Demonsouled Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  They got to work.

  ###

  That night Mazael and Romaria returned to their rooms atop the Champion's Tower, gazing into the darkened forest.

  “It's so quiet,” said Romaria. “It's never this quiet in the Forest at night.”

  “The Malrags,” said Mazael. “Everything flees before them. This is the last quiet night Deepforest Keep will know for a while, I think.”

  She nodded, and they stood in silence for a moment.

  “Your mother,” said Mazael.

  “I hate her,” said Romaria, and he saw the unshed tears shining in her eyes. “I thought...I thought I was past this. I left Deepforest Keep for years, to travel in the Great Mountains and the Old Kingdoms. I forgot about her. Even when I returned to Deepforest Keep to visit Father, I stayed away from her. Not hard, since the great High Druid would have nothing to do with a wretched abomination.” She sniffled. “It is so foolish to say...but I hoped, perhaps, that she would think differently of me, after all that I have done. That perhaps she would see that I had some value.”

  “It is not so foolish,” said Mazael, putting his arm around her. “I thought the same way once, about my father.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “The Old Demon?”

  “No. Lord Adalon,” said Mazael, naming the man he had thought was his father. “He banished me from the Grim Marches when I was eighteen. He gave me a horse and a sword and a chain mail shirt, and told me never to return. For a while, I thought that if I did great deeds, he would take me back.”

  “What changed?” said Romaria. “By the time I met you, you didn't give a damn what anyone in your family thought. Except for Rachel.”

  Mazael shrugged. “I moved on. I joined Lord Malden's court as a sworn knight, and by the time I heard that Lord Adalon had died and Mitor had become the new lord of Castle Cravenlock, I no longer cared. I would never have returned to the Grim Marches, had Lord Malden not sent me to investigate.”

  She leaned against him. “I am glad that you did.”

  Mazael pulled her closer against him. “So am I.”

  They went to bed together.

  ###

  Mazael woke before dawn the next morning, blinking.

  Romaria lay against his side, her black hair pooling across his chest. Dim gray light came through the balcony doors, along with the sounds of men moving along the city's walls. For a moment Mazael thought that the Ultorin had come, that the Malrags had launched an assault against the walls.

  Romaria sat up, sensing his alarm. “What is it?”

  But no sounds of combat filtered through the window.

  “Nothing,” said Mazael, climbing out of bed. He began to get dressed, and Romaria did the same. “It's going to be a long day. Best to...”

  “Mazael,” said Romaria.

  Mazael turned.

  A huge black raven settled upon the balcony’s stone railing, watching them with gleaming black eyes. It was the biggest raven Mazael had ever seen. Even as he stared at it, the raven hopped to the floor of the balcony.

  And as it did, it changed, its form blurring. The raven became an Elderborn man, gray-haired and weary-faced, leaning upon an oak staff.

  Romaria bowed. “Seer.”

  “Just how long,” said Mazael, “have you been there watching us? All night, I suppose?”

  To his surprise, the Seer smiled. “Fear not. I do not spy upon things which are rightly private.” His smile faded. “And I have learned this well. Once something has been seen, it cannot be unseen. And I have seen much that I would otherwise forget.”

  “But...you were a raven,” said Romaria, confused. “How is that possible? I've never seen any wizard do that. Is it a skill the druids learn?”

  “No,” said the Seer. “I will tell you a secret only known to the Elderborn. Not even your father knows it. It should have been told to you long ago, but the High Druid refused.”

  “What secret?” said Romaria.

  “The Elderborn are born with earth magic in their souls,” said the Seer, “and exist in harmony with it. And this harmony manifests in the ability to change forms, to take the shape of birds and beasts.”

  “The Tribe of the Wolf,” said Mazael, understanding. He remembered the rumors Lucan had told him about the ability of the Elderborn druids to change their shapes. “Or the Tribe of the Bear. That's why the Elderborn tribes take those names. It's their...chosen animal, no? They have the ability to change their forms to a wolf or a bear.”

  The Seer nodded. “The Seer is of all tribes. But before I became Seer, long ago, I was of the Tribe of the Raven. And this ability, Romaria, you have inherited from your mother, and it is killing you. It is unbalanced, uncontrollable, and killing you slowly.”

  “I know,” said Romaria. “Is that why you've come? To tell me how I'm going to die? I already know that. I don't have much time left. So I'm going to spend it well, and take as many Malrags with me as I can. And Ultorin, if I have a clear shot to his throat.”

  “No,” said the Seer. “You are the key. This I have foreseen. You were destined to save Mazael from himself. This has happened. Mazael was destined to save you from yourself. This, too, has happened. And I have foreseen that you have the power to save Deepforest Keep.”

  “How?” said Romaria.

  “I did not know,” said the Seer, “until last night. I entered the caverns below the mountain, and meditated, and a vision came to me.”

  “So,” said Mazael, “how is Romaria to save Deepforest Keep?”

  “She must face herself, and overcome herself,” said the Seer, “in the Ritual of Rulership.”

