At last the stairs ended in a door of pale white stone.
“A lever, there,” whispered Atalia.
Mazael nodded, returned his sword to its sheath, and yanked up the metal lever. For a moment nothing happened, and then the floor trembled beneath his boots. The stone door slid aside with a faint rasp, and Mazael drew his longsword and strode through the door. He found himself in the courtyard of Castle Highstone, the white tower of the Dark Elderborn ruin rising overhead. The curtain wall rose to the left, the battlements dark against the night sky. A dilapidated wooden stable slumped against the curtain wall, and Mazael saw their horses within. Other horses wandered the courtyard, grazing upon the thin grass. Likely they had belonged to Sir Edmund and his men.
“Where is Sir Traeger?” said Mazael in a low voice.
“He’ll be in the top chamber of the tower,” said Atalia, her voice calm, but her face was tight and fearful. “He doesn’t sleep any more. He sits with the kalchweisyr in his lap, whispering to it. I think the damned thing talks to him.”
Mazael nodded. Knights were supposed to engage in honorable combat, but Mazael had no qualms about stabbing Traeger in the dark while he communed with his sword of dark magic. The only way to fight a wizard was to kill him before he could bring his magic to bear. As far as Mazael was concerned, that also applied to robber knights wielding magical swords.
“We’ll surprise him, then,” said Mazael. “Sneak into his chamber, and strike hard and fast. Overwhelm him and cut him down before he can use the kalchweisyr’s magic. Understood?” Atalia nodded. Gerald looked troubled, but he nodded as well.
“It’s through there,” said Atalia, pointing at a narrow door at the base of the white tower. “Up a spiral stair, and then the chamber at the top of the tower. You can go first.” She smirked. “You have the biggest shield, after all.”
“Fair enough,” said Mazael.
He took a step towards the tower, and the door burst open.
A man in chain mail stalked forth, tall and strong, with wild black hair and a bushy gray-streaked beard that hung to his chest. He had a hard, weathered face, and scars covered his forearm and marked his right cheek. In his right hand he carried a slender sword with a silvery blade, the metal giving off a peculiar shining gleam.
“Oh,” said Atalia in alarm, raising her hands as blue light shone around her fingers.
“You betray me, witch?” hissed the bearded man. “You will die for this. Did you not think I would sense your presence? Fool! I could feel you coming,” he pointed at Mazael, “especially when you travel with this…this creature!”
“You, I presume,” said Mazael, “are Sir Traeger Highstone?”
The knight whirled to face Mazael, his eyes glittering, his teeth flashing in his beard as he snarled. “I am Lord Traeger Highstone!”
“You call yourself that?” said Mazael. “Well, I could call myself the Prince of Barellion and the liege lord of the High Plain, but that would not make it true.”
“Empty words,” spat Traeger. “What makes a lord? A sword and the strength to wield it.” He pointed at the gleaming blade. “This weapon makes me stronger than any other man, and I will use it to found a kingdom that shall endure for a thousand years.”
“I very much doubt that,” said Mazael.
“Do not make threats to me, demon!” said Traeger. “I can see what you are. I see the tainted fire in your blood. You are a monster, but you will not overcome me.”
“I see what you meant,” said Mazael to Atalia, “about the madness.”
Atalia offered a tight nod, her eyes never leaving Traeger and the kalchweisyr in his fist.
“I’m sure you’re going to be busy conquering the world,” said Mazael, “so let’s not waste your time, hmm? You have Sir Edmund Redmane and his men captive, along with a monk named Brother Trocend and two armsmen of Knightcastle. Release them to me, and we’ll leave and disturb you no further.”
Traeger sneered. “And if I refuse?”
Mazael shrugged. “Then I’ll kill you.”
“So bold!” said Traeger. “Once, I would have feared you. I can see what you are, demon child. I see the dark fire in your blood. Your kind exists only to kill and slaughter.”
Mazael laughed. “What do you think I am? I’m only a mortal man.”
“You are not,” said Traeger. “You are a demon, or the child of one. But I shall slay you.” He lifted the kalchweisyr. “With this, I shall slay you, demon, and send you screaming back to hell.”
