At Mazael’s insistence, they rode hard for the east all day, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. The nearest fords were a day’s ride north and south of the burned bridge, but Mazael didn’t want to risk encountering more of Lord Richard’s minions. He permitted his companions to stop long enough to water the horses, but no longer. They rode in silence. There would be time to exchange stories later.
They passed bands of mercenaries that ranged from ragged knots of ruffians to professional companies with banners. All marched east for Castle Cravenlock. Mazael and his little band rode around them, and the mercenaries ignored them.
As the sun sank beneath the western sky, they came across one of the abandoned farmsteads that littered the Grim Marches. Only few strewn foundation stones, a pond, and an overgrown orchard remained, and Mazael pronounced the site fit for a camp. Gerald slid out of his saddle with a sigh of relief.
“Good horse,” said Mazael, patting Chariot’s flank. He undid the saddle and blanket, rubbed the horse down, checked the hooves, and gave Chariot another apple snared from the grove the day before. Chariot snorted but accepted nonetheless.
Rachel stumbled from Mazael’s palfrey. Mazael and Gerald were both accustomed to hard riding and days in the saddle, but Rachel was not, and Gerald helped her to stand. It seemed that his sister had captured another admirer. Wesson gathered wood and grass, and soon a fire crackled within the old foundation stones.
“I don’t suppose we have any of our supplies left?” said Gerald, brushing down his horse.
Mazael shook his head. “Our supplies are sitting in our room at the inn. No doubt Sir Tanam and his men are enjoying them. We’ll have to make do with whatever’s in our saddlebags. I hope the lady of Cravenlock will not be discontented with jerky and stale bread?”
Rachel laughed and sat down. “I would rather eat peasant fare than dine with Lord Richard at Swordgrim.” She winced again. “I can’t imagine how you knights can ride that hard for days on end.”
“Practice, mostly,” said Mazael. “You’re still able to sit, at least. When Gerald first trained with a lance and hammer from horseback, he had to sleep standing up for weeks.”
“Gods, don’t remind me,” said Gerald, rummaging through one of Mantle’s saddlebags.
“Gerald?” said Rachel. She laughed. “Sir knight, I’ve been riding with you all day, and I don’t know your name! Mazael, would you kindly make the introductions?”
“Certainly,” said Mazael. “Lady Rachel Cravenlock, this is Sir Gerald Roland. Sir Gerald, Lady Rachel.”
Rachel’s pretty green eyes widened. “Sir Gerald Roland?” Gerald looked pleased. “Lord Malden’s son, Sir Gerald?” Gerald nodded. “A pleasure to meet you, my lord knight. What brings you to the Grim Marches?”
“I was wondering much the same of you, sister,” said Mazael, tearing a hard chunk of bread into four pieces.
“It’s been fifteen years since we’ve heard from you, Mazael,” said Rachel. “Then, a day and a half after I’m kidnapped by Sir Tanam Crowley, I find you here with the youngest son of one of the most powerful lords in the kingdom. That is a strange coincidence, I think.”
“So Crowley did kidnap you?” said Gerald. “Gods, Mazael! What have we walked into?”
“A mess, it seems,” said Mazael. “But that’s a fair question, sister. I’ve served Lord Malden Roland for the last nine years. When Lord Malden heard rumors of trouble in the Grim Marches, he sent us to investigate.”
“My father has a vested interest in the Grim Marches,” said Gerald.
“He wants revenge, you mean,” said Mazael. He took a bite of the stale bread and winced.
“Lord Richard did kill Lord Malden’s second son, Sir Belifane,” said Rachel. “And he killed our older two brothers, Mazael.”
“I know,” said Mazael. He hadn’t liked his two oldest brothers and considered their deaths a favor. “Our brothers and Sir Belifane Roland managed to get themselves killed in battle with Richard Mandragon. Then Father marched out from Swordgrim to avenge their deaths, and what happened? Father lost, Lord Richard marched in triumph into Swordgrim, and we were left with Lord Mitor the Mushroom.”
Rachel laughed.
Gerald looked puzzled. “Mitor the—Mushroom?”
“Our nickname for Mitor, when we were children,” said Mazael. “When you meet him, you’ll understand. So, now that you know how we came here, how did you wind up the captive of Sir Tanam Crowley?”
Rachel shivered and hunched closer to the fire. “It’s...a long story.”
“Considering I just tried to kill one of the Dragonslayer’s sworn knights, I would like to hear it,” said Mazael. He looked at Rachel for a moment. She was indeed thinner than he expected, more tired, more worn.
