Demonsouled Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  Skaloban hissed. "Then block the spell."

  "Sadly, honored Skaloban, I fear I cannot," said Malavost, hiding his contempt. The San-keth clerics claimed to be masters of necromancy, but he had found their skills lacking. "A blood link is the most powerful connection possible. Short of killing Aldane, there is nothing I can do to obscure the child's location."

  Sykhana fanged glare turned in his direction.

  "The Vessel must be protected," said Skaloban.

  Ultorin threw back his head and roared with laughter, the cords in his neck standing out. His mood swings had gotten worse, lately. "Let them come. Let them come! I will leave them screaming in pools of their own blood!"

  "Undoubtedly," said Malavost. "However, if I agree with honored Skaloban. The Vessel's security is paramount. Even you must agree, Ultorin - without the Vessel, you shall not have your vengeance."

  Ultorin's gray-bearded lips twisted into a scowl, but he nodded.

  "Sykhana was pursued from Knightcastle," said Malavost, "and most likely her pursuers have joined forces with Lord Mazael. Who, as I need not remind you, is a most dangerous foe." Ultorin's snarl intensified - Mazael's escape from their trap had left him in a rage for days. "Therefore, I suggest we take action."

  "What is your plan, wizard?" said Skaloban.

  Malavost told them.

  Ultorin laughed again, mad and wild, Skaloban hissed in approval, and even Sykhana gave a cautious nod.

  Of course, Malavost's plan might get Ultorin killed. But that was acceptable. He was an expendable tool. The only one Malavost really needed alive was Aldane Roland.

  The Vessel.

  ###

  Mazael slept, and dreamed:

  He galloped across the plains, Lion blazing in his fist, Challenger breathing hard beneath him. A calibah, a changeling, raced before him, Aldane Roland trapped in her arms. He heard the baby wailing, heard Rachel sobbing in fear.

  Mazael gritted his teeth and urged Challenger faster.

  The changeling would not escape him.

  Suddenly the changeling veered to the right, moving away from the dark mass of the Great Mountains.

  Veering towards the south.

  Always towards the south.

  And then Ultorin appeared, his bloodsword a swirl of darkness and flame in his armored fist. His eyes had turned a sulfurous yellow, and veins of darkness pulsed and throbbed beneath his skin. He looked demonic, deformed, a man taken by dark powers and twisted into a monster.

  Mazael leapt from Challenger's back and raced to meet him. Lion met bloodsword in a dozen blows, blue flame struggling against shadow and blood-colored light. But Ultorin had grown stronger, and faster, and he drove Mazael back. Mazael jerked Lion back and forth to meet Ultorin's blows, looking for an opening.

  And then a blur of black fur shot past Mazael.

  Ultorin bellowed, and the great black wolf ripped at his hamstrings. The Dominiar knight fell to his knees, screaming, and Mazael whipped Lion around in a two-handed cut.

  Ultorin's head jumped off his shoulders and rolled across the ground. Black slime oozed and trickled from his neck, and his headless corpse slumped to the earth with a rattle of armor. Mazael stared at the black wolf, Ultorin forgotten, looking into the wolf's blazing blue eyes.

  They looked so familiar, so very familiar...

  Then he realized that the wolf was female.

  "Who are you?" whispered Mazael.

  The wolf trembled, and for a moment Mazael thought she would flee from him. But she took a step forward, fangs bared, and Mazael followed her gaze.

  To the west, towards Cravenlock Town.

  ###

  Mazael awoke, dawn sunlight streaming through the balcony door.

  War horns echoed in his ears.

  Cravenlock Town was under attack again.

  Chapter 11 - The Black Wolf

  "Aye, my lord," said Sir Tanam Crowley, "it's bad."

  Mazael hurried across the courtyard towards the stables. Rufus handed him his gauntlets, and then sprinted off to prepare Challenger.

  "How many?" said Mazael.

  "At least five thousand strong," said Tanam. "Almost certainly more. They're heading straight for Cravenlock Town."

  Mazael cursed. "There are only three hundred militiamen at the town. Five thousand Malrags will crush them. That's enough to take the castle itself, if the balekhan keeps its wits."

  Or if Ultorin led them. Or Malavost. Especially Malavost. Ultorin might command the Malrags, but Mazael suspected that Malavost did a great deal of Ultorin's thinking.

  "We've not enough men here, my lord," said Tanam. "I am loath to say this, but the wisest course is to fall back to the castle and wait for Lord Richard to relieve you. Castle Cravenlock is strong. You can hold out until my lord Richard arrives."

  "No," said Mazael. "I will not abandon my people to death at the hands of the Malrags. Toraine is camped to the south of the castle, with seven hundred horsemen. Send your fastest scouts to him, Sir Tanam, and ask him to ride north with all speed. We can destroy the Malrags, if we catch them between the town's walls, my men, and Toraine's men."

  Assuming, of course, that Toraine simply did not sit back and let Mazael get slaughtered. He hoped Toraine's lust for battle would overcome his desire to see Mazael dead.

  Tanam frowned, but nodded. "Aye, my lord, as you say. The gods go with you."

