Demonsouled Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  But it was easy enough to land scratches on their hands and faces. Sykhana dodged another swing, and a sword thrust scraped along her side, her leather armor just barely stopping the blow. Just another moment, just another moment longer...

  The man she had struck with the throwing knife fell to his knees, eyes wide, breath wheezing. Then the second man toppled, and then the third, overcome by the potency of Sykhana's poison. A changeling's poison was not nearly as deadly as that of a San-keth.

  But it was still deadly enough.

  Sykhana stepped towards the men, daggers in hand.

  She had left Rachel Roland alive...but she would not make the same mistake twice.

  After it was done, she cleaned her blades on the dead men's tabards, picked up Aldane, and walked to the fireplace. A moment's search, and she found the trigger, hidden in a crack between two stones. She pressed it, and the back of the fireplace swung open, revealing a narrow, darkened passageway.

  Sykhana vanished into the Trysting Ways.

  ###

  An hour later she hurried through the streets of Castle Town, wrapped in a cloak, Aldane hidden beneath its folds.

  She paused to hide in an alley as a troop of the town's militia marched past, torches and spears in hand. The horns from Knightcastle had roused the militia, though the militia likely didn't know the reason for the alarms. No doubt Gerald Roland thought that Sykhana was still in the castle, and hadn't yet dispatched a messenger to warn the town.

  By the time he did, Sykhana intended to be long gone.

  She hurried through the alleys until she came to the prosperous streets of Castle Town's northeastern quarter. The house she chose was not a mansion, not quite, but nonetheless stood four stories tall, faced with cut white stone and polished wooden timbers. She slipped around to the side, to the servants' entrance. It was locked, of course, but Sykhana picked it with ease. Inside she crept down a corridor lined with wooden paneling, and stopped before an open door, candlelight spilling against the walls.

  Paul Korren sat at his desk, writing. A thin man with a well-trimmed goatee, he was a powerful merchant and trader. His warehouses in Knightport bulged with good from across the world, and he sold them at a tidy profit. He was friends with Lord Malden, and on good terms with a dozen other powerful lords in the kingdom.

  He was also a proselyte, a human follower of Sepharivaim, and had a shrine dedicated to Sepharivaim hidden beneath his wine cellar. He had been clever enough to remain hidden during Straganis's attack last year, but Sykhana felt nothing but contempt for proselytes. The San-keth utterly loathed humans, considered them vermin, and the archpriests could not decide whether to kill them all or merely enslave them once Sepharivaim returned in power.

  And yet some humans still chose to follow the San-keth way? Pathetic.

  "Korren," said Sykhana, stepping into the merchant's study.

  Korren looked up from his desk, scowling. "What is this? Who are the devil are you? I..."

  He fell silent as he saw Sykhana's eyes.

  "You are a messenger, yes?" he said. "From the archpriests? I have been faithful. I have remained hidden, even after many calibah were slain in Knightcastle last year. I retain the ear of Lord Malden, and neither he nor his sons suspect my true loyalties."

  "I require a horse," said Sykhana. "At once."

  Korren frowned. "A horse?"

  "Aye," said Sykhana. "And, also, the entrance to your tunnel."

  Korren's face grew hard. "I have no tunnel."

  "Don't lie to me, fool," said Sykhana, lips peeling back from her fangs. "I know you have a secret tunnel out of the city walls, so you can smuggle goods in and out with out paying Lord Malden's taxes. I also know that the tunnel is large enough to handle horse-drawn carts. You will give me a horse at once, and tell me the way to your smugglers' tunnel."

  "What is that you have there?" said Korren, rising and stepping around the desk. "An infant? Whose? What are kind of business is this?" He glared at her. "I received no word from the archpriests. Before I give you anything, you will tell..."

  Sykhana snarled and leapt at him, her arm snaking around his shoulders. She yanked him close, her fangs stopping a half-inch from his throat.

  Korren went very still, his face white.

  "You will," hissed Sykhana, " stop wasting my time and do as I bid. Now."

  Korren hastened to obey.

  ###

  A few moments later Sykhana led one of Korren's best horses across Castle Town's square, across from the Inn of the Crowned Helm. She had changed her armor for the dress of a serving maid, the slumbering Aldane hidden in her cloak. Her transparent inner eyelids closed, giving her eyes a human appearance.

  Four men stood on the front steps of the Crowned Helm. The innkeeper, she suspected, and his porters, come to watch the fuss.

  "Aye, lass?" said the innkeeper. "Why are you wandering the streets at night? Isn't safe."

  "My pardons, sir," said Sykhana. "But my brother is in the militia, and my mother bade me to bring him some bread." She lifted Aldane. The baby, wrapped as he was, did almost look like a loaf of bread.

  The innkeeper nodded, and Sykhana had a sudden thought.

  She hid a smile.

  "I just saw the strangest thing," said Sykhana. "Do you know Paul Korren, the merchant?"

  "Aye," said the innkeeper. "Pompous windbag. Never pays his bills on time."

