Demonsouled

by Jonathan Moeller

  Chapter V

  1

  Romaria’s Tale

  Mitor’s head exploded from his shoulders in a shower of gore, his body crumpling. Mazael sneered and kicked the head aside. Blood pooled on the marble floor, gleaming like liquid ruby, and Mazael heard Lord Adalon's laughter.

  Rachel screamed and backed away. Mazael raised Lion, blood dripping down the sharp blade...

  He awoke with a strangled scream, sweat dripping down his jaw. For a moment he thought he saw Rachel’s severed head lying its pool of blood, the green eyes staring at him...

  “Sir Mazael?” Adalar stood near the bed.

  “What?” said Mazael, his voice a rasp.

  “I heard you shouting...” said Adalar.

  “Nothing,” said Mazael. “It was nothing. Go back to sleep.” He stood and tried to find his boots. “I'll take a walk. The night air will clear my head.”

  “If...if you say so, Sir Mazael,” said Adalar. The squire turned and went back to his chamber. Mazael wondered what he had shouted out in his sleep. His head ached, worse than any hangover he had ever had, and he shut his eyes and pressed his hands to his temple. After a few moments, the pain faded. He reached for his sword belt, remembered the dream, and let his blade fall.

  He climbed the stairs to the top of the King’s Tower. A wooden ladder reached the tower's turret, and Mazael pulled himself onto the roof. The cool wind blew past him, tugging at his cloak and running chilled fingers through his hair. Mazael leaned against the battlements. He could see the land for miles around, the stars blazing overhead.

  “What’s wrong with me?” Mazael said.

  Killing came easily to him. He had often entertained the notion of killing Mitor. But the dreams were so vivid. He could still see the blood staining the marble stairs, could still smell Mitor's fear. And Rachel...gods, he loved Rachel, he had never wanted to hurt her, not even now.

  It was Castle Cravenlock. He had memories here, some good, many dark. It was good to see Sir Nathan and Master Othar and Rachel again. But Mitor had grown from a cruel, lazy boy to a cruel, foolish man. No wonder Sir Nathan had given Adalar to Mazael as squire. The old knight likely wanted his son far away when Lord Richard dealt with Mitor’s rebellion.

  Mazael decided to leave tomorrow. He would leave Mitor behind, he would leave the scheming Simonian behind, and he would leave the dreams behind. Let Mitor smash himself against the Dragonslayer. He would take Rachel with him tomorrow, whether she wanted to come or not. Better that he drag her to Lord Malden’s court than to leave her here in the grasp of a creature like Sir Albron.

  Something scraped against the stone.

  His hand shot to his sword hilt but banged against his hip, and he berated himself for leaving his sword in his room. He reached for his boot and yanked free a short dagger. Mazael peered over the battlement, glimpsed a dark form making its way across the roof of the keep.

  Could the wealthy Lord Richard have hired assassins? Mazael tucked the dagger into his belt, vaulted onto the battlements, and jumped. His boots hit the roof of the keep with a slap. The dark form spun, and Mazael raised the dagger for a throw.

  It was Romaria. She wore tight-fitting trousers and a tunic with the sleeves cut away. Her marvelous eyes widened in fear as she saw him.

  Then she recognized him and amusement almost replaced the fear. “Good to see you, too.”

  “What in the gods’ name are you doing? I could have killed you.”

  Romaria shrugged. “Everyone dies. I could ask the same of you.”

  “I saw you,” said Mazael. He slid his dagger back into its boot sheath. “I could not sleep. I came out to the tower’s roof to think and saw you crawling about. That wasn’t a good idea, my lady. And you still haven’t told me what you’re even doing up here.”

  “I like to climb things,” said Romaria.

  “Climb things?” said Mazael.

  “I find it relaxing,” said Romaria.

  Mazael’s annoyance evaporated. “You would, wouldn’t you? Just don’t fall. Give the guards some warning, first. I would be displeased if someone put a crossbow bolt through your chest.”

  “Would you?” said Romaria. “Flattering. And the guards didn’t see me. Lord Richard could march his whole army into the castle, and Mitor wouldn’t notice them until his hangover passed.”