  "And you," said Mazael. "Sir Hagen! We ride at once!"

  Hagen bellowed orders to the knights and armsmen, who hastened to their horses.

  "Mazael!"

  Gerald ran towards him, clad in armor and surcoat. Behind him hurried the sixty Roland armsmen and knights still fit to fight, the grooms leading their horses.

  “We are with you,” said Gerald.

  Mazael shook his head. “This isn’t your fight. And if you die in the Grim Marches, Lord Malden will have war with Lord Richard.”

  Gerald shook his head. “The San-keth have my son, and my only path to getting him back lies through the Malrags. Besides, you need every man who can ride and fight.”

  He was right about that.

  “Then I am glad to have you with me,” said Mazael, as Rufus led Challenger over. Mazael swung up into the saddle, looking around as Rufus passed up his shield and lance. Timothy, Gerald’s wizard Circan, and Lucan sat atop their horses, ready to fight, though Lucan looked ill, as usually did of late. Sir Aulus was ready with the banner and the war horn, while Sir Tanam and his raiders moved into position behind Mazael’s men. Mazael was glad the Old Crow remained at Castle Cravenlock – few had Tanam’s skill at hit-and-run tactics.

  Tactics Mazael would need to come through this battle victorious.

  “Sir Hagen!” said Mazael. “We ride for the town!”

  Mazael kicked Challenger to a trot and rode for the castle’s gate. Hagen bellowed orders, and the horsemen fell in behind Mazael, alongside Gerald’s and Tanam’s men. Mazael looked up, his eyes sweeping the wall.

  He saw Rachel upon the battlements, her hands at her throat. She would be able to see the entire battle from the castle’s wall.

  Mazael hoped he did not get her husband killed in front of her.

  They rode for Cravenlock Town.

  ###

  A black storm of Malrags swept towards Cravenlock Town. Crossbowmen on the walls fired into the Malrags, as did militiamen with short horse bows. Every arrow and every quarrel found a mark, throwing dead Malrags onto earth that had already been soaked in black blood.

  But for every Malrag slain, a dozen more surged forward.

  They had ropes with grappling hooks, using them to scale the walls like misshapen, black-armored spiders. Militiamen on the ramparts attacked with long spears or thrown rocks, and Malrags fell from the ropes to crush others beneath them. But more and more Malrags gained the battlements, struggling against the militiamen.

  “We should charge them, at once,” said Gerald. “If we get them away from the gate…”

  “No,” said M
azael. “Too many of them. We need to distract them until Toraine gets here. Sir Aulus! The archers!”

  Aulus blew three quick blasts on his horn, and the mounted archers surged into the gap between Mazael’s horsemen and the Malrags. A storm of arrows fell into the Malrag lines, and the archers veered into two groups, still releasing arrow after arrow. The Malrags howled in rage, and the outer ranks broke away, chasing after the mounted archers.

  Lucan had been right. The Malrags were cunning and clever, but lacked the ability to override their bloody lusts. Without a strong mind to direct them, their desire to kill and torture often overrode their thinking.

  Such as the Malrags now chasing mounted archers they had no chance of catching.

  “Now?” said Gerald.

  “Not yet,” said Mazael, looking to the south. He saw a plume of dust around the castle’s hill. “Sir Aulus! Tell Sir Tanam to make the Malrags bleed!”

  Aulus blew the signal on his horn.

  And the Old Crow’s light horsemen leapt into the fray. Unlike Mazael’s heavy knights, Tanam Crowley’s men wore leather armor, and bore curved sabers, light spears, and bundled javelins. As the scattered groups of Malrags pursued the mounted archers, Tanam’s men crashed into them. They stabbed with spears and slashed with sabers as they galloped past, leaving Malrags bleeding in the dirt.

  In a matter of moments Tanam's men killed every Malrag that had broken ranks, and still crossbow bolts and arrows fell from the battlements. The Malrag attack stalled, and the creatures began to break in confusion. The mounted archers and Tanam’s raiders returned to their places alongside Mazael’s knights and armsmen, ready for another attack.

  A distant trumpet blast rang over the battle.

  Mazael turned again, saw horsemen racing from the direction of Castle Cravenlock, hundreds of them. At their head they flew a banner with a black dragon on a red field, and below that, the sigil of a gray tower with a dead man hanging from its balcony.

  The banner of Toraine Mandragon, Lord of Hanging Tower.

  Mazael grinned. It seemed that Toraine’s desire for glory had won over his wish to become Lord of Castle Cravenlock.

  “Now,” he said to Gerald, “we charge. Aulus! Send the archers and the raiders to attack the flanks. Hagen! Take command of the knights and armsmen, and ride for the center. We’ll throw them into disarray, and when Toraine arrives, he’ll smash them like a melon beneath a hammer.”

  Aulus blew a string of blasts on his horn, the mounted archers and the raiders galloping forward at the signal. Mazael wheeled Challenger around, shield on his left arm, the lance ready in his right hand, Lion waiting in its scabbard at his hip. Behind him he heard the clank of armor as the knights settled into position.

  Aulus sounded the charge.

