Demonsouled Omnibus One Read online

  “It’s not a mistake!” said Rachel. “You just don’t know him as I do.”

  “And how well do you know him?” said Mazael. “I hope better than I, for what I saw was not very complimentary.”

  “He’s...a hard man to really know,” said Rachel. “But...inside, he’s very brave, and very daring.”

  "But not brave enough to go after Sir Tanam to get you back," said Mazael.

  Rachel had no answer for that.

  “A brave man inside,” said Othar, shaking his bearded head, a strange look on his face. “If you’ll excuse me, I had best retreat to my workroom. Lord Mitor will have a thunderstorm of a hangover when he awakes. I had best have some medicinal elixir prepared.”

  Mazael spat. “Lord Mitor has seen fit to make Simonian his court wizard. Is a medicinal elixir out of reach of his great arts?”

  Othar shrugged. “I do not know. Besides, Simonian left on one of his ‘errands’ shortly after the feast. No one has seen him since.”

  “Will you need my assistance?” said Timothy.

  Othar laughed. “My boy, I prepared medicinal elixirs decades before you were born. I do believe I shall be fine.” He left, his cane thumping against the ramparts.

  “Mazael,” said Rachel, “I know we don’t agree on everything, but you are right about Simonian.”

  “I am?” said Mazael.

  “I don’t know about all these rumors of dark magic and the like,” said Rachel, “but he is a very dangerous man. His eyes give me nightmares, sometimes. And he’s...powerful. He does things I don’t think any other wizard could do.”

  “I see,” said Mazael.

  Rachel’s voice fell lower. “I...I think Mitor should send him away, but he’ll never listen to me. Please, Mazael, stay far away from Simonian. It’s been so hard, here...if something were to happen to you, I think I would go mad.”

  Mazael remembered the amusement in the wizard’s flat gaze as he spoke of Mitor’s death. “I’ll do what I can,” he said.

  “He’s doing that wrong, you know,” said a woman’s voice.

  Mazael's hand fell to Lion's hilt as he whirled. Romaria Greenshield stood behind them. Mazael hadn’t heard her approach. She wore again her trousers, boots, tunic and worn green cloak, though a suit of steel-studded leather armor covered her torso. The hilt of her bastard sword poked out over her shoulder.

  Her grin cut like a dagger’s edge. “Did I startle you?”

  “I nearly cut you in two,” said Mazael.

  A flicker of fear flashed across Romaria's blue eyes. Mazael wondered if her bravado covered something else.

  “You nearly tried to cut me in two,” Romaria said.

  “I don’t try. I do,” said Mazael. He remembered how her skin felt and he grinned. Then he remembered the dream and his smile faded.

  “You did startle us,” said Sir Nathan. "Your skill at stealth must be considerable."

  Romaria smiled. “Thank you. It’s hard to keep in practice, but I try.” She bowed. “I am Romaria Greenshield, of Deepforest Keep.”

  Nathan bowed in return. “I had hoped to speak with you. I saw you at the feast, but did not have the opportunity. I am Sir Nathan Greatheart. Is your father well, my lady?”

  Romaria’s eyes widened. “Sir Nathan Greatheart?” She smiled. “Yes, he is well. In fact, he told me to give you his greetings, should I happen to meet you.”

  “You know Lord Athaelin?” said Rachel. “But I didn’t think anyone knew the Greenshields. Until I met Romaria, I thought Deepforest Keep legendary.”

  “Lord Athaelin and I knew each other in my youth,” said Nathan.

  Romaria laughed. “You saved his life, you mean.”

  Nathan shrugged. “I happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

  “My father tells it differently,” said Romaria.

  “Knowing him, no doubt,” said Nathan. He watched her for a moment. “Is something amiss?”

  Romaria pointed to the courtyard. “Sir Albron. Those men are a mess.”

  Rachel’s eyes flashed. “Albron does his best.”

  “Then despair for the future of Castle Cravenlock,” said Romaria. “Half those men aren’t holding their weapons correctly. The other half at least have correct grips, but haven’t the slightest idea what to do with a blade.”

  Nathan grimaced. “I have offered to assist Sir Albron with training, but he has rebuffed my aid.”

  “He needs it,” said Mazael. “Sir Tanam’s crows could take this lot. Lord Richard’s veterans would annihilate them. If Mitor plans to go to war with Sir Albron training his soldiers...”

  “Mitor will win,” said Rachel. “You’ll see. He hasn’t told you...”

  Mazael frowned. “Told me what?” Rachel blanched.

  “Sir Mazael, I say!”

  Sir Albron walked towards the rampart stairs. “Are you going to join us?” His smile widened. “I have heard so much about the daring of Sir Mazael. Is it true, or does the great knight spend all his time in the company of women and old men?”

  “Albron!” said Rachel. “Please.”

  Mazael laughed. “Sir Albron, this old man did a better job of training Cravenlock armsmen than you ever could. As for the company of women, I think Lady Romaria could split your head down the middle.”

  “Oh, flattery,” said Romaria. A chorus of laughs burst from the armsmen, and Sir Albron silenced his men with a smiling glare.