Mazael laughed again, which seemed to enrage the knight. “I heard the sword had driven you insane, but I had not guessed how utterly you would sink into madness. You think I am a demon? Tell me, do you see me with horns and hooves and a pointed tail?” He grinned. “Or do I stink of brimstone? Well, I confess I have not bathed in quite some time, though I do not think I smell all that bad. Are you seeing other visions, as well? Perhaps pigs flying in formation over the battlements, or talking horses singing in unison…”
Atalia let out a shocked, terrified laugh.
“Enough!” roared Traeger. “You think to mock me? Perish! Perish, all of you!”
He waved the sword over his head, gray mist swirling around his feet.
“Keep the spirits off me with your magic,” said Mazael. “Gerald, defend her.”
“I shall try, sir knight,” said Atalia, blue light burning brighter around her hands, and Gerald nodded, his face grim as he set himself.
Traeger screamed and thrust his sword, and the mist at his feet exploded into a phalanx of ghostly knights, armored in steel plate and wielding greatswords. The warriors charged at Mazael in a rush, and he leapt to meet their attack, their blows rebounding from his shield and his sword flashing in his hand. He cut down one, two, three of the ghostly warriors, but the rest encircled him, and he could not block all their attacks.
Atalia struck, a volley of sizzling blue sparks ripping from her hands to tear through the warriors. Three of them dissolved into swirling mist, and Mazael broke free of the ring. Some pursued him, but others hurried towards Atalia. Gerald interposed himself, while Atalia launched more magic at the attacking spirits.
Mazael charged, driving his sword for Traeger’s head. Surprise flashed across the robber knight’s face, and he whipped the kalchweisyr up to block. Mazael expected the slender blade to bend beneath the force of his heavy longsword, but to his surprise, the kalchweisyr remained rigid. Traeger counterattacked, the kalchweisyr carving chunks of oak from Mazael’s shield. The sword was sharper and stronger than it looked.
“Fool,” said Traeger, driving him back. “Do you think to defeat me?”
“Do you have another insult?” said Mazael, ducking under a swing. “If you call me a fool once more, I fear I shall grow bored and stop listening.”
An idea came to him.
Traeger spat. “You can do better?”
Atalia screamed, swaying on her feet as she cast more spells.
“Yes,” said Mazael. “Your beard looks stupid, and you should trim it.”
Traeger blinked. “What?”
“I said your beard looks stupid…”
Traeger roared and charged. Mazael twisted to the side, dropping his shield. Traeger went for the opening, and the kalchweisyr scraped across Mazael’s left shoulder, pain exploding through his arm. Yet the thrust left Traeger overbalanced, and Mazael’s hand darted out and seized a handful of his bushy beard. He yanked, and his sword pommel smashed into Traeger’s forehead. The robber knight stumbled with a cry, and Mazael raised his longsword and brought it down upon Traeger’s neck.
Traeger fell to his knees, blood gushing from the ruins of his throat.
“Told you should have trimmed it,” said Mazael, and Traeger collapsed.
The kalchweisyr fell from his hands as he died, and Mazael reached out and caught it with his free hand.
A deathly chill shot up his left arm, numbing the pain of his wound, and he suddenly felt the presence of the spirits around
him, and realized that they would do as he commanded, that they would kill if he wished it.
“Wield me,” whispered a cold, dry voice in his head. “Wield me, and you can have dominion over the earth. The fool was right about you. Your blood is stronger than his, and ancient power burns within your veins. Wield me, and the world shall be yours. Wield me…”
Mazael ran forward, reached the door to the tower, and swung. He smashed the kalchweisyr against the white stone of the doorframe again and again, and on the seventh swing the sword shattered into glittering shards. The voice in his head shrank to a faint scream, and then faded entirely.
The spirits and mist vanished from the courtyard.
He took a deep breath, threw aside the broken hilt of the ancient sword, and turned to face the others.
“You’re wounded,” said Atalia, rushing forward.
