“Why didn’t you tell Ultorin?” said Sykhana.
Malavost’s smile sharpened. “Ultorin…has almost outlived his usefulness to us. We still need him alive, but only for a little while longer. And once we have reached the Door of Souls, we shall have no further use for him at all.” He looked at the battle. “Go, now. The timing for your attack could not be better. The entrance to the caverns is a well in the heart of the city. I will meet you there.”
“Your plan is sound, wizard,” said Skaloban. “Go forth and obey, calibah.”
Sykhana hesitated, staring at Aldane, asleep on Malavost’s arm.
“Do not fear for the Vessel,” said Malavost. “His destiny is almost upon him. And where could he be safer than with me?”
At last Sykhana tore herself away and marched in the direction of the waiting Malrag shamans. It hurt terribly to leave Aldane. But it was for his sake. For his future.
To make him immortal, she would kill every living thing in Deepforest Keep, if necessary.
“Come,” said Sykhana, and the Malrags obeyed.
###
She found the secret entrance in the foothills, just as Malavost promised, and led the Malrags inside. Built of ancient white stone, the tunnel twisted and turned, climbing ever higher, and Sykhana’s calibah eyes let her see in the darkness without trouble.
A pity the forgotten tunnel did not link with the mountain’s caverns - they could have bypassed Deepforest Keep entirely.
At last the tunnel ended in a doorway. Sykhana pushed it open, poisoned daggers in either hand. The door opened into a vaulted stone cellar, crates and barrels stacked against the wall. Dim sunlight filtered through narrow windows.
“Silence,” Sykhana ordered the Malrags. “Do not make any noise until we attack.”
She crossed the cellar, a half-dozen shamans and a score of Malrags following her, and ascended a stone staircase. The cellar’s door opened at the base of a house. From it she had a view of the high tower in the southern wall. Below the tower stood a grove of massive oak trees, surrounding one of those massive white statues of an Elderborn warrior. Elderborn women stood in the ring of statues, brandishing oak staffs.
The druids.
Behind her the cellar filled with Malrags.
“Attack,” said Sykhana.
No sooner had she spoken then green lightning came ripping down from the sky.
###
Rachel hurried down the steps of the Champion’s Tower, and froze.
She saw dark shapes pouring from a house across from the courtyard, black spears and axes in their hands.
###
"Brace yourselves!" said Athaelin lifting his sword. "By the gods of tree and stone, men, we've beat these devils away once before, and we can do so again!"
Eight more ladders moved closer to the base of the bluffs, carried by straining Ogrags. Mazael waited, Lion ready in his hand. If Lucan or the druids tried to knock down the ladders, Malavost and the shamans would counter the spells. But once the Malrags gained the walls, Lucan and the druids could unleash their magic, and Mazael, Athaelin, and the spearmen could destroy the grapnels anchoring the ladders to the walls.
And send the Malrags tumbling to their deaths again...
"Champion!"
An Elderborn messenger raced up to the rampart.
"What is it?" said Athaelin.
"Dozens of Ogrags," said the Elderborn. "Heading up the western road. Our arrows cannot penetrate their armor. And a warrior in black armor leads them, a sword of darkness and flame in his hand."
"Ultorin," said Mazael, hand tightening around Lion's grip. It had worked. They had drawn out Ultorin. Now Mazael only had to kill him...
Green lightning ripped down from the sky, driving into the earth near the Great Traig.
"What?" said Athaelin.
Mazael turned, saw black forms racing through the streets, heard women and children screaming.
The Malrags had gotten inside the city.
Chapter 25 - Ritual of Rulership
Romaria expected to find darkness within the caverns, but instead there was light.
Pale, faint light, but light nonetheless. Patches of moss dotted the walls and ceiling of the caverns, throwing off a pale white glow. It gave the caverns a surreal, ghostly air, as if Romaria had left the world of mortals behind and instead entered the realm of spirits.
Watching the Seer walk before her, the tip of his staff scraping against the floor, Romaria did not think that seemed far wrong.
“The moss,” said Romaria. “What is it?”
“Starglow, the High Elderborn called it,” answered the Seer, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “They bred it with their magic, to provide light in the galleries and vaults below their temples. The High Elderborn have passed from the world, but starglow lingers, here beneath the mountain.”
The tunnel widened into a large chamber, lit by patches of starglow on the ceiling and floor. At one end Romaria saw a broad staircase of white stone, rising out of sight. At the other end yawned another cave entrance, like the jagged mouth of a predator, the tunnel beyond vanishing into darkness.
“The stairs lead to the summit of Mount Tynagis,” said the Seer, “and the ruins of the sacred temple.” He pointed at the darkened entrance. “But you must go there. Through there, you will undergo the Ritual of Rulership, and you must face yourself.”
“What does that even mean?” said Romaria. “What must I do? Climb the mountain? Kill a dozen Malrags? What does that mean, to face myself?”