  Mazael laughed. “Gods, I suppose you’re right.”

  Romaria tossed her head, hair sliding over her shoulder. “And they couldn’t hit me. You saw the way they stumbled over each other this morning. I doubt they could hit the side of the castle...”

  He noticed something.

  Her voice broke off as Mazael stepped towards her. A dozen expressions flashed across her face, and for a moment she trembled like a deer mesmerized by a wolf.. Mazael reached for her neck, pushing back her thick black hair to reveal her ears.

  They came to delicate points.

  “Who are you?” said Mazael. “You don’t look like one of the Elderborn. But you move like one, and those eyes...”

  “I am who I told you I am,” Romaria said. “Romaria Greenshield, the daughter of Lord Athaelin of Deepforest Keep.”

  “Are the Greenshields all Elderborn?” asked Mazael.

  “No,” said Romaria. “My father is human, but my mother was the Elderborn high priestess. I have the blood of both races.”

  “How did that happen?” said Mazael. He drew back his hand, his fingers lingering on the skin of her neck. “I thought the two races never mated with each other.”

  “It’s always been this way,” said Romaria. “The old Dragon Kings of Dracaryl sent the first Greenshield to the Great Forest to conquer the tribes. Instead he made a peace with them and took the high priestess to wife...though they rarely have children. It’s been that way ever since, for thousands of years. Deepforest Keep has outlasted Malrag invasions, the great Holy War, and a dozen other battles.” She smiled. “It will outlast Lord Mitor and Lord Richard, and even you and me.”

  “Why do you hide it?” said Mazael.

  “I didn’t want to,” Romaria said, “but I know how the peasants feel about the Elderborn...wood demons and other nonsense. And even the other Elderborn believe ‘half-breeds’ are...inferior.” Her eyes turned flinty for a moment. “You don’t think that, do you?”

  Mazael kissed her on the forehead. “What do you think?”

  Romaria kissed him back on the lips. “I knew it.”

  Mazael snorted. “Gods forbid I should agree with Mitor.”

  Romaria laughed. “And if you do, should I kill you?”

  “Probably,” said Mazael. “At least, you should try.”

  “You ought to kill Mitor,” said Romaria, “and save us all a horrible amount of bloodshed.”

  Mazael frowned, remembering Simonian’s words. “I won’t kill Mitor. I don’t like him. I detest him, in truth. But he’s my brother and I can’t kill him.”

  “I was half-joking,” said Romaria. “He would never survive the Ritual of Rulership.”

  “What’s that?” said Mazael.

  “It’s a test,” said Romaria. “When the old lord of Deepforest Keep dies, his heir undergoes the Ritual in the druids’ caverns under the Keep. It’s a test of strength of will and strength of body. No one knows what goes into it, save the heir and the druids. If the heir succeeds, he walks out of the caverns as the new Lord of Deepforest Keep. If the heir fails...well, he doesn’t walk out at all, and the nearest blood relation takes the Ritual.”

  “Sounds efficient, I suppose,” said Mazael.

  “Oh, it is,” said Romaria. “It ensures that only one worthy takes the mantle of ruling.” Her smile turned mocking. “Deepforest Keep has never had a lord like Mitor.”

  “Then your home’s the better for it,” said Mazael. “What’s it like?”

  “What?” said Romaria.

  “Your home,” said Mazael. “Deepforest Keep.”

  This time Romaria's smile held no mockery. “It’s the most beaut
iful place in the world. The castle’s been built with the trees, over the years. Great oaks taller than this castle form the pillars of the great hall. The town, humans and Elderborn alike, live in the trees, in houses built within the branches. And the gardens...the druids blessed the gardens with their earth magic. You’ll never see larger fruits and vegetables, Mazael, no matter how long you live and how far you travel.” Starlight glinted in her eyes. “I’ve visited the Old Kingdoms in the south and Travia in the north, and many places in between, but there is nowhere more beautiful than my home.”

  “Perhaps I’ll see it for myself, one day,” said Mazael.

  “Where’s home for you?” said Romaria.