“It was about a marriage,” said Rachel. Her eyes glimmered in the firelight.
This surprised Mazael. “You aren’t married yet? I thought Mitor would have married you off the instant you came of age.”
“He wanted to,” said Rachel. “But he wanted to save me for the son of some powerful lord, someone with whom he could make a strong alliance.”
“Bloody chance of that,” said Mazael. “The Dragonslayer crushed Lord Adalon. What fool would want to ally himself with Lord Adalon’s imbecile son?”
“Not many,” agreed Rachel.
“Did Mitor ever get married?” said Mazael.
“He did,” said Rachel. “About four years ago, to Marcelle Trand.”
Mazael knew of the Trands, a noble house that had supported Lord Adalon against Lord Richard. After the Dragonslayer became liege lord of the Grim Marches, the Trands found themselves relieved of a great portion of their lands. “Lord Marcus Trand must have been desperate to foist off the girl, if he offered her for Mitor.”
“He was,” said Rachel. “Marcelle is a hateful woman. I imagine Lord Marcus offered her to half the noblemen in the kingdom before Mitor finally took her.”
“Why would Lord Mitor marry her, then? From everything you’ve told me over the years, Mazael, your brother sounds a proud man,” said Gerald.
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Mazael. “If Mitor ever goes to war against Lord Richard, then Lord Marcus will have to stand with him.” Mazael paused. “Is Mitor planning to do something so foolish, Rachel? Lord Richard is a seasoned commander, Mitor is no warrior, and Swordgrim can raise three times the men Castle Cravenlock can.”
“I don’t know, Mazael. I really don’t.” Rachel stared into the fire. “About six months ago, Lord Richard sent Sir Tanam to Mitor with an offer. Lord Richard wished to end the long enmity between our houses, and offered to join me in marriage to his eldest son Toraine.”
“Amatheon and Amater!” swore Mazael.
Gerald frowned. “That’s brilliant. Toraine is Lord Richard’s heir. If you bore him a son, a man with both Mandragon and Cravenlock blood would rule the Grim Marches one day. That would forever end the rivalry between the house of Cravenlock and the house of Mandragon.”
“Mitor refused him,” said Rachel.
Silence hung over the little camp for a moment. Mazael heard the fire crackle, saw the flames dance in Rachel’s eyes. “Why? Even Mitor could not be so foolish. Half the lords in the kingdom have approached Lord Richard to offer their daughters for Toraine. How could he possibly pass up such an opportunity?”
“I didn’t want to marry Toraine Mandragon,” said Rachel in a rush. “He’s a monster. The peasants don’t call him the Black Dragon because of his armor. In a village near Amritsar, a man stole one of Toraine’s horses. The Black Dragon caught the thief and had him and his entire family herded out into the village square. He beheaded them all with his own sword, even a baby and an old woman, and had their heads mounted above the village gate as a warning to other thieves.”
“That’s monstrous,” said Gerald.
“Yes, but he made his point,” said Mazael.
Rachel glared at him. “Would you want me to marry such a...a monster? Would you want me take him into my bed?
”
“No,” said Mazael, “but I doubt Mitor had such concerns. What made him turn Lord Richard down?”
“Pride, I suppose,” said Rachel. “He said it would be an insult for me to marry the son of the man who had murdered my father. And...and I wanted to marry someone else.” Gerald looked disappointed.
“You did?” said Mazael. “Who?”
“Sir Albron Eastwater,” said Rachel. Her eyes lit up with a feverish glow as she said the name.
“I’ve never met him,” said Mazael. “I’ve never even heard of him.”
“He was a mercenary who fought alongside Father against Lord Richard. After Lord Richard won, Father knighted Albron and gave him lands along the Eastwater, north of Castle Cravenlock.”
“So you turned Toraine Mandragon down in favor of a knighted mercenary?” Rachel’s eyes flashed. “No mockery, sister, but Mitor only allowed this to insult Lord Richard. The Mandragons must have been furious.”
Rachel’s lips compressed into a thin line. “You think I don’t know that? I wish that Albron and Toraine’s births could have been reversed. Albron is the best man who ever lived, but Toraine...I half think Toraine is Demonsouled.”
“Don’t tell Lord Richard,” said Mazael, chewing at the stiff jerky. “Mitor’s already insulted him. We needn’t tell him that he was cuckolded by the Old Demon.” Rachel laughed, the weariness falling from her face for a moment. “So Mitor refused Lord Richard. How did you wind up in Sir Tanam Crowley's hands?”