  “The trial that the lords of Deepforest Keep must face,” said Mazael, remembering what Romaria had told him, “before becoming the Champion and Defender.”

  The Seer nodded.

  “Why must I do this?” said Romaria. “The Ritual is dangerous. Half of those who undertake the Ritual never return.”

  “Your brother Rhodemar undertook the Ritual and survived,” said the Seer. “Your father insisted, so that he could serve as the Champion if Athaelin fell in battle. And you must undertake the Ritual, as well, to face yourself...”

  “No,” said Romaria.

  The Seer said nothing.

  “Why not?” said Mazael.

  “Because they have no right to ask this of me,” said Romaria.

  “You said Deepforest Keep was your home,” said the Seer.

  “It is!” said Romaria, voice rising. “At least, I thought it was, for all those years. And then I came back, and I saw my mother again, what she thinks of me. What she still thinks of me. Do all the Elderborn think that way about me? And my father. He would do nothing about her. Nothing!” Her voice climbed to a shout. “He chided her, and scolded her, and did not lift a finger to help me!”

  She paced to the balcony, shaking with anger. Mazael followed her, put a hand on her shoulder.

  “I will fight for Deepforest Keep,” said Romaria. “Even to the death. But this...I will not do this.”

  “So be it,” said the Seer.

  Romaria glared at him. “Why? What have you seen?”

  “You will do as you will,” said the Seer.

  Romaria scowled, pushing the hair away from her eyes. “Don't tell me that nonsense. You tell us your visions, and we all dance upon your strings. So what strings do you want to tie around my arms and legs?”

  The Seer sighed and closed his silver eyes, resting his forehead upon the staff. “The Seer's vision is more of a curse than a blessing, far more of a curse. For the future is not fixed. Did you not know this? It is a shadow, cast by the weight of the past and present. Shadows are changeable. And yet...so very often the shadow does not change. A man continues in his folly, when he might change his ways, and the shadow of destruction becomes a reality.”

  “And so what visions have you seen?” said Romaria. “What shadows?”

  “I see the Elderborn destroyed, slain to the last man, woman, and child,” said
the Seer. “I see Deepforest Keep in flames. I see a child murdered atop an altar, and I see a god of blood and death rising in power from Mount Tynagis. All these shadows I see before me...if you do not enter the caverns and endure the Ritual of Rulership.”

  For a long time Romaria said nothing.

  “And what shadows do you see,” said Romaria, “if I undertake the Ritual?”

  “The shadows are uncertain, tangled,” said the Seer. “Anything could happen.”

  “But if I do not perform the Ritual,” said Romaria, “then Deepforest Keep will certainly be destroyed.” Mazael felt her tense. “Everyone will die. Mazael will die. My father and brother will die.”

  “Those shadows,” said the Seer, “will become reality.”

  “If I do not perform the Ritual,” said Romaria. She closed her eyes and gave a bitter little laugh. “Trying strings around my arms and legs.”

  “I told you,” said the Seer, still leaning against his staff, “that foresight is often more of a curse than a blessing.”

  “Very well,” said Romaria. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, opened them again. “I will face the Ritual of Rulership.”

  The Seer nodded. “We must go now.”

  “Are you sure about this?” said Mazael.

  “I am not,” said Romaria.

  “Do you need my help?” said Mazael.

  “She must face herself,” said the Seer. “And that is something every man and woman of mortal kind must do alone.”

  “I would like your help,” said Romaria, “but if I am to face this...it seems I must do so alone.” She gazed at his face. “Just as you did...when your time of trial came.”

  Mazael remembered Romaria lying dead upon the chapel floor, remembered Rachel unconscious upon the chapel.

  “That wasn't your fault,” said Romaria. Even in her troubled mood, she still knew him so well. “I've told you that.” Her crooked grin flashed across her face. “And there's no Old Demon this time.”

  Mazael nodded. “I love you.”

  She leaned up and kissed him. “I love you, too.”

  She squeezed his hands, then turned and followed the Seer from the tower.

  Mazael stared after them for a moment. Then he paced to the balcony and leaned against the railing, staring at nothing. Watching her go, letting her go, had been so much harder than he had expected. He knew that she might die in the upcoming battle, that he might die. But watching her walk away with the Seer, knowing that he might never return...that had been almost more than he could bear.

  He would have helped her, if he could. He would have died for her. But she had to face this battle herself. Just he had faced the Old Demon alone, in the chapel, at the end.

  Romaria's fate was in her hands now. And Mazael had work to do.

  He took a deep breath, donned his armor, and went to find Athaelin and Rhodemar.

  ###

  Romaria followed the Seer through the heart of Deepforest Keep.

  She looked back at the Champion's Tower. Leaving Mazael to fight the Malrags had been harder than she had thought. But if any man could lead the defenders and kill Ultorin, it was him. And if the Seer was right, if she did not do this, then Mazael and every man, woman, and child in Deepforest Keep would die.

  And the Seer had always been right so far.