  “Home?” said Mazael. “I never gave it much thought.” He shrugged. “Not here, that’s for certain. Knightcastle, maybe...but I’ve rarely stayed there more than four months out of the year. My home is on the road. I’ve spent most of the last fifteen years riding from place to place.”

  “You were a knight-errant?” said Romaria.

  Mazael nodded. “My father turned me out after Lord Richard’s victory.”

  “Where have you traveled?” said Romaria. “You must have seen most of the kingdom.”

  Mazael shrugged. “Here and there. Through the Stormvales and the Green Plain, and then I rode with the Iron Lancers of Barellion.”

  “What’s the most beautiful place you’ve seen?” said Romaria.

  Mazael thought it over for a moment. “Stillwater...the lands and castle of Wesson’s father. It’s this little valley in the Knightrealm hills, near the River of Jarrsen. The mists come down from the hills in the morning ...” He shook his head. “But I think the most beautiful thing I’ve seen is you.”

  Romaria looked away. “Flatterer. You really mean that, don’t you?”

  “I do,” said Mazael. He laughed. “Gods help me, I do. I don’t know why. But I do.”

  “He told me I would meet you,” said Romaria, voice distant.

  “Who?” said Mazael.

  “The Seer,” said Romaria.

  “Who is that?” said Mazael.

  “He’s a druid, I suppose. I don’t know,” she said. “He’s a Elderborn and has no other name. We all call him the Seer. He has visions. They come true.”

  “Is he some sort of wizard?” said Mazael.

  “No. A druid,” said Romaria. “There’s only one Seer born every generation...for the Elderborn, that’s around a hundred and fifty years. He receives his powers and his mantle in a ceremony.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “When Father sent me north, to find the wizard raising the zuvembies, the Seer...the Seer told me I would meet you.”

  “How would he know that I was coming?” said Mazael.

  “I don’t know,” said Romaria. “He said I would face a demon...and that I would meet you.” Her voice became hysterical. “He said...he said you were a man with a lion’s fang for a sword, who could move faster than any other, and could kill any man...and that you...that I would...”

  And to Mazael’s astonishment she began to cry. He took her in his arms, and her face fell against his shoulder. It had been a very strange day. He held her and tried to think of something to say.

  Romaria sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “Gods, look at me.”

  “What did he say?” said Mazael.

  “I...don’t...I don’t want to talk about it now,” said Romaria. She managed a feeble smile. “I just hope that for the first time the Seer was wrong.”

  Mazael laughed. “When I was in Barellion, this old gypsy woman predicted that I would rise to great power and fame. Unless spending my nights sleeping on cold ground is greatness, she was wrong. Your Seer is probably no better.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Romaria.

  “Come with me,” said Mazael.

  Romaria laughed. “What?”

  “Come with me,” said Mazael. “Mitor’s a sinking ship. Lord Richard will crush him and most likely he’ll kill your dark wizard. I’m leaving tomorrow, and taking Master Othar and Sir Nathan if they’ll come. Why don’t you come with me? You’ve seen the Old Kingdoms and Travia...why not see the rest of the kingdom? I would like you would come with me.” He could not believe what he had just said. He wondered what Lord Malden would say when he saw Romaria Greenshield. Mazael decided that he didn’t care.

  “I can’t,” said Romaria. “I would like to, but I must stay. I was sent to kill this dark wizard, and that is what I mean to do. You have to stay, as well.”

  “Why?” said Mazael.

  “Because if you had seen a zuvembie, you would know that whoever would raise such a monstrosity must be stopped,” said Romaria. “And you can’t leave. This is your family, where you were born. I know you don’t care for Lord Mitor, but I think you loved your sister, once. Will you leave her to the mercy of Lord Richard?”

  Mazael was silent. “I don’t know. She’s changed.”

  “Then stay,” said Romaria.

  Mazael kept silent and stared out over the courtyard.

  “I think I shall retire,” said Romaria. “Climbing up the keep is tiring.”

  Mazael reached out and took her hand. “I’ll stay. Don’t go. I haven’t been sleeping well, lately.”

  Romaria smiled. She stayed.

  2

  Mitor’s Plans