  “Easy to say standing up there,” said Albron. “Why not come down here and prove your words?”

  “I think I will,” said Mazael. “Adalar, Timothy, with me.”

  “I shall join, as well,” said Nathan. “Perhaps you can teach me a few lessons, Sir Albron.”

  “And I,” said Romaria.

  Rachel gaped. “Lady...that’s...that’s hardly proper.”

  Albron laughed. “A woman? Lady Romaria, you mock me.”

  Romaria grinned at him. “Indeed? Consider this, Albron. If your men can defeat a woman of Deepforest Keep, then Lord Richard’s armies won’t even be a challenge.”

  Albron shook his head. “I won’t have it. In the barbarian wilds, women might waddle about in a man’s garb and with a man’s weapons. But you are in civilization now, Lady Romaria, and you will act in a civilized fashion.”

  “No,” said Sir Nathan. “If Lady Romaria possess a tenth part of her father’s nature, Sir Albron, then I would rather stand with her to death then spend an hour with the likes of you.”

  Albron's face hardened, and for a moment fury seem to rise off him in waves. His smile returned, but Mazael was certain he had glimpsed Albron’s true feelings. Perhaps Rachel had as well.

  “Well, then,” Albron said. “Humiliate yourself, Lady Romaria, if you wish. Stand with her, Sir Nathan, and prove yourself an old fool. It matters not to me. I did warn you. Come down, then, and let us practice the blades.”

  2

  Sword Dancers

  Mazael descended the rampart steps alongside Sir Nathan and Romaria, followed by Adalar and Timothy.

  “Cease!” Albron said. The armsmen stopped fighting, the clack of wooden swords fading. “Now it is time to watch and learn from a true master of the blade. Sir Mazael has bravely volunteered to fight me.”

  “Oh, have I?” said Mazael. “Such a brave act.”

  Another flicker of rage shadowed Albron’s face, and he gave orders to the armsmen. “Give your practice blade to Sir Mazael. You and you with the wooden bastard sword. Relinquish your weapons to Sir Nathan and...the lady.” Three armsmen ran forward. Mazael took a practice longsword made of heavy wood with a lead core. It was heavier and shorter than Lion, but Mazael had used far worse weapons.

  He unbuckled his sword belt, Lion swinging in its scabbard. “Adalar, hold this for me."

  “Perhaps Sir Mazael needs a bit of a primer, before he has to face me,” said Albron. “We wouldn’t want the great knight to overtax himself.”

  “Albron,” said Rachel. She had come down from the
ramparts. “Mazael is Lord Mitor’s brother and his guest. Please be more polite.”

  Albron laughed. “My dear, how do you worry! There’s no need to involve yourself in this. It is a matter for men. I only have Sir Mazael’s best interests at heart.”

  Mazael smiled. “I’m sure you do.”

  “Lady Romaria first, Sir Mazael,” said Albron. “After all, a mere woman should be no challenge for such a great fighter as yourself?” Romaria watched Mazael with intent blue eyes. “Or maybe the women of Deepforest Keep are just as wild as the wood demons!”

  “Albron!” hissed Rachel. She fell silent at his glare.

  “I’d be honored,” said Mazael. “Romaria is a skilled opponent, I’ve seen that for myself. I could use a challenge today.” He shrugged. “I doubt I’ll find one fighting you.”

  Shocked silence rose from the soldiers.

  “Very well, then!” said Albron. “Watch closely, men! See if you can learn anything from the fighting of a wild woman!” More laughter rose up.

  Romaria stepped towards Mazael with the wooden bastard sword in hand, her eyes like blue ice. She moved with the grace of the hunting cat she had killed in the hills. Mazael wanted her, drawn to her in a strange way he had never experienced before. She wore her usual confident grin, but Mazael saw something in her face. She was afraid of him.

  Mazael raised his sword to a guard stance. “This wasn’t the sort of tumble I had in mind.”

  Romaria took her sword in a two-handed grip. “Who knows? A good fight always gets my blood up. And no man can see the future...or so I hope.” Again he heard the fear in her voice.

  Mazael stepped towards her. “What are you afraid of?"

  Her eyes flashed. “Not anything. Not you.” Her sword blurred towards his chest, and Mazael barely got his parry in place.

  “Ha!” Albron shouted. “This cat has claws!” Then Romaria’s attack drove all distractions from Mazael’s mind.

  Her sword spun and stabbed for Mazael’s head. Her grip shifted from two hands to one and then back again. His sword worked circles as he blocked Romaria’s blows. Mazael parried a low blow, and Romaria twisted her wrist, the dulled tip of her longer sword nicking against Mazael’s leg.

  Romaria laughed. “First blood, mine!”

  Mazael grunted and sidestepped, Romaria's thrust shooting past his hip. His sword blurred in a two-handed swing for Romaria’s shoulder. She parried, but the force of his strike knocked her back. Mazael drove into the opening, sword flashing for her throat. But Romaria regained her balance, and beat back Mazael’s attacks. He hammered at her again and again, and so caught her off-guard when he fell to one knee and thrust at her legs. Romaria jumped aside, but Mazael’s sword banged into her knee.