“After Mitor refused Lord Richard, we heard no response for months. Mitor and Sir Albron feared that Lord Richard planned war. Then a week ago, Sir Tanam returned to express Lord Richard’s regrets. Mitor had no choice but to give Sir Tanam and his men lodgings for the night. They crept into my chamber, seized me, and rode off before the garrison could rouse.”
“Daring,” said Gerald.
“That’s Sir Tanam’s style,” said Mazael. “He has gall, I’ll give him that.”
“Sir Tanam said...he said that Lord Richard had commanded that I be brought to Swordgrim to marry Toraine. I refused...and he said that I had no choice in the matter,” said Rachel.
“That’s odd,” said Mazael. “Sir Tanam said in the inn that you were guilty of...how did he put it...doing witchcraft and practicing sorcery.”
Rachel flinched. “That’s a lie. I did no such thing.” Her eyes darted to the fire and back to his face.
Mazael laughed. “The church and the wizards of Alborg might believe it is a crime for a woman to wield magic, but I don’t care. What, did Master Othar teach you?”
“No,” said Rachel, shaking her head. “No. I’ve had nothing to do with magic, I swear it.”
Mazael shrugged. “If it matters that much...”
“You know our family’s history,” said Rachel. “The peasants are always ready to believe anything evil said about a Cravenlock. There are—there are enough stories already, without adding to them.”
“If you feel it so important,” said Mazael. He smiled. “How are Sir Nathan and Master Othar? You, Sir Nathan, and Master Othar are the only people I regretted leaving behind when I left Castle Cravenlock.”
Rachel hesitated. “They...are well, I believe. Master Othar won’t live much longer, I think. He’s so fat, and has trouble getting around.”
Mazael laughed. “Master Othar was always fat. Careful what you say, sister. Othar has outlived five men who said he had only a year left to live.”
Rachel laughed. It transformed her face. Then she sobered. “Mazael, I’m sorry, but...”
Mazael felt something grab at his stomach. “What? Sir Nathan? Is he dead...”
Rachel shook her head, dark hair sliding about her shoulders. “No. Lord Mitor dismissed him as armsmaster.”
Mazael blinked. “What? Mitor is a bigger fool than even I thought! Sir Nathan is the finest sword in the Grim Marches. He’s better than even me! What was Mitor thinking?”
“Mitor said Sir Nathan was too old, that he needed a younger man as armsmaster,” said Rachel.
“Too old!” said Mazael. This was beyond idiocy. Some of his rage must have shown on his face, because Gerald and Rachel flinched away from him. With an effort, he forced himself to calm down. “I wonder what fool Mitor found to replace the likes of Sir Nathan Greatheart?” Rachel frowned. “I’ll see what Mitor has to say about this, and a great many other things.”
Rachel leaned over and hugged him. “I’m so glad you’ve come home, brother. It’s been so hard, these last few years but I know you’ll set things right. You will, I know.”
Startled, Mazael took his sister’s hand. “I will try. Someone must stop Mitor. If he continues to follow this course, he’ll bring the kingdom to bloody war.”
For a moment the tired shadow crossed Rachel’s features again.
Then an impish grin lit her face.
“Wait here,” she said, and stood and walked towards the old trees.
“I say, Lady Rachel, come back!” Gerald said. “We risked our lives to win you free...gods only know what is wandering about in the dark.”
She returned a moment later, and the object in her hand sent Mazael’s mind back over the years, to the time he had first met Rachel as a child.
She had been only three. Mazael had spent most of his childhood at Sir Nathan's estates, away from his mother and brothers, who hated him, and his father, who ignored him. One day Lady Arissa, in a fit of rage, banished Rachel to Nathan's estates. The old knight ordered Mazael to greet her, a duty he found less than cheerful.
Mazael’s sister arrived in a carriage escorted by a dozen knights. The child’s nurse spotted Mazael and pointed him out to the little girl.
“Look, Rachel,” the woman said. “That’s your brother.”
Rachel’s face lit up, and she out something clutched in her hand.
“Want an apple?” she had said.
Mazael had missed breakfast that morning, and found himself thinking his sister was not such a worthless creature after all.
Now, twenty years later, Rachel held out another apple to Mazael. She was much taller now, and the plumpness had changed into beauty, but the smile had not changed.
“Want an apple?” she said.
Mazael laughed and took the apple.
***
Chapter II
1
Three Bandits, Two Boots, One Wizard
Demonsouled Page 4