“We should stop at Castle Cravenlock,” said Rachel. “Mazael will aid us.”
“I am sure of it,” said Gerald. “If he has any aid left to spare.”
###
Two and a half days later, they saw the signs of battle in the hilly country west of Castle Cravenlock.
Rachel shivered and pulled her cloak tighter. A dozen dead Malrags lay across the road. To judge from their wounds and the decay of the corpses, they had been dead no more than two or three days. Rachel had never seen anything quite so hideous as the dead Malrags. The creatures seemed like something out of a nightmare, or a demented artist's fevered imaginings.
"What are they?" said Sir Cavilion, hand on his sword hilt.
"Malrags," said Gerald. "And it seems they are certainly not a myth." He grimaced and took a look around the hills, as if expecting a Malrag ambush to fall upon them. "Cavilion. Put out scouts. Have them ride at least a mile in every direction around us. If we're going to run into a Malrag warband, I want to know in advance."
"My lord," said Cavilion, and gave the orders.
They rode on.
###
A few hours later they left the hill country, riding hard for Castle Cravenlock.
Rachel gripped her reins, her heart churning within her. Since leaving Knightcastle, she had thought of little but Aldane. But now her impending return to Castle Cravenlock filled her with trepidation. She had endured terrible things there.
She had made terrible mistakes there.
But Mazael was at Castle Cravenlock, and she smiled at the thought of seeing her elder brother once more. She loved Gerald, of course, but Mazael was a warrior without peer. He had defeated Skhath, he had defeated Simonian of Briault, he had destroyed the Dominiars, and he would help her get Aldane back...
"My lord!"
Rachel looked up. One of the scouts galloped towards them, horse sweating, cloak billowing behind him.
"What is it, man?" said Gerald.
"Devils, my lord," said the scout, trembling. "Devils! I've never seen..."
A bloodcurdling scream split the air.
And Malrags, hundreds of Malrags, boiled over the crest of a nearby hill.
Rachel gaped at them. The dead Malrags strewn across the road had been horrible. Living ones, their fangs bared, their colorless eyes wide as they charged, were infinitely worse. Gerald shouted orders, and the knights and armsmen turned, preparing their mounts for a charge.
But they were too late, and the Malrags were too fast.
They crashed howling into the line, and men and horses died. Rachel saw a dozen Malrags go down, their black blood spilling into the dirt, but more pressed into the melee, stabbing and hacking.
And then a Malrag leapt at Rachel, grinning a fanged grin.
She jerked at the reins of her horse, but too late. The Malrag's black axe plunged into her horse's neck, and the poor beast screamed, rearing up. Rachel lost her seat and fell to the ground, the jolt shooting up her back and making her teeth clack. She scrambled backwards, legs tangled in her long skirt. The Malrag leapt over the dying horse, bloody axe in hand.
The creature's mouth moved, speaking in a strange language, but she heard its voice inside her head.
-Scream, mortal child. Scream for me-
Rachel screamed.
And then Gerald was there, his sword and surcoat splattered with blood both Malrag and human. His shield caught the Malrag across the face, and the creature stumbled, giving Gerald the opening he needed to cut its throat. The Malrag fell, and Gerald killed another, and still another, standing over Rachel.
"Rachel!" he bellowed, catching a spear thrust on his shield. "Run! Now! Run to Castle Cravenlock. Damn it, run! Run!"
Rachel scrambled to her knees, breathing hard. She saw the Roland knights and armsmen falling, succumbing to the Malrag attack. Gerald killed another Malrag with a vicious slash, hot black blood splattering across Rachel's face.
"Run!" he shouted, raising his shield.
She stared at him, frozen with horror. All the men were going to die, she realized. Gerald was going to die. He was sacrificing himself to save her, to gain even a chance of her survival, and it was her fault. If only she had not insisted upon coming. If only she had seen Sykhana for what she was. And now she would perish, and Gerald would die for her mistakes, and their son would remain in Sykhana's vile hands.
But she could find neither words to say nor the will to act as the Malrags closed around them. There was a thunderclap, and a dozen Malrags went sprawling, thrown to the earth by Circan's war spells. For a moment the Malrags wavered, and Rachel felt a surge of hope.
Then the Malrags bellowed and charged to the attack, leaping over the bodies of dead men and Malrags alike. Gerald grimaced and set himself, battered shield raised, and Rachel waited for the end.
She hoped it would be quick.
A horn rang out, long and loud.
Rachel saw the first wave of horsemen thunder down the hillside, lances leveled. They flew the Cravenlock banner, three silver swords upon a field of black. At their head rode a tall man in steel armor, clad in a Cravenlock surcoat.
A sword of blue flame blazed in his fist.
###
After the battle, Rachel tended to Gerald's wounds. Her husband had not been hurt badly, thank the gods - a minor cut, some scrapes and bruises. The rest of the men were not so lucky. Fifteen dead, and another twenty wounded, six seriously. Circan moved among the men, treating their wounds, while Mazael's court wizard Timothy did the same.
