Demonsouled Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  But more Malrags swarmed up the ropes, and the horde filling the field before the gates and the steep road seemed without number. Lucan attacked with a psychokinetic blast, knocking a dozen Malrags from their ropes.

  A dozen more scrambled to take their place.

  ###

  “I understand,” said Romaria.

  Her eyes darted back and forth, looking at the bronze shield upon her arm, as if following threads that only she could see.

  “Understand what?” said Mazael.

  “The traigs,” said Romaria, her eyelids fluttering. “The Elderborn and the humans built this city together. The Greenshield was meant to be a half-blood, not just a human or a full-blooded Elderborn. But…the tradition must have been forgotten. Only humans have been the Greenshield. Which means they don’t know about the traigs. They don’t know!”

  “What are you talking about?” said Mazael, taking her shoulders.

  She looked at him, at the wall, and back at him.

  “The Great Traig!” she said. “We have to hurry! Come with me!”

  She slipped from his grasp. Mazael opened his mouth to protest. Ultorin had thrown the full weight of his Malrag horde against the ruined gates. They had to go the walls, at once. And if the spearmen saw their Champion running into the city, they might break and run themselves.

  But he trusted her, as he trusted no one else.

  Mazael took a deep breath and ran after her.

  Chapter 29 - Call of the Wolf

  Malavost stood hidden in his cloaking spell, Aldane resting his arm, watching the battle.

  It was almost over. Wave after wave of Malrags rushed at the wall, driven by Ultorin's wrath, only to perish beneath the arrows of the Elderborn archers and the spells of the Elderborn druids. The Malrags that gained the wall fell to the spears of Deepforest Keep's militia. For every man or Elderborn slain, seven Malrags fell - but Ultorin could pay that price twice over and still have enough Malrags left to destroy the city.

  "We are losing!" hissed Skaloban. "You must speak with Ultorin at once, wizard! If the Malrags are destroyed, we are lost!"

  Malavost paused long enough to make certain his voice was calm when he answered.

  "It does not matter, honored Skaloban," said Malavost. "The defenders could kill a hundred thousandMalrags, and it would not change the outcome. Deepforest Keep shall be destroyed. If we lose every last Malrag and still take the city, then our goals have been accomplished."

  He was looking forward to ridding himself of Skaloban. He only needed one thing, just one more thing from the San-keth cleric, and then Malavost could dispose of Skaloban.

  He smiled at the thought.

  An Ograg gained the battlements, laying about with its spiked club.

  Very soon now.

  ###

  Romaria stopped in the circle of oak trees below the Champion's Tower, gazing at the white stone bulk of the Great Traig.

  "Here," she said, touching the giant statue. "Right here. All the lines lead here."

  "I don't understand," said Mazael, again.

  But Romaria didn't hear him. It was almost as if she had fallen into a trance. For an uneasy moment Mazael wondered if she had gone mad, if the pain of her father's death and the Ritual of Rulership had unseated her reason.

  No. She had saved him. He trusted her, even if he didn't understand was happening.

  Romaria put her hand on the Great Traig's side.

  ###

  The stone felt warm beneath Romaria's fingers, as if it had awakened to her touch.

  As if it were alive.

  She saw power stirring beneath her fingers, great power. The traigs had been waiting for someone like her, someone with mixed Elderborn and human blood in her veins.

  Someone to call them forth.

  "I am of the blood of mortal man," said Romaria, sliding her dagger from its belt sheath and pricking her finger. She heard Mazael's questions, but kept speaking. "I am of the blood of the Elderborn." She let her blood fall upon the Great Traig, crimson spots spattering on the ancient white stone. "I am the Greenshield, the Champion of Deepforest Keep, the Defender of the Mountain, and by that right, I call you forth."

  For a moment nothing happened.

  And then the Great Traig's eyes opened, blazing with white light.

  ###

  Mazael took a step back in alarm, raising Lion.

  But the blade did not erupt into blazing azure flame, as it did when confronting the Malrags. Whatever the Great Traig was, it was not a creature of dark magic.

  The Great Traig shifted, stone moving like living flesh, its glowing eyes focusing upon Romaria.

  "Who calls me forth?" said the traig, its voice like thunder booming in the mountains. "By what right to you awaken me?"

  "I call you forth," said Romaria, lifting her chin, the bronze diadem glinting. "For I am Romaria, daughter of Athaelin, and I have faced myself in the Ritual of Rulership, and by that right I am the Greenshield, the Champion of Deepforest Keep and the Defender of the Mountain. My father was a mortal man and my mother was a woman of the Elderborn. By right of my title, by right of my blood, I call you forth."

  "You have that right," said the Great Traig. "We have slept, my brothers and I, for many long centuries, in observance of the pact."

  "What pact?" said Mazael.

  "The pact of ancient days, laid down when humans fled here and settled in the ancient ruins," said the Great Traig. "Once my brothers and I were servants of the High Elderborn, but the High Elderborn passed from the earth, and we lingered to guard the mountain. Then the humans came, and the druids and the humans formed a covenant, to defend the holy mountain forevermore. The druids awakened us, and we agreed to continue our duty, to defend the mountain and Deepforest Keep, and to come forth when summoned, when the Keep was threatened."

