael. “What is it?”

  She only half-heard him.

  The light coming from the diadem upon her father’s brow and the ancient shield on his arm held her attention. With her enhanced senses, she had seen the power worked into the ancient bronze, power somehow akin to the magical forces within the traigs.

  But now the power had…changed, somehow. As if it had been awakened, perhaps.

  “What is it?” repeated Mazael.

  The sounds of battle washed over them as the Malrags charged the wall.

  “You can’t see it,” murmured Romaria.

  She knelt, took the diadem from Athaelin’s head, and lifted up the Greenshield.

  The power within pulsed at her touch, its tendrils sinking into her arm. The magic recognized her, acknowledged her as its rightful master. More tendrils ran off from the diadem, hundreds of them, thousands of them spinning in all directions.

  Each one touching a traig, the magic within the traigs.

  Magic that, like the power in the diadem, seemed to be waiting.

  Romaria placed the diadem on her head, and the bronze circlet rested upon her black hair as if it had been made for her.

  As if it had been waiting for her.

  Just as the power within the traigs had been waiting for someone like her. Someone who was human, and therefore able to serve as Champion of Deepforest Keep. And someone who was Elderborn, who had the enhanced senses of the beast, the sight to see the power stirring in the diadem and the Greenshield and the traigs.

  The power that had been waiting for so long.

  Until it was needed…

  Romaria’s eyes opened wide as she understood at last.

  ###

  Lucan braced himself upon his staff, watching the Malrags charge at the ruined gate.

  He was utterly exhausted. Only a steady trickle of Demonsouled power from the bloodstaff kept him on his feet. Besides him the Elderborn archers, the druids, and the spearmen of Deepforest Keep looked just as weary. It would not take much effort to sweep them all aside.

  “Release!” bellowed Rhodemar, lifting his bow.

  As one the Elderborn archers released their obsidian-tipped arrows, firing with superhuman skill. The arrows screamed out, and hundreds of Malrags fell, pierced by the shafts. But the dead Malrags disappeared into the black mass of the charge.

  The Malrags flung their grapnels.

  Hundreds of black steel claws lodged in the stone battlements. The spearmen scrambled forward, trying to dislodge the claws,
even as the Elderborn continued the rain of arrows. But scores of Malrags scrambled up the ropes dangling from the grapnels and dozens of them made it to the battlements, slaying with axe and spear.

  The Ogrags shoved past the Malrags and jumped, grabbing the battlements in misshapen hands, and pulled themselves up. The spearmen swarmed the Ogrags, stabbing with their spears, while the Elderborn fired arrows at every Malrag in sight. Ardanna lifted her staff, white mist swirling around her fingers, and a barrage of ice shards stabbed into the nearest Ograg’s face. The creature bellowed, losing its grip on the battlements, and fell to crush the Malrags beneath it.