Mazael himself stood nearby, leaning upon Lion. Her brother looked little different than she remembered. Tall and strong, with the same brown hair and beard, the sharp gray eyes. He looked grim and sad, as he always had since Romaria Greenshield had been killed, but now he seemed grimmer and harder than ever.
Fighting Malrags, she supposed, could do that to a man.
"Gods, Mazael," said Gerald. "You arrival was most timely. The Malrags had us. Another few moments and it would have been over."
"We were fortunate," said Mazael. "All my scouts have been riding to the east, looking for Malrag warbands. We spotted this group hastening to the west and followed them, lest they raid the untouched villages near the Northwater. It is well that we did."
"I was a fool," said Gerald. He had the strained look he got when men died under his command. Rachel would do her best to comfort him later. "I should have put out more scouts, have been better prepared."
"You couldn't have been," said Mazael. "Until three months ago, no living man had ever fought a Malrag. We took horrible losses, until we learned to fight them properly. Though our situation is still dire. We are in sore need of any aid you can provide." He paused, looked at Rachel for a moment. "But you have Rachel with you."
Gerald nodded.
"Whatever madness possessed you to bring her here," said Mazael, "your need must have been great indeed. So I assume you did not come to our aid."
Gerald took a deep breath. "No. Mazael, I..."
"The San-keth took our son!" said Rachel.
He stared at her, and for a moment Rachel remembered Mazael in his younger days, filled with wrath, ready to destroy anyone in his path.
It heartened her. The San-keth would regret ever touching Aldane.
"Tell me everything," said Mazael. He looked over the battlefield and scowled. "But as we ride. There are more warbands about, and I would rather not encounter them, not until we have Rachel safe in Castle Cravenlock."
###
Later she sat in the great hall of Castle Cravenlock, surrounded by the lords and knights of the Grim Marches, as Gerald told Mazael what had happened.
And told Lord Richard Mandragon, as well.
Rachel tried not to stare at the Dragonslayer. She had lived in terror of Richard Mandragon for years. He had defeated her father Lord Adalon, and she had believed that one day he would defeat Mitor and kill her. Mitor had believed that as well, and in desperation, had turned to the San-keth for ai
d.
To Skhath, to whom he had promised Rachel.
"Those damned San-keth," said Mazael when Gerald had finished. "It would not surprise me if they took Aldane out of spite."
"No doubt spite played a role," said Lucan Mandragon. Rachel feared and loathed Lord Richard, but she feared his wizard son even more. Mazael should never have trusted him. "But if they acted from mere spite, they would have simply killed the child then and there. They have some other motive."
"Also," added Sir Tanam Crowley. Rachel remembered him very well - he had kidnapped her from Castle Cravenlock on Lord Richard's orders. "This Sykhana is working with Malavost and Ultorin, I doubt not."
"That seems correct, Sir Tanam," said Circan, bowing. "If my spell is accurate, Aldane is three or four days' ride to the east of here. And he has not moved since we arrived at Castle Cravenlock."
"So almost certainly my son is with Ultorin and Malavost," said Gerald.
"Most probably," said Tanam. "My scouts think the main Malrag host is three days' ride east of here."
"So," said Rachel, "we ride out and get Aldane back."
The men looked at each other, and then back at her.
"Sir Gerald, Lady Rachel," said Lord Richard in his calm voice, "I am sorry to hear of your son’s abduction. But it changes little. Our task is still the same. We must find Ultorin and kill him. Or destroy his bloodsword, at the very least. Once he is dead, the Malrag host will fall apart, and we can destroy them easily. That will give us the best chance to recover your son."
"But we know where Aldane is!" said Rachel. "We can get him back, we..."
"Through tens of thousands of Malrags, my lady?" said Lucan. "No scout, no matter how skillful, can slip through such numbers. Nor could I or the other wizards use a spell to elude the Malrags. The shamans would sense such a spell, not to mention what Malavost might..."
"Shut up!" said Rachel. "I don't care what you think, wizard, or what you can do with your filthy spells! What do you know about losing a son? Or someone you love? I doubt someone like you has ever loved anyone!"
Lucan said nothing, but his expression shifted, and Rachel knew she had stung him.
"Lord Richard is right, I fear," said Gerald. "If Aldane is surrounded by thousands of Malrags, our best chance of getting him back is to kill Ultorin. If I could, I would take our remaining men and get Aldane back. But we have only eighty men left, and there are fifty thousand Malrags around our son. If we try to get him back, we will die, and accomplish nothing."
"But the others have more men," said Rachel, looking around at the lords and knights of the Grim Marches. "Mazael has men. We could take them, could strike at the Malrags, could..."
"No," said Lord Richard.
She blinked at him.
"I will forbid my vassals to send any men on a fruitless attempt to retrieve the child," said Lord Richard. "I will do what is necessary to defeat the Malrags and save the Grim Marches. If I must spend the lives of my men to achieve that, so be it. I have done it before and I shall do it again. But I will not throw away their lives on a fruitless attempt to retrieve one child."