  "I saw a woman hurrying into his wine cellar," said Sykhana. "Dressed all in black, carrying a baby. The strangest thing. Perhaps she was frightened by the horns."

  The innkeeper frowned. "That must be it."

  Sykhana smiled and led the horse away, leaving the seed to take root in their minds.

  ###

  An hour later she galloped to the east, into the rising sun, along the road to the village of Tristgard.

  The road to the Grim Marches.

  Aldane started to wake, and Sykhana touched his face.

  "Don't cry, my precious one," she murmured. "For soon you will be a god, and I will be your mother."

  Chapter 6 - Pursuit

  Rachel awoke with a pounding headache and a vile taste in her mouth.

  She sat up, blinking. Cheery dawn sunlight streamed through the windows. Blood stained her nightgown, and a tight bandage rested against the left side of her jaw.

  A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she leaned back against the pillows, confused. How had she end up here? And why did her mouth taste like succorleaf? The last thing she remembered was getting up to check on Aldane, and then...and then...

  "Oh, gods," said Rachel, sitting back up. "Aldane. Aldane!"

  Dizziness spun through her, stronger than before, and Rachel clutched at the bed for balance.

  "My lady!" said a girl's voice. "I think she's awake!"

  Rachel tried to get to her feet. Aldane, she had to get to Aldane...

  A strong hand took her elbow, steadying her.

  "Careful," said Lady Rhea, Lord Malden's wife and Gerald's mother. She was a tall, lean woman in her middle fifties, with long gray-streaked brown hair and pale blue eyes. "Circan says you were poisoned, that you saved yourself with succorleaf. That was very clever."

  Compliments from Lady Rhea were rarer than pearls, and another time Rachel would have been pleased. But she could not think of anything other than Aldane. "Where's Aldane? Where's Gerald? Did he find Aldane? And Sarah..." Her face twisted in rage as she remembered the treacherous maid.

  "Knightcastle is sealed," said Lady Rhea. "The gates were barred and guarded moments after Gerald found you. My sons and their men are searching the castle from top to bottom. We will find this vile changeling and make her pay."

  "I don't care about Sarah," said Rachel. "I want Aldane back."

  "So do we all, dear," said Rhea, patting her hand. "But you need to rest..."

  "No!" said Rachel, clawing to her feet. Once she would never have dared to defy Gerald's mother. But a San-keth changeling had taken her son. "I've got to find Al
dane, I've got to get him back..."

  "You must lie down," said Rhea, her voice firm.

  "I cannot lie abed when my son is gone," said Rachel. "Please, my lady. You...have lost sons." The very thought of losing Aldane made her stomach twist. "Could you lie waiting, if you knew...if you knew..."

  Lady Rhea said nothing for a moment, her face blank. For a moment Rachel feared that she had taken offense. Rhea had lost three sons. Belifane, slain by Lord Richard Mandragon. Mandor, killed by the Knights Dominiar. And Garain, cut down last year, murdered by a San-keth changeling...

  "Your maid," said Rhea, voice distant. "She was a San-keth changeling? All this time?"

  Rachel nodded.

  "I lost a son to the changelings," said Rhea. "I hope you do not have to know that pain, too."

  She looked towards the door, where her maids, a half-dozen nervous young women, awaited her command.

  "Help her dress," said Rhea, the maids surged forward.

  ###

  A short time later Rachel hurried through the courtyards and arcades of Knightcastle, making for the castle's lowest circle, Lady Rhea and her maids following.

  "Slow down, girl," said Lady Rhea. "You are a noblewoman of Knightcastle, not a fishwife hurrying to the docks on market day."

  Again Rachel ignored her.

  Ringed by towers and battlements, Knightcastle's vast barbican was larger than many villages. Rachel remembered standing here a year past, watching Mazael and Gerald and Tobias ride out with Knightcastle's armies to face Amalric Galbraith and the Dominiar Order. Now armsmen and squires ran back and forth across the flagstones. Gerald paced before the gates, wearing his armor, a blue cloak with the Roland sigil flaring behind him.

  He stopped when he saw her.

  "Gerald," said Rachel. She yearned to run to him, throw herself into his arms. But she did not want to make him look weak in front of his men. "Gerald...did..."

  "Rachel," he said, stepping forward and taking her hands. "You're well? Thank the gods."

  "Aldane?" she said. "Have you found Aldane?"

  He grimaced. "Not yet. We've sealed the castle, and have men searching every room. Sarah will not long elude us."

  "If she's even still here," said Rhea.

  Gerald and his mother shared a look.

  "What?" said Rachel. "How could she have escaped? You found me only a few moments after Sarah attacked me. She couldn't have gotten to the gates before you sounded the alarm."

  "The Trysting Ways," said Rhea.

  Gerald scowled. "Those damned Trysting Ways. I told Father to have them sealed up, all of them. And after Straganis almost killed us last year, I think he would have listened."

  "The Trysting Ways are part of Knightcastle's traditions," said Rhea, "and your father respects tradition."

  Gerald shook his head. "You mean he wants to visit his mistresses unseen."