  Challenger leapt forward with an excited whiny, the earth rumbling as Mazael’s heavy horsemen galloped forward. The Malrags tried to scramble into a defensive position. But as before, Mazael’s tactics had worked, and the Malrags efforts were too little, too late. Mazael’s lance plunged through a Malrag’s throat, even as another perished under Challenger’s heavy hooves, and all around him knights and armsmen smashed into the Malrags.

  The Malrag lines collapsed like rotten ice.

  ###

  Lucan kept well to the rear of the battle, Circan and Timothy on either side of him.

  His hand tightened around his staff's cold black metal. He had expected Circan to react badly to him, to the Dragon’s Shadow, the final student of the renegade Marstan. But the pale-haired wizard had followed Lucan into battle without question.

  Lucan felt the staff against his palm, the edges of the sigils digging into his fingers.

  He wanted to draw the staff’s power into him, wanted to fill his veins with its fiery strength and strike down the Malrags. But he dared not, not unless the need was dire. The staff’s power was too much, its strength overthrowing his reason and turning him into a murderous madman.

  And the power left something behind. Some darkness, some illness. Like silt left behind when floodwaters retreated. A taint, building up within him, leaving a little more every time he used the staff’s Demonsouled power. Lucan didn’t know what the accumulation of darkness would do to him.

  He suspected it would not be good.

  He watched as Mazael’s knights crashed into the Malrags, ripping through their lines like a thunderbolt.

  “We should aid Lord Mazael,” said Timothy, flexing his hands.

  “No,” said Lucan. “Not yet. Lord Mazael can take care of himself.” He looked to the south, scowling. “And my brother shall be here soon. If the Black Dragon is good at anything, it’s killing things. But neither of them can deal with the Malrag shamans on their own.”

  Or with Malavost. And Lucan doubted that he could handle Malavost on his own. Even with Circan’s and Timothy’s aid.

  Another war horn rang out, and Toraine Mandragon’s knights plunged into the collapsing Malrag lines. Lucan saw his brother, clad in his armor of black dragon scales, his sword carving through the Malrags' gray hides.

  “Such a large warband,” said Timothy, shaking his head. “We’ve never yet seen so many Malrags grouped for a single attack. To what purpose?”

  “I know not,” said Lucan. “Whatever the reason, we shall kill…”

  He felt the surge of power in the air, his skin crawling with the presence of potent magical force.

  Malavost.

  ###

  The Malrags broke and ran, Mazael's men driving them towards the open plains. He saw Toraine’s men slam into the Malrags, heard the ring of steel on steel, men and Malrags screaming in rage and pain. Mazael drove his lance through a Malrag’s chest, pinning the creature to the earth, and lost his grip on the weapon as Challenger galloped past.

  He ripped Lion free from its scabbard, the blade an inferno of azure light, and the Malrags shied away from him.

  Oh, yes. They had learned to fear Lion’s flames.

  Then he saw the banner flying over the nearby Malrags. A black banner, adorned with a silver eight-pointed star, once the sigil of the Knights Dominiar, now the banner of Ultorin.

  Mazael spun Challenger around and raced for the banner, striking left and right, Lion trailing blue flame. Ultorin was here. If Mazael could get close enough, if he could engage the renegade Dominiar, he could end this war here and now.

  He ripped through the last rank of Malrags before the banner.

  Ultorin sat atop his black-armored warhorse, gray-bearded face snarling. The expression made him look bestial, and for a moment Mazael thought that Ultorin’s eyes flashed yellow. The bloodsword rested in his right hand, wreathed in darkness and crimson flame. A dozen Malrags stood around Ultorin, crossbows ready in their hands.

  Mazael blinked in surprise. Crossbows? He had not yet seen the Malrags use any bows, and…

  As one the Malrags lifted their crossbows and squeezed the trigger.

  Mazael brought his shield up, two bolts thudding into the heavy wood. But another bolt plunged into his shoulder, and another into his leg, and three slammed into Chariot’s flank. The big horse screamed and reared even as another bolt slammed into Mazael’s hip, knocking him from the saddle to the ground.

  He heard the clatter of armor as Ultorin’s horse raced forward.

  ###

  Lucan spotted Malavost.

  The renegade wizard sat atop his horse, green flame sparking and flashing around his hands. Lucan started a spell of his own, and just in time. A blast of green lightning sizzled out of the sky and exploded against Lucan’s wards, the air spitting and snarling with the strain of competing magical energies.

  Apparently Malavost had learned a trick or two from the Malrag shamans.

  “Timothy!” shouted Lucan. “Now!”

  Malavost was not the only one with tricks. Timothy deBlanc was a good and brave man, but only a mediocre wizard. No matter how hard he tried, he would never match Lucan’s level of power and skill, and certainly never approac
h the power of someone like Malavost.

  But he was rather good with spells of illusion.

  Timothy muttered the incantation, silver light dancing around his fingers, and gestured. The air shimmered, and a duplicate of Lucan upon his horse appeared, an image wrought of light and magic. And then another duplicate, and another, and images of Circan and Timothy as well.

  Only a minor magic, a simple trick…but an effective one.