“You will face your past, your present, and your future,” said the Seer, leaning upon his staff. “It is not too late to turn back.”
Romaria hesitated. For a moment she almost agreed, almost turned and left the cavern. No doubt the Malrags were attacking Deepforest Keep even now, and she should be fighting alongside the others, not sulking through these ancient caves.
But Deepforest Keep would die, if she did not undergo the Ritual.
Mazael would die.
“Let’s get this over with,” said Romaria, and strode towards the entrance.
The tunnel beyond the jagged mouth sloped down, deeper into the mountain’s depths. At first Romaria could see with the faint white glow still coming from the entrance. But even that light faded, and she used her bow as a staff to feel for pits along the floor of the tunnel.
She cursed herself for neglecting to bring a torch or a lantern, and then she saw the faint blue glow coming ahead. She made her way towards it, still feeling the ground with her staff, until the eerie blue glow grew bright enough to illuminate the passageway.
Mist swirled along the floor, curling around her boots.
She felt magical power stirring in the air, like the tension before a storm.
Romaria stepped into another chamber, smaller than the first. A placid pool filled perhaps half of the floor, reflecting the stalactites of the ceiling. The strange blue glow illuminated the chamber, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. A hooded figured stood next to the pool, gazing down into it.
“Who are you?” said Romaria.
The hooded figure turned, and Romaria found herself looking into her mother’s golden eyes.
“Useless abomination,” said Ardanna. “You dare to defile this sacred place with your filth?”
Rage surged through Romaria, and her hands curled into fists.
But fear, as well. Perhaps her mother was right. Perhaps Romaria was indeed an abomination. She would lose control of herself, sooner or later, and become a ravening beast forever. The gods alone knew what she might do then, the innocents she might kill.
“I am ashamed that I ever bore you,” said Ardanna, stalking closer. “I am ashamed that I did not purge my womb of you, as I should have done. I am ashamed that I did not leave you in the Forest to die. And I am ashamed that I let your miserable father bring you back to Deepforest Keep!”
Still Romaria said nothing.
“It would have been better,” hissed Ardanna
, “if you had never been born! If I had never laid eyes upon your…”
“Shut up!” said Romaria.
The High Druid flinched as if slapped.
“I’ve known hardship and pain in my life – a lot of it from you – but I would not give it up,” said Romaria. “And I am not an abomination, I have done good things, I have saved people! Those villagers in the Old Kingdom. Ultorin’s Dominiars would have killed them, if I had not stopped him.” Her anger grew, spilling out of her in a torrent. “And I’ve saved more people than that. I’ve fought the San-keth. I’ve fought Malrags! And I saved Mazael from himself!”
“Useless vermin,” said Ardanna, her eyes ablaze with rage. “Every breath you take pollutes the world further. Lie down and die. Lie down and die!”
“No!” said Romaria. “I will not! My life means more than you think, you arrogant and stupid woman.”
Ardanna shrieked in fury, and an obsidian-tipped hunting spear appeared in her hand. She leapt forward, still howling in rage, and thrust the spear at Romaria’s face. But Romaria jumped back, yanking her bastard sword from its shoulder scabbard, and parried. The obsidian spearhead shattered against her steel blade, and Romaria shoved, sent her mother sprawling to the ground.
And Ardanna dissolved into mist, her body blurring into nothingness.
Romaria turned in confusion. There was no sign of Ardanna. Had that really been her mother? No – as much as the High Druid hated her, Ardanna would not abandon the defense of Deepforest Keep. Had it been an illusion, then? A spirit conjured out of the netherworld?
Or an illusion in her own mind?
You will face yourself, the Seer had said.
What did that mean?
The mist swirled past her ankles, eerie in the blue light. Romaria looked up, saw it flowing into another tunnel on the far side of the chamber. She followed the mist, circling around the placid pool, and entered another tunnel.
This tunnel was far narrower, the walls cold and clammy. It grew colder as she walked, until her breath steamed in the air, and she pulled her cloak closer for warmth. She had been in caves before, and they had never been this cold.
She kept her bastard sword raised.
At last the tunnel opened into another chamber. This chamber looked like an amphitheater, with the stone floor sloping down to a sand-covered hollow. The light in here was the color of blood. The same color, Romaria realized with unease, that shone from the sigils upon Lucan Mandragon’s staff of black metal.
A man in black plate armor stood in the center of the chamber, his back to her. It was the same sort of ornate black plate armor worn by the commanders of the Dominiar Order.
“Ultorin!” shouted Romaria, both hands on her sword hilt. "You murderous dog! Turn around face me."
The black-armored man turned to look at her.
It was Mazael.
Not Mazael as she knew him, tall and strong and gray-eyed. This Mazael had eyes the color of burning blood, his face locked in a gleeful, cruel grin. He looked strong and powerful and terrible, a living god of war, a beautiful avatar of destruction.