  The Seer led her to the center of the city. A huge circular garden lay there, the Garden of the Temple, surrounded by a ring of enormous oak trees. Traigs dotted the garden, covered in vines and flowers. In the center of the garden yawned a stone well, spiral stairs sinking to the earth.

  The entrance of the caverns that led to the crown of Mount Tynagis, to the sacred temple at its crown.

  And the caverns where she would face the Ritual of Rulership.

  “Come,” said the Seer, and she followed him into the caverns.

  ###

  The Malrags marched through the night.

  Sykhana rode in the heart of the Malrag host, encircled by the bodyguard of Ogrags that Malavost insisted Ultorin use. She was surrounded by tens of thousands of Malrags, Malrags that would kill any Elderborn they saw, Malrags that killed any deer or rabbit or wild pig they encountered, simply for the pleasure of it.

  Yet she still lived in terror of an Elderborn arrow. Not for herself, but for the baby cradled in her arms. All it would take was one arrow, one stray arrow to sink into Aldane's unprotected flesh. And Elderborn scouting parties raided the more distant Malrag warbands. The scouts brought reports to Ultorin, and Ultorin flew into a rage every time he heard them, killing two or three Malrags before Malavost calmed him down.

  Sykhana shivered. Very often Ultorin frightened her more than the Elderborn. There was not much sanity left in Ultorin.

  And less that was even still human.

  But only a little longer, Malavost told her in his calm voice. They only need Ultorin and his bloodsword a little while longer. Then they would gain the Door of Souls atop the mountain, and Aldane would become a god and live in splendor forevermore.

  And she would be his loving mother, forever.

  Sykhana wanted that so badly that it hurt.

  The sun rose, and she saw Deepforest Keep standing atop its mountain spur, the walls lined with men in mail.

  Chapter 24 - The Siege

  Mazael stood atop Deepforest Keep's wall, Athaelin, Rhodemar, Gerald, and Lucan at his side, watching the Malrag horde fill the hills below the city. He wore his armor, plate and chain beneath a black Cravenlock surcoat, Lion riding in its scabbard at his hip, a shield slung over his shoulder.

  “There's so many of them,” murmured Rhodemar.

  Gerald shrugged. “It will merely make it harder for the archers to miss.”

  “Are all scouts in?” said Athaelin.

  “Aye,” said Mazael. “The last ones came in less than an hour ago. The Elderborn thinned the Malrags' ranks somewhat, along with the attacks of my men.”

  “How many are left?” said Athaelin.

  “At least a hundred and thirty-five thousand,” said Mazael. “Maybe more. Probably more.”

  “The old rule is that every man atop the wall is worth ten below it,” said Athaelin. “And we have three thousand men of the Keep and fifteen hundred Elderborn. Ultorin has three times as many Malrags as he needs to assault us.” He took a deep breath. “What do you suggest, Lord Mazael?”

  “Put the Elderborn on the western wall,” said Mazael. “Ultorin will send a strong force up the road to attack the gates. If the Elderborn aim well, perhaps we can keep them from reaching the gate. Keep the spearmen upon the southern wall, with a reserve by the gates and in the Garden of the Temple.”

  “Why the southern wall?” said Rhodemar. “The bluffs there are steep.”

  “But not steep enough,” said Mazael. “The scouts reported that the Malrags were felling trees. They could construct ladders able to scale the bluffs and the walls. Or raise an earthwork ramp, and roll siege towers up to the wall.”

  “And we lack siege engines to counter any the Malrags might construct,” said Gerald.

  Mazael grinned. “But we have Ardanna and her druids. They can loose earthquakes, and blasts of ice, and command the roots to rise up and destroy any siege engines the Malrags might employ.”

  “And what about the Malrag shamans?” said Gerald. “If they loose a concentrated barrage of those lightning bolts, they might bring down a section of the wall.”

  Lucan gave a nasty little laugh. “No, they won't.” He squinted over the battlements. “I wonder, in fact, when one of them will get bold enough to try it. Probably...ah, here we go.”

  No sooner had he spoken than a blast of green lightning screamed out of the sky. But even as it did, sigils of ghostly blue-white fire flickered across the stone wall. The lightning bolt slammed into an invisible barrier a dozen yards above their heads and dissolved into sparks. A heartbeat later another bolt thundered down, and this time it ricocheted from the barrier, ripping into the Malrag ranks.

&
nbsp; Lucan laughed through the entire thing.

  “The wards upon the walls are most potent,” said Lucan. “I doubt even Malavost could send a spell past them. But if the shamans break into the city, they will be able to use their spells unhindered. And both the shamans and Malavost might counter any spells the druids employ against the Malrags.”

  “The best we can hope for, I think,” said Mazael, “is that Ardanna and her druids will nullify Malavost and the Malrag shamans. So it will come down to steel, in the end. Man and Elderborn against Malrag.” Mazael shook his head. “Remember, all of you. Our only hope of victory is to kill Ultorin. We must kill him, whatever the price, even at the cost of our own lives.”