  "That's no way to talk about your father in public," said Rhea, without rancor. How she accepted Lord Malden's philandering so calmly, Rachel would never know.

  "So she could have escaped through the Trysting Ways?" said Rachel.

  Gerald sighed. "Yes. Father did at least agree to seal any passages that led outside the castle. But only Trocend knew them all, and the San-keth killed him. We could have easily overlooked one or two. Or more."

  "Oh, gods," said Rachel. "Then she got away, she has our son and she..."

  "We don't know that yet," said Rhea, her voice like iron.

  Rachel clutched at Gerald's arm. "We have to ride out, we have to catch her before she gets away..."

  "That would do no good," said Gerald, "until we knew where she was going. And why."

  "There is a sensible question," said Rhea. "Why? Why did this changeling take my grandson?"

  "Because the San-keth hate us!" said Rachel. "Because Mazael defeated Skhath, and so they'll take vengeance on him. On him, or any of his kin that they can reach."

  And the San-keth hated her, too. For she was an apostate, a traitor. She had been a proselyte, pledged to Skhath, promised to bear his changeling offspring for the greater glory of Sepharivaim and the San-keth. And she had turned her back on them. They wanted revenge, she knew.

  They might have taken Aldane in vengeance. The very thought that she might have done this, that she might have brought this upon her son, made her want to weep.

  "But why?" said Rhea. "Why not just kill him? Why not just kill you, for that matter?"

  Gerald blinked. "That's...a good point, Mother. When the San-keth have come for us before, they've always tried to kill Rachel. They've never tried to kidnap anyone before." He looked at Rachel. "Sarah. Did she say anything?"

  "She did," said Rachel, shivering. "She was so angry. I had no idea she hated me so much. She said that she was going to make Aldane powerful and strong forever. What does that mean?"

  "I don't know," said Gerald. "Speculation is pointless until we know more. And Sarah might very well be trapped in the castle."

  "If she escaped," said Rhea, "she almost certainly would have made for Castle Town. No doubt she had allies there, or at the very least a hidden store of supplies. You should send men there at once."

  "It's already done, Mother," said Gerald, squinting through the portcullis. "Tobias went himself, along with two score of reliable men. If there's a nest of San-keth proselytes hiding in Castle Town, Tobias will deal with...wait." He turned and shouted. "Open the portcullis. Tobias has returned!"

  A column of horsemen rode towards the gate, and Rachel heard the thunder of steel-shod hooves against the road. The massive portcullis groaned open, and a moment later twenty horsemen galloped into the barbican, armor flashing in the sunlight, the Roland banner flapping overhead. The lead rider dropped from his saddle, armor clanking, and pulled off his helmet.

  Sir Tobias Roland looked like a shorter, more muscular version of Gerald. He had a broad, ruddy face, made for laughing. But he had not laughed much, not since Garain's murder and Lord Malden's increasing illness, and today he looked even grimmer than usual.

  "Gerald," said Tobias.

  "Where are the rest of your men?" said Gerald.

  "Keeping the innkeeper of the Crowned Helm under guard," said Tobias.

  "You've found something," said Gerald.

  "Aye," said Tobias. "There's news in Castle Town. You'd best come at once."

  Gerald nodded. "Rachel, stay with..."

  "No!" said Rachel, her fingers tightening against his arm. His armor felt cold and hard beneath her hand. "She has our son. I...I cannot wait."

  Gerald hesitated, then gave a short nod.

  ###

  A short time later they reined up before the Inn of the Crowned Helm.

  "Aye, sir knight," said the innkeeper, a stout man in a pristine white apron. "We were all up, my lads and I, when we heard the horns. Feared it was bandits or raiders, but nothing happened. Then I saw a peasant lass taking bread to her brother. She said she saw a woman in black carrying a baby, and Sir Tobias said your son had been taken..."

  Rachel's heart leapt against her ribs.

  "Where did she see the woman and the baby?" said Gerald.

  "At the house of Paul Korren," said the innkeeper. He scowled. "Man's a scoundrel. Never pays his bills on time. Wouldn't surprise me if he hoped to hold your son for ransom, sir knight."

  "If you've led me true," said Gerald, turning his horse around, "then you will be rewarded. To the house of Paul Korren! Quickly!"

  ###

  Korren lived in a fine house, four stories tall, fronted with white stone and polished timbers. It even had a good-sized garden in back, ringed by a low stone wall, where Korren’s servants could grow vegetables. The double doors to a wine cellar lay against the house, the handles chained and locked shut.

  Tobias grunted. “You, you, and you. Circle to the sides. You and you. Watch the back door and the windows. If there are any snakes here, they might try to slither away before we can cut off their heads. Keep anyone from running until Sir
Gerald and I say they can go. The rest of you, follow me. Turn the house inside out.”

  “This Korren fellow might be innocent,” said Gerald.

  “Innocent?” said Rachel. “You heard what the innkeeper said!”

  “Aye,” said Tobias. “It might have been Sarah. Or it might have been Korren’s wife, or one of his servants. Have no fear, sister. If Korren aided Sarah, I’ll run my longsword up his arse.”