  "And Deepforest Keep is now threatened," said Romaria. "The Malrags assail the walls, led by a man wielding a sword forged in Demonsouled blood. If we do not receive aid, the city will fall, and the pact shall be broken."

  The Great Traig's glowing eyes narrowed.

  "This cannot be allowed!" said the Great Traig. "The pact must not be broken. We shall go to war."

  The Great Traig lifted a stone horn to its lips and blew, and that blast was louder than thunder, louder than the bellows of the Ogrags and the crash of steel and steel and the cries of dying men.

  For a moment silence answered that horn call.

  And then, across the city, the traigs began to move.

  ###

  "There," murmured Malavost, craning his neck for a better view.

  Three Ogrags had gained the walls, butchering the nearby spearmen and Elderborn, providing a safe beachhead for the Malrags to swarm up the ropes. Soon the Malrags would slaughter the defenders, and swarm into the city.

  "You see?" said Malavost to Skaloban. "There was no cause for alarm. We only..."

  A thunderous horn blast rang out, so loud that Malavost took a step back in astonishment, his free hand coming up in the beginning of a warding spell. For a moment a pause fell over the battle, as man and Malrag alike looked for the source of the horn.

  The echoes died away, ringing off the sides of Mount Tynagis.

  "What in the name of Sepharivaim was that?" said Skaloban.

  A dozen paces away, one of the traigs straightened up and ripped the heads from two Malrags.

  ###

  Lucan staggered, surprised by the horn blast.

  The bloodstaff blazed in his white-knuckled hands. He suspected, most strongly, that he was beginning to go insane. He wanted to lose himself to the staff's rage, to lash out in all directions with killing spells, to butcher every last man, woman, child, and Malrag in Deepforest Keep, and then to march north and repay his father and brother for all the pain they had inflicted upon him.

  Only sheer exhaustion, perhaps, kept some shred of his sanity preserved. He was going to die here, Lucan knew. So perhaps his impending madness did not matter at all.<
br />
  He looked into the city, and saw the traigs, the statues of the Elderborn warriors, rising from the earth and marching to battle.

  Ah! So he was going mad. Hallucinations.

  No sooner had the thought passed his mind than the traigs leapt upon the wall, and began slaying Malrags right and left.

  ###

  "We go to war, my brothers," said the Great Traig.

  Mazael stared in astonishment. There were hundreds of traigs scattered throughout Deepforest Keep, and every last one of them had come alive, marching to the northern walls and the ruined gates. And how many thousands more dotted the hills around Deepforest Keep? If the stone warriors awakened all at once, if they attacked the Malrag host...

  Mazael's wits returned.

  "Ultorin," said Mazael, "we have to find Ultorin."

  Romaria gave a sharp nod, her bastard sword in hand, her blue eyes blazing.

  "We go to war," she said, and they followed the Great Traig to the gate.

  Chapter 30 - Bloodsword

  "Fall back!" yelled Rhodemar, his face bloody. "Fall back! The wall cannot hold! Fall back to the Champion's Tower!"

  He was right. Five Ogrags had gained the wall, killing all the spearmen and Elderborn within reach, providing safe beachheads for the Malrags to scramble up the ropes and gain the battlements. Neither spell nor spear nor arrow had been enough to stem the tide.

  "Rhodemar!" said Lucan, leaning upon his staff. Rhodemar ducked, slashed his sword, and killed one of the Malrags driving him back. Lucan worked a spell and threw the nearest Malrags back with a psychokinetic burst. "Rhodemar!"

  Rhodemar gave him a quick nod and turned back to the battle.

  "Damn it, Rhodemar!" said Lucan. "Look!"

  He pointed, and Rhodemar's eyes widened.

  A dozen traigs leapt upon the battlements, and even more ran up the stairs, moving with a grace and power that belied their solid bulk. The traigs ignored the Elderborn and the humans, but attacked the Malrags with terrifying force. The living statues wielded stone maces and swords, their enormous weapons crushing Malrag flesh. One of the Ogrags picked up a traig in both hands, bellowing, but two traigs stepped behind the Ograg and buried their swords in its legs. The creature shrieked and dropped the traig, crushing a pair of Malrags beneath it.

  As Lucan watched, the entire Malrag attack collapsed, the traigs mowing through the Malrags and Ogrags like scythes through wheat. The Malrags were fierce foes, but their axes and spears of black steel were useless against creatures made of living stone.

  "The traigs?" said Rhodemar, astonished. "But...they're only stone. How..."

  "The ancient tongue of the High Elderborn," said Ardanna, and even she looked shocked. "The word 'traig' means guardian, and legends spoke of them rising up to slay the enemies of the High Elderborn. But I never dreamed the legends were true." She shook her head. "How is this possible? Who could have awakened..."

  She fell silent, eyes narrowed.