This was what Mazael would have become, she realized, if he had succumbed to his Demonsouled nature. If he had embraced the darkness within him to become the Destroyer, the Demonsouled prophesied to destroy the kingdoms of men.
"Romaria," said Mazael, his voice deeper and colder than she had ever heard it. "Bow before me and worship me. You are mine, heart and soul."
She felt, for a moment, the overwhelming compulsion to kneel before him, to please him, to let him do whatever he wanted to her. She loved him, heart and soul, and she wanted him...
"No," said Romaria with an effort.
Mazael laughed. "You want this, as much as I do. I am a killer, Romaria. I am the Destroyer! I have embraced my strength, become what I was born to be! Now kneel before me, and give yourself to me. I will be the lord of the earth, and I shall trample empires beneath my feet. And you shall be my queen, and sit at my right hand in power and glory. Kneel!"
The visions flashed before her eyes, each more intense than the last. She had always been drawn to Mazael's strength, had she not? He was a warrior without peer, and a mighty captain of men. How his strength stirred her heart! What would it be like, she wondered, if he embraced his Demonsouled power? How strong he would become! He would become...
She frowned. He would become just like Amalric Galbraith, who had embraced his Demonsouled nature, and butchered innocents across the Old Kingdoms.
"No," repeated Romaria, louder this time.
Mazael's hellish eyes narrowed.
"I don't want the Destroyer," said Romaria. "I want Mazael Cravenlock. I want the man who saved the children from Mitor's thugs in the square of Cravenlock Town. I want the man who spared his sister's life, even if she deserved to die. I want the man who fought like a lion to defend his people and his lands from Ultorin and his Malrags."
For a moment pain flashed over Mazael's face, and the red glare dimmed in his eyes.
"Then die!" he roared, pulling his sword from its scabbard. It was not Lion he held. This sword was red gold, its pommel carved in the shape of a roaring demon.
The sword of the Destroyer.
Mazael leapt at her, snarling in fury, and the Destroyer's sword burst into blazing crimson flames.
Romaria had her bastard sword up to meet his blow, and their blades met and met again a dozen times in as many heartbeats. She circled around him, trying to stay out of his reach. He was stronger than she was, far stronger, but she was faster, and they were evenly matched. Yet his stamina was superhuman, fueled by his Demonsouled nature, and she would tire long before he did.
Still roaring, he brought the burning sword in an overhand chop for her head, and she only just deflected it. She remembered fighting with him in the garden atop Castle Cravenlock, when his Demonsouled rage almost consumed him...
And she remembered how she had defeated him then.
"You saw me die," said Romaria, and Mazael's face tightened in rage. "You saw the Old Demon strike me down." Pain flickered across his expression. "And you saw me lie dead upon the chapel floor, you saw them bury me in the crypt. And you will do the same to me now?"
She stepped back and lowered her sword, leaving herself open.
"Go ahead," she said. "Watch me die again. I won't stop you."
Mazael lifted the sword, his hand trembling. The sword's fires sputtered and dimmed. He stared at her for a long time. The hellish light drained him his eyes.
And at last he fell to his knees with a cry of anguish. The sword of the Destroyer shattered in his hand, crumbling into ash.
And then Mazael vanished, dissolving into the strange mist that swirled through the chamber.
Romaria looked around, but there was no sign of Mazael. Another trick of the caverns' magic, she supposed. Or another illusion in her own mind.
The mist flowed past her, pouring into another tunnel on the far side of the chamber. Romaria shrugged to herself, and followed the mist, bastard sword still in hand. It was obviously magical, and it even seemed like something alive. Was it the defensive magic laid over the walls of Deepforest Keep, she wondered? A spell cast over the caverns? Or something even older, something the High Elderborn had left behind?
For some reason she could see the mist more clearly now. In fact, everything around her looked clearer, as if her eyes could make better use of the cavern's dim light.
Then she entered the third and final chamber, and all such thoughts fled from her mind.
This chamber was huge and domed, the ceiling of rough rock vanishing into darkness high overhead. Halfway across, the floor ended in an enormous yawning chasm, its depths vanishing into darkness. A woman stood gazing into the chasm, a tall, lean woman in leather armor, black hair pulled into a braid, a bastard sword strapped to her back.
Then the woman turned, and Romaria found herself gazing into an exact copy of her face.
The Seer had been right. She would indeed face h
erself here.
"Who are you?" said Romaria.
The double grinned, white fangs curling over her lips. "I am you." Claws sprouted from her fingers, black fur rising to cover her hands and face. "I am what you will become."
"No," said Romaria. "No. I will fight you to the end."
"Fight as you will," said the double, her voice now a bestial growl. "It does not matter. I am you, and you are me. And I am what you will become in the end, whether you embrace it or not."
The double became a great black wolf with eyes like blue ice and fangs and teeth the color of fresh-fallen snow. The wolf sprang forward, fangs bared, and Romaria leapt to meet it.
Demonsouled Omnibus One Page 109