“A minor scratch,” said Mazael. “I’ve had worse.” His shoulder hurt damnably, though. “Are you injured?”
“No,” said Atalia, and Gerald shook his head.
“You smashed the sword,” said Gerald.
“It was an evil thing,” said Mazael. “We are well rid of it.”
“You heard its voice in your head, didn’t you?” said Atalia. Mazael nodded. “What did it say?”
“Foolishness. Nothing more,” said Mazael.
Chapter 6: Ransomed
They found Trocend first, secured in a cell below the white tower.
“They caught me off guard, I will have you know,” said the wizard. He seemed more irritated than anything else. “We were holding against Traeger’s minions, and then he somehow conjured a spirit resistant to magic. The creatures stunned me, and when I awoke, I found myself here.”
Mazael stepped to the side as Trocend moved into the dungeon corridor. Further down the hall Atalia and Gerald opened another door, letting Tollard and Mulger back into the light.
“She assisted you?” said Trocend in a low voice.
“Aye,” said Mazael. “She thought on her feet and everything. Most helpful.”
“I shall ponder that,” said Trocend.
Mazael nodded and walked to the cell at the end of the corridor, opening the lock. Within a fat, middle-aged knight with a red beard and hair sat against the wall, squinting at the light.
“I say,” Sir Edmund Redmane said. “What is the meaning of this? Who are you?”
“I am Sir Mazael Cravenlock,” said Mazael, “and we’re here to ransom you.” He considered for a moment. “More cheaply than I expected, too.”
###
That night they camped in the courtyard of Castle Highstone. Mazael and Trocend both wanted to return to Knightcastle as soon as possible. Sir Edmund wanted to return as well, to offer his gratitude to Lord Malden.
After the others had gone to sleep, Mazael sat outside of his tent with his armor and shirt off, cleaning the wound in his shoulder. It was always best to do so as soon as possible, lest infection set in. He cleaned it with boiling wine, and then set to work stitching it closed, ignoring the pain. It hurt like hell, but he had endured much worse.
“Do you always stitch up your own wounds, Sir Mazael?”
Atalia stepped into the light of his campfire.
“Sometimes,” said Mazael. “I should make Gerald do it, but he’s not very good at it yet. I’d prefer not to have crooked stitches.”
“Does it not hurt?” she said.
“Yes,” said Mazael, “but the wound let me win, so I shall not complain. Better a wound than a grave.”
Atalia laughed, knelt beside him, took the needle from his hand, and started closing the wound. “The logic of a knight.” She worked in silence for a moment. “You should know. I talked to Trocend. He approves of what I have done…and has accepted me again as his apprentice.”
Mazael grunted. “Your plan worked, then.”
“You spoke to Trocend for me,” said Atalia. “Thank you.”
Mazael shrugged with his uninjured shoulder. “I only spoke the truth.”
“Finished,” said Atalia. “It should heal nicely.” She hesitated again, and then kissed him upon the cheek. “Thank you. I know you were suspicious of me…”
“You did good work,” said Mazael, glancing at his shoulder. “That ought to heal nicely.”
She stared at him and licked her lips. “I hope it doesn’t trouble you much.”
“Not unduly,” said Mazael. He gripped her right hand, tugged, and she fell into his lap with a faint yelp of surprise. “But I could think of one or two things that might distract me.”
She kissed him again, harder this time, and Mazael rose and led her into his tent.
###
The next morning Mazael awoke and left his blankets.
Gerald was tending the fire, and he looked up and shook his head.
“You seduced her,” he said. “Didn’t you?”
“Were you listening?” said Mazael.
Gerald’s face went red. “No! Of course not…but I…”
Mazael laughed.
“A true knight should lie only with his wife,” said Gerald.
“I don’t have a wife,” said Mazael, “so I make do.” He grinned and tossed a small leather pouch to himself. “I may not be a true knight…but according to ancient tradition, if a knight rescues a captive without paying the ransom, the knight may claim the ransom for his own.”
Gerald blinked. “I…had forgotten that.”
Mazael tipped out some golden coins from the pouch. “The knight’s squire also receives a share of the money. So perhaps I may not be the best knight for you to emulate, but perhaps this will remove some sting from the blow.”