  Lucan saw Mazael and Romaria running towards the gates, the Great Traig following them, along with a hundred smaller traigs. Even from a distance, Lucan fell the power rolling off Romaria in waves, the tremendous magical force concentrated in her diadem and ancient bronze shield.

  "It seems, High Druid," said Lucan, "that your daughter is not quite so useless as you imagined."

  Ardanna gave him a venomous look.

  And the traigs plowed into the Malrags like a storm of falling boulders.

  ###

  "What is happening?" said Skaloban, his sibilant voice reedy with terror.

  Malavost watched the carnage with interest. He'd felt the magical power in the traigs, of course, during the long march south to Deepforest Keep. But he had assumed the power was nothing more than an echo, some long-forgotten relic of the High Elderborn.

  Apparently, Malavost had been wrong.

  A few yards away, a pair of traigs ripped the arm from an Ograg.

  Quite wrong.

  "They will attack us!" said Skaloban. "We must flee!"

  "Don't be absurd," said Malavost. "We are perfectly safe. The traigs will kill any Malrag they can find, but they will not harm a human or an Elderborn." He hesitated for a moment, considering. "Though they might kill a San-keth. The High Elderborn were mortal foes of the San-keth."

  Skaloban's tongue flicked over his fangs in near panic.

  "Do stay close, honored Skaloban," said Malavost. "Remain within my cloaking spell, and you should be safe. Step outside of it, however, and the traigs will sense your presence. The results of that would be...unpleasant."

  Skaloban shied closer, the bones of his undead carrier clacking.

  "Now, come," said Malavost. "Our goal is within reach."

  He strode through the melee, Skaloban hurrying after.

  They passed Ultorin. The Grand Master of the Dominiar Order raved and screamed, shaking his bloodsword in one misshapen fist, bellowing for the Malrags to attack, to destroy the traigs, to kill everyone in Deepforest Keep.

  Fool.

  But, then Malavost had no further need of him. Whether Ultorin lived or died in the next hour was of no consequence whatsoever.

  Smiling, he walked towards the walls.

  ###

  "Open the way," said Romaria, pointing her sword.

  Dead men and Malrags littered the ramparts, and even as Mazael watched, more traigs leapt from the battlements, wading into the Malrag horde below.

  "By the ancient pact," said the Great Traig, raising an enormous stone sword, "we shall open the way, and slay until Deepforest Keep is safe from its foes."

  The Great Traig surged forward, slamming into the ruined gate. The mound of rubble exploded outwards, raining into the Malrags. When the dust thinned, the gate had been cleared, the Great Traig tearing into the Malrags, the lesser traigs pouring through the gate.

  The men and Elderborn upon the walls gazed down in shock.

  "Men of Deepforest Keep!" yelled Romaria, lifting her sword. "Now is the hour! Attack! Drive the Malrags from our home!"

  She raced through the gates, Mazael at her side, his hand tight about Lion's hilt. Ultorin would not get away, he vowed. Not this time. Behind him he heard the shouts as the Elderborn and the men of Deepforest Keep poured from the gates, the flash and crackle as Lucan and the druids unleashed their spells upon the Malrags.

  Then Mazael plunged into the Malrags, and he had no more time for thought.

  A Malrag came at him, axe raised, and Mazael caught the blow on his shield. He shoved, knocking the Malrag off-balance, and ripped open its throat with a single slash from Lion's burning blade. Two more Malrags charged, and then two more, and Mazael dispatched them all, black Malrag blood sizzling upon his sword.

  But most of the Malrags attacked the traigs, and without fail they died. Their weapons could not harm the stone of the traigs, and the guardians' stone maces and swords slew a Malrag with every blow. The animated statues strode through the horde, striking left and right.

  "Ultorin!" roared Mazael. He leapt upon a boulder, raising Lion to let its glow fall over the battlefield. "Ultorin, you murderous dog! Ultorin, come and face me! Face me now, or let all men know that you are a craven! Ultorin!"

  A roar of fury answered him, and Mazael saw the flare of blood-colored light through the teeming ranks of the Malrags.

  And Ultorin came for him. The Dominiar knight raced through the Malrags, yellow eyes bulging with rage, cutting down any Malrag that got in his way. A traig reached for him, and Ultorin slashed his bloodsword, the Demonsouled-infused steel cutting through the traig like butter. The statue collapsed into rubble, and Ultorin ran to attack Mazael.

  Mazael raced to meet him.

  Lion met the bloodsword with a tremendous crash, blue fire straining against darkness and blood-colored flame. Again the swords met, and again, a dozen times in half as many heartbeats. One of Ultorin's blows ripped through the top third of Mazael's shield. He slipped the ruined thing from his arm and flung it, the jagged wood s
triking Ultorin's face. Ultorin flinched away, but Mazael still landed a smoking cut on his forehead.

  Ultorin backed away with a snarl, the black veins in his face and neck pulsing and throbbing.

  "This is it," said Mazael, Lion ready in both hands. "For all the blood upon your hands. Today, you will pay for it."