"But he is my son!" said Rachel.
Lord Richard's eyes, cold and black, met hers. "Thousands of sons have died already, Lady Rachel, and thousands more may well die before we defeat Ultorin. And I will not waste their lives to merely save one child."
Rachel could not bear another word.
"Rachel," said Gerald, reaching for her hand.
She rose and stalked from the hall.
###
Later Rachel stood in a garden, crying.
Her father had constructed this garden, built onto a massive balcony on the side of the castle's main keep, as a gift for her mother. But Lady Arissa had hated Lord Adalon, and never used the balcony. No one ever came here. So Rachel had often hidden here as a child, crying. Later, as she had grown, and Mitor had made his alliance with the San-keth, she had still come here to cry. When she had left Castle Cravenlock a year past, she had rejoiced, knowing she would never need to come to this garden to cry again.
And here she was, again.
She bowed her head, hands spread on the railing, her tears falling against the stone.
Boots rustled against the grass.
Rachel turned, saw Mazael walking towards her.
They stood in silence for a moment.
"Lord Richard is right, you know," said Mazael.
"I know," whispered Rachel. "I know." She closed her eyes. He put his arm around her, and she leaned against him, his armor hard against her side. "I don't have the right to ask anyone to die for Aldane. But, gods forgive me, Mazael. If I could spend the lives of a hundred men, or even a thousand men, to get Aldane back, I would do it. I would do it without hesitating." She sniffled. "I would spend my life, if it only meant he would be safe."
Mazael nodded.
"You've changed," said Rachel. "Five years ago you would have ridden after Aldane, and damned anyone who tried to stop you."
He laughed quietly. "You're right. I would have, five years ago. And gotten myself killed in the process. Or worse." Rachel wondered what he meant by that.
"It is my fault, Mazael,” she said. “I was the one who prayed to Sepharivaim, not Aldane. Sykhana took Aldane because of me." Her lip trembled. "My son will suffer for my mistakes."
"Perhaps," said Mazael. "I've had men suffer for my mistakes. I've had men die for my mistakes. You can either learn from them, or give up and die."
"I will not give up," said Rachel. "Not until I have Aldane back." She hesitated. "Do...you really think Lord Richard's plan will work."
"It will. If we kill Ultorin, or destroy his bloodsword, he loses his command over the Malrags," said Mazael, and there was heat in his voice. "I can take him. I had him, Rachel. If I can get close enough, I can kill Ultorin. Then we'll drive the Malrags from the Grim Marches, get your son back, and have peace once more."
"Yes," said Rachel. She hesitated. "When you kill Ultorin, the Malrags will turn on each other, won't they?"
Mazael nodded.
"And that means they'll kill anything in sight," said Rachel. "Including Aldane and Sykhana."
There was a long pause.
"I don't know," said Mazael. "But…you’re probably right. Ultorin and Malavost must want Aldane alive for some reason. Once Ultorin is dead...then there will be nothing to stop the Malrags from killing Aldane."
"Save him," said Rachel. "If anyone can save Aldane, you can. Promise me, Mazael. Promise me that you will save my son."
For a long time Mazael said nothing.
"I will," he said at last. "If I can."
###
Malavost opened his eyes.
He rode at the head of the Malrag host, near Ultorin atop his great armored steed. Nearby rode Sykhana, Aldane in her arms, and Skaloban, the San-keth cleric's horse enspelled to keep it from bolting in terror. The Malrags stretched behind them, a vast host, covering the plains of the Grim Marches like a black ocean. They would kill him if they had a chance, he knew, but he did not care. The Malrags would kill everything in their path if they had a chance.
But they were expendable tools, and nothing more.
Just as Sykhana and Skaloban were expendable tools. Even Ultorin, with his bloodsword, was nothing a tool. Malavost needed the Malrags, if only for a little while longer, and he was certainly not foolish enough to wield a weapon forged with Demonsouled blood himself.
Unlike, say, the Dragon's Shadow.
Malavost smiled at the thought. Lord Richard's little whelp had no idea what the bloodstaff would do to him. What it already had done to him.
But that was a pleasure for another time.
He rode to Ultorin's side.
"We have a problem," said Malavost.
Ultorin glared at him. Flecks of venomous yellow showed in his gray eyes, and there were hints of black veins forming beneath his skin.
A weapon forged in Demonsouled blood was not a…healthy thing to wield.
"What kind of problem?" said Ultorin.
"Someone knows exactly where Aldane Roland is," said Malavost.
Sykhana looked up in alarm, her eyes turning yellow as her inner eyelids opened, fangs curling over her teeth.
"How?" she said.
"A spell," said Malavost. "I've sensed it twice, now. I suspect one of Lord Malden's court wizards drew a sample of the child's blood. With that blood, the wizard could follow Aldane anywhere."
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