Gerald sighed and shook his head, but took the money.
THE END
Thank you for reading THE RANSOM KNIGHT. Turn the page to read the first chapter of DEMONSOULED, Mazael Cravenlock's next adventure.
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DEMONSOULED bonus chapter
Here is a sample chapter from my sword-and-sorcery novel Demonsouled, the first book in my DEMONSOULED series of sword-and-sorcery novels.
Chapter I
1
The Jongleur at the Inn
Mazael Cravenlock saw the apple trees and smiled.
He put spurs to his horse, a sturdy old gray palfrey named Mantle, and rode for the trees, ignoring Gerald's cry of protest. The setting sun painted the grass a deep crimson, and the hot, dry wind of the Marches tugged at Mazael’s cloak and whipped at his face, but he was used to it. He had grown up here, after all.
The apple trees rose at the shore of a clear pond, encircled by a low stone wall. Nearby stood a crumbling brick chimney and some foundation stones, all that remained of a small peasant house. The inhabitants of that house had likely been killed fifteen years past during Lord Richard Mandragon’s uprising against Lord Adalon Cravenlock. No one had claimed the land since then, to judge from the tall grass covering the old foundation.
Mazael steered Mantle through the low wall's fallen gate and reined up beneath a tree. The apples hung heavy and red from their blossoms, and he plucked one with a gloved hand and took a bite.
“Sir Mazael!”
Mazael turned his saddle, chewing, and watched Sir Gerald Roland and his squire Wesson ride through the ruined gate. Gerald had inherited the aquiline features, blue eyes, and muscular body of his father. His shoulder-length hair shone like gold, and he had recently grown a mustache that he attended with the fanaticism of an Cirstarcian monk. Gerald was not wearing any armor - Mazael could have thrown his dagger and killed Gerald before the younger man could react.
Instead, Mazael reached up and took another apple. “Hungry?”
“Certainly.” Mazael tossed the apple. Gerald cut it in half with his dagger, taking half for himself, and feeding the other to his horse. “Wesson, woul
d you care for an apple?”
“No, Sir Gerald,” said Wesson, a pimpled youth of eleven. “I am not hungry.”
“Pity,” said Mazael. A single sure sword stroke would kill Wesson. “Never pass up a chance for an apple, my boy.”
Gerald snorted. “Never pass up a chance for fresh food, you mean. An opinion I wholly favor after all these travel rations, but I could never understand why you were so mad for apples. I prefer pears, myself.”
Mazael flicked the core aside, and picked another apple for Mantle. “I might tell you someday.” The sun's setting rays caught in the pond, and for a moment the water resembled blood. Mazael shook off the thought.
“Shall we stop here for the night?” said Gerald.
“No,” said Mazael. “There’s an inn two miles east of here, just before the Northwater bridge. We can get there before dark.”
Gerald laughed. “Are you in such a hurry to reach your brother’s castle? You gave me to understand that you’d rather be elsewhere.”
“No, I’m in a hurry to have a bed and a hot meal. Fresh food is fine, but hot food is far better." Mantle finished the apple, and Mazael turned the palfrey around and rode back to the road and their other animals. Mazael and Gerald’s war horses stood grazing alongside a pair of pack mules laden with their supplies and armor. Wesson took the animals in hand and followed the two knights as they rode eastward.
“I would rather be elsewhere,” said Mazael, “but since I am here, I would prefer to be within castle walls. I have no great eagerness to see my brother, but should war come, I’d rather be inside Castle Cravenlock than out in the open.”
“We should have brought more men, as Father wished,” said Gerald. “With two or three hundred armsmen as escorts, attack would not trouble us.”
Mazael snorted. “Yes, three hundred men with the banner of the Rolands flapping overhead? That would have drawn the eyes of every man from Knightcastle to Swordgrim. And how do you suppose Lord Richard Mandragon would react if he knew that Lord Malden Roland’s youngest son had brought an army to the Lord of Castle Cravenlock?”
The Ransom Knight Page 4