Demonsouled Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  Her hands clenched. Malavost was taking Aldane to the caves, and then to Mount Tynagis and the Door of Souls. And there he would kill her son and loose a horror upon the world.

  She had to stop him. No one else was here. But what could she do against Malavost? Rachel knew nothing of fighting. Sykhana was a trained assassin, and Malavost had killed her without the slightest effort.

  Malavost paused.

  Rachel followed his gaze, saw the Elderborn in the fur cloak at the edge of the Garden, a staff in his hand.

  The Seer.

  ###

  Lucan stopped at the edge of the Garden, breathing hard.

  Malavost stood at the edge of the well, a baby in his arm. Aldane Roland, no doubt. The Seer walked towards Malavost, leaning on his staff, his cloak fluttering behind him.

  “So,” said Malavost, smiling. “The Dragon's Shadow and the Seer. What a lively combination. Come to kill me, I believe?”

  Lucan let the bloodstaff's power flood through him, ready to cast a spell.

  “Were you a Malrag, I would kill you without hesitation,” said the Seer. “They are only slaves to their madness and bloodlust. But you are a mortal man, and you may choose freely. I therefore give you this choice. Lay down the child, unharmed, and leave Deepforest Keep, and I will let you go. Resist, and I will crush you.”

  Lucan readied himself to strike.

  Malavost laughed. “A bold show of confidence. You assume, of course, that you can crush me.”

  “I can,” said the Seer. “I am the stronger, and you cannot face me alone. And with Lucan Mandragon's assistance, you cannot overcome me. I wish no further blood spilled upon the earth. Surrender, and leave, while you still can.”

  “No,” said Malavost, glancing at Lucan, and then returning his attention to the Seer.

  But Malavost’s voice echoed inside Lucan’s head.

  -Still using the bloodstaff? I warned you against it. You are a bigger fool than Ultorin-

  Lucan began to cast a warding spell over himself, a defense against mental intrusion.

  -Stop-

  To Lucan’s astonishment, he stopped the spell.

  “Perhaps I will give you one final chance,” said Malavost. “You do not know how close you are to death, druid. Leave, and I will let you live for a little longer.”

  Lucan tried to cast another ward.

  -Remain still and do not speak-

  And to his horror, he obeyed.

  -You didn’t realize it, did you? Demonsouled power corrodes sanity. The mind itself has natural defenses against magical intrusion, defenses that your use of the bloodstaff has destroyed. Which means I can invade your mind with ease-

  “I will defend Deepforest Keep and slay you, if I must,” said the Seer, silver-white light glimmering around his staff. “This is your last warning.”

  "No," said Malavost, still grinning.

  Lucan fought against the mental intrusion, fought with every ounce of strength he could muster, but to no avail. Malavost’s power was too strong, too overwhelming, and the bloodstaff had indeed destroyed the defenses of Lucan’s mind. He could gain no traction to fight against Malavost.

  “So be it!” said the Seer, lifting his staff.

  -Kill him-

  Lucan leveled the bloodstaff. The sigils burned with bloody light, and twisting ribbon of crimson flame erupted forth. The Seer had no time to raise a defense. The snarling flame sheared through his head and chest like a burning knife, and the Seer collapsed, dead before he even hit the ground.

  Lucan screamed inside his head.

  Malavost lifted a single white eyebrow.

  “The Seer never saw his death coming,” said Malavost. “Now, there’s a rich irony.”

  His pale eyes focused on Lucan.

  -As for you, troublesome child. You wanted to wield the power of the Demonsouled so badly? Then wield it! Draw on the staff’s power, as much as you can-

  Lucan had no choice to obey, and he opened himself to the bloodstaff’s magic.

  And the power flooded through him a blazing torrent, more than he had ever dared to draw, even when in the grip of madness. It filled him, making him stronger, augmenting his magic.

  Changing him.

  His hands turned gray, the veins beneath the skin growing black and rotten. He remembered the horrifying thing Ultorin had become and screamed inside his head, even as his hands began to shake, smoldering as the staff grew hotter.

  -And now turn the power back upon yourself-

  Lucan had no choice but to obey.

  The bloodstaff exploded in his hands, the molten shards driving into his arms and chest. Crimson flames devoured Lucan’s clothes, melting into his skin and flesh, and he shrieked through the pain, even as he felt his body deforming in the grip of the Demonsouled power.

  His legs collapsed beneath him, and everything went black.

  ###

  Malavost looked at the smoking husk that had been Lucan Mandragon, at the Seer’s vivisected corpse, at Sykhana impaled upon the branch of oak.

  His lip curled in a sneer of contempt.

  No doubt Lucan had viewed himself as some sort of tragic hero, nobly sacrificing himself upon the altar of dark magic to save the Grim Marches. The boy had been nothing more than a gnat. The Seer, though…the Seer had been formidable.

  But the problem of the Seer and the problem of Lucan Mandragon had solved each other quite nicely.

  Malavost walked to the stone well, ignoring the corpses of Skaloban and Sykhana. He had told them that he regarded Ultorin as a tool, and that had been true. What he had failed to mentioned was that he regarded Skaloban and Sykhana as nothing more than tools, as well. And when a tool outlived its usefulness, you simply discarded it.

  He wondered vaguely if Ultorin was still alive, and decided that he did not care.

  Malavost took the worn steps spiraling down the interior of the well. He entered the caves, making his way by the dim light of the starglow, until he came to a vast chamber. At the far end of the chamber, he saw white stairs rising, ascending into the mountain.

  The way to the ruined temple and the Door of Souls, at long last.

  Malavost put his foot upon the first step and stopped.

  He felt the presence of the ward, like a warm breeze upon his face. Not powerful enough to do him harm, he judged. But it was too large for him to effectively dispel. Another step, he thought, and the ward would activate, warning Deepforest Keep’s surviving druids of his intrusion.

  He sneered. Not that any of the druids had the power to stop him. But the druids might bring Mazael Cravenlock with them, if he survived the fight with Ultorin. Which was a very real possibility. Ultorin, for all his madness and idiocy, had been a dangerous opponent, and yet had failed to kill Lord Mazael again and again. Certainly Malavost wanted no interference when he cast the spell to open the Door of Souls.

  The answer came to him, and his sneer became a smile.

  He turned, facing the cavern, and cast a spell of summoning magic. A pool of gray mist swirled at his feet for a moment, perhaps thirty feet across, and a huge shape rose out of the mist, higher and higher, until it blotted out the pale gleam coming from the starglow on the ceiling.

  Malavost gazed at the huge dark form. He felt its hatred washing over him, but it did not attack him. It could not go against the power of his spell.

  “Defend me,” he commanded. “Stay here and guard these steps. If anyone enters this cavern, kill him. If anyone follows me, kill him. Am I understood?”

  A growling, metallic buzz answered his question, a sound of pure hatred, but the dark shape did not move to attack him. It would obey.

  Anyone who tried to follow Malavost would sorely regret it.

  He turned and began climbing the stairs.

  Chapter 32 - The Opening

  Mazael climbed up the ruined wall, Lion in his hand.

  The battle was over. Dead Malrags and Ogrags filled the ground and choked the road. The traigs had torn through Ult
orin's host, ripping apart the Malrags, and neither axe nor spear nor shaman's lightning bolt had stopped them. And once Ultorin fell, the Malrags turned on each other, butchering themselves with the same glee they had shown while butchering humans.

  Some of the warbands had escaped, Mazael knew. The ones at the outer edges of the host, the ones that defeated their neighbors and vanished into the trees. Malrag raiders would haunt the Great Southern Forest for years. But he guessed that a hundred and twenty thousand Malrags lay dead outside the walls of Deepforest Keep.

  They had won. Against all odds, they had won.

  But there were no signs of the San-keth or Gerald's son. He had sent parties of men to search the dead Malrags for Aldane Roland, but he doubted they would find anything. He hoped they found nothing.

  Mazael did not relish the prospective of presenting Gerald and Rachel with the corpse of their son.

  He heard the scrape of leather against stone, saw Romaria climbing up.

  "The Seer was right," said Mazael. "You saved Deepforest Keep."

  "You killed Ultorin," said Romaria.

  "And you awakened the traigs," said Mazael. "How did you know to do that?"

  "I don't know," said Romaria. "It...the Ritual of Rulership changed me, Mazael. I had always fought against the Elderborn half of my soul, the way you fought against your Demonsouled half. But the Elderborn are not tainted the way the Demonsouled are. The beast...the Elderborn half of my soul...wasn't some dark thing within me. It was me. I am the beast, and the beast is me. And when I accepted that, I gained control over it...and my senses changed. I can see magical force, now." She shook her head in wonder. "And I could see the power in the traigs, the diadem and the Greenshield, how they were all linked. I always wondered why the Greenshield had to lie with the High Druid. I thought it some foolish ancient ritual. But it was more than that. The Champion of Deepforest Keep was always meant to be half-human, half-Elderborn. Someone who could see what the traigs were, and awaken them."

  "And the Seer was right and you saved Deepforest Keep," said Mazael. "Your mother must be furious."

  Romaria barked a short laugh. "She is. If the druids allowed themselves to touch iron, she would be chewing nails." She closed her eyes. "I only wish...I only wish my father had been here to see this."

  "I wish I had been able to save him," said Mazael.

  "I know," said Romaria. "His death was not your fault. But I know."

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  "What will you do now?" said Mazael.

  Romaria let out a long breath. " We have to tend to the wounded, and then to the dead. The walls need to be repaired. We'll have to rebuild from the lightning damage inside the city..."

  She was planning to stay, Mazael realized. And why not? She was the new Greenshield, the Champion of Deepforest Keep and the Defender of the Mountain. This was her city, her home. Mazael's home was at Castle Cravenlock, hundreds of miles north, and he would have to return to it.

  He realized that Romaria was lost to him, again.

  "What is it?" said Romaria, frowning.

  "Rachel and Gerald," said Mazael. He saw Gerald, looking through the heaps of dead Malrags for any trace of his son. "My nephew is almost certainly dead. " He shook his head. "I don't..."

  "Champion!"

  Ardanna stood at the foot of the wall, staring at Romaria. Mazael saw the usual loathing and contempt in the High Druid's golden eyes, along with fresh hatred and rage. Ardanna did not approve of a half-breed as the Champion, not at all. But there was something else on the High Druid's face, something new.

  Fear.

  "What is it?" said Romaria.

  "Someone has entered the caverns!" said Ardanna.

  "What?" said Mazael.

  "The druids have laid wards over the caverns of Mount Tynagis," said Ardanna. "We can sense when someone enters. And someone has entered the caverns. A wizard of overwhelming might."

  "Malavost," spat Mazael. But how the devil had Malavost gotten into the city? No doubt he had crept in, during the mad chaos of the battle. And that explained why Malavost had not intervened in the battle, not used his spells to save Ultorin.

  Ultorin and the Malrags had been distractions, nothing more.

  “Gerald!” he called over the wall. Gerald looked up, his surcoat tattered and stained with Malrag blood. “I know where to find Aldane!”

  ###

  Rachel stood frozen before the window, hating herself.

  Malavost had her son. She had to stop him. She had to get Aldane back.

  Yet she could not.

  She had seen the Seer wield mighty magic, the very earth itself rising at his command to crush the Malrag shamans. She had seen Lucan unleash his spells in battle, mowing down both Malrags and humans alike. Both men had possessed power beyond anything Rachel would ever know.

  And Malavost had crushed them both in a matter of seconds. Or he had tricked or lured Lucan into killing the Seer, and then disposed of the Dragon’s Shadow afterward. And if Rachel tried to pursue him, Malavost would kill her as easily as he had killed Sykhana. Even more easily – Sykhana had been a skilled assassin, one who had escaped from Knightcastle itself. There was nothing, nothing at all, Rachel could do to stop Malavost.

  But he had her son.

  She took a shuddering breath. It didn’t matter that Malavost was a wizard of great power. It didn’t matter that he could kill her in the space between two breaths. Malavost had her son, and she would get him back.

  Or die trying.

  That seemed more likely.

  She wondered if this was how men felt, when they went into battle, knowing that they would almost certainly die. Was this how Gerald had felt? He had gone into some hopeless battles, yet had come through victorious. Would that happen to her?

  Doubtful.

  But after so long, her son was within reach. And if she died trying to get Aldane back, so be it.

  Rachel began searching for a way out of the damaged house.

  ###

  The first thing Mazael saw was the Seer’s corpse.

  The Seer, the mightiest druid of the Elderborn tribes, lay sprawled at the edge of the Garden of the Temple. It looked as if his chest and his face had been opened by the tip of a burning sword, the edges of the wound charred black.

  “What is that smell?” muttered Romaria, frowning. Gerald stood behind her, sword drawn. Ardanna gazed at the Seer, her face a mask. Mazael had never expected to see that woman shocked into silence.

  And Mazael was stunned, as well. He had seen firsthand the strength of the Seer’s magical power. For Malavost to have simply killed the most powerful druid of the Elderborn…

  Gerald looked at the Seer and frowned. “Burnt flesh, perhaps?”

  “No,” said Romaria, shaking her head. “Something worse. Like…corruption.”

  “That San-keth?” said Mazael, pointing with Lion. A San-keth lay in loose coils near the edge of the well, its black-slit eyes staring into nothingness.

  “This is worse,” said Romaria, nostrils flaring. “Like…something rotten was locked in a vault, for years, and then left out to putrefy in the sun. Or an infected wound, gushing pus. It’s like…there!”

  A twisted corpse lay some distance from the Seer, its limbs black with char. Chunks of jagged metal lay on its chest and scattered around the nearby ground. At first Mazael thought the corpse was some strange sort of Malrag that he had never seen before. It had the grayish skin and deformed growths on its arms and legs as the Ogrags, though it was much smaller. Human-sized, in fact. And the creature’s face…

  “Gods,” said Mazael. “That’s Lucan.”

  “What the devil did Malavost do to him?” said Gerald.

  “He reeks of corruption,” said Ardanna, her cold voice just a touch unsteady. “Of tainted power. I sensed it upon him, when he entered the city, It has consumed him.”

  Mazael went to one knee besides Lucan, examining the wounds. His senses were not as potent as Romaria’s,
but even so, the stench was terrible.

  “I don’t think Malavost did this to him,” said Romaria, voice quiet. “I think he did it to himself. His magic was much stronger than I remembered. I think he found another source of power, and it devoured him. That black staff of his, probably. The thing reeked of dark magic.”

  “He’s still alive,” said Mazael. There was the faintest pulse of the veins in Lucan’s neck, the hint of breath over his bloody lips.