  “Second blood, mine,” said Mazael.

  Romaria grinned at him. “Second blood, second best.”

  “Let’s find out,” said Mazael.

  Romaria flew at him. Her thrust flowed into a swing and then into a two-handed chop. Mazael blocked and parried, the wooden sword vibrating in his hand. His breath came rapidly, his heart pounding in his chest. Romaria was better than good. She was masterful. He had not fought anyone this skilled in years.

  Mazael was enjoying this.

  Romaria’s attack played out without landing a single hit, and Mazael launched his own attack. He threw a flurry of two-handed swings at Romaria’s head, forcing her to take the bastard sword in both hands to block his heavy blows. Mazael finished the attack with a high swing aimed for her head, and Romaria raised her sword to parry. But his swing had been a feint, and he reversed the momentum of his sword, sending it for her stomach. Few fighters would have seen it coming. But Romaria did. Not only did she block the blow, she turned her sword and clipped Mazael on the forearm. Mazael jerked away, his forearm stinging from the hit.

  Romaria laughed, her blue eyes were ablaze. “Two for me, and one for you.”

  Mazael stepped back. “First blood doesn’t matter. What matters is the last blood!”

  Mazael rushed her, driving a lunge at her heart. Romaria sidestepped and batted his sword aside, splinters flying from the battered practice swords. Mazael turned her parry into an attack and twisted his sword around to strike at her legs. Romaria parried low, and Mazael sent his next attack high. His attacks and parries merged with Romaria’s, joining together in an intricate, blurring dance. Mazael moved with Romaria, fighting on instinct and trained reflexes, without thought, thrust left, thrust right, parry high, parry low, block, riposte, swing high, swing left, swing right...

  Their swords came together with a great crash, the crosspieces jamming against each other. Mazael shoved forward and tried to push Romaria off balance, but she held her ground. They strained against each other, close enough that Mazael could feel Romaria’s hot breath on his face, that he could smell her sweat. Mazael couldn’t lower his blade, but neither could Romaria.

  “Stalemate,” said Mazael.

  “Think so?” said Romaria.

  Mazael almost leaned forward and kissed her. “Unless you have some trick even I’ve never heard of.”

  Romaria’s grin widened. “Tricks, is it? You are in for a surprise!” She pushed backwards and broke free from their clinch. Mazael brought his sword up, knowing she could not regain her balance in time...

  Romaria's free hand flew through an intricate gesture, and she vanished.

  Mazael's mind overrode his shock. He remembered her tricks with the coins. She could do magic. Wizards knew how to make themselves unseen.

  He moved his sword in a sweeping parry just as Romaria reappeared before him, beating aside the sword point darting for his throat, and brought his sword down in a two-handed swing. Their swords crashed together and shattered with a tremendous crack. The blades splintered into pieces, the leaden cores falling to the ground.

  “A stalemate!” said Albron.

  A thunderous cheer rose up from the armsmen. Mazael saw their rapt, amazed expressions.

  “Now it’s a stalemate,” said Mazael.

  An expression of relief washed across Romaria’s face. “That’s good to know.”

  Mazael frowned. “Why?”

  Romaria smiled. “You’re no more skilled than I am.”

  Mazael snorted. “Just why is that important?”

  Romaria put a finger over his lips. “You’ll see.” She stepped away from him, and he watched her go, entranced.

  Albron’s voice jerked Mazael out of his reverie. “Well fought, Sir Mazael! A stalemate against a woman. Indeed, I see your reputation is not exaggerated. But let us see how you do against a real opponent.”

  “Adalar,” said Mazael. “Another sword.” The squire fetched another wooden blade from the rack. Mazael took the sword and raised it to a guard position. His heart beat rapidly, but he was not tired.

  He wanted to fight this liar who had usurped Sir Nathan’s place.

  Albron swung his own wooden sword. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” said Mazael. "Perhaps you'll learn a lesson or two."

  Albron came at him before he had finished speaking. Albron’s sword spun, flashed high, then low, then high again. Mazael shifted his sword to a two-handed grip and parried. He beat aside a thrust from Albron, side-stepped, and riposted. Albron danced away. The armsmaster was deadly quick. Mazael tossed his sword to his right hand.

  Albron came at him again, slashing for Mazael’s chest. Mazael parried and shoved, pushing with all his way. Albron stumbled, and Mazael's sword lanced out. Albron jerked back, quick as a snake, but not before the wooden blade kissed his left shoulder.

  The impact made an odd scraping sound.

  Mazael grinned. “First blood. Good thing we’re not using steel swords.”

  Albron snarled. “I’m waiting for that lesson.”

  “Then I’ll give it to you.”

  Albron whipped his sword over his head and brought it whistling down. Mazael blocked, the rapid crack-crack-crack of strained wood filling his ears, and twisted h
is wrist. Albron’s sword scraped to the ground, and Mazael's blade shot up, the point aimed for Albron’s face. Albron jerked back, but the pommel struck him hard enough to make his teeth click. Mazael reversed his sword and struck for Albron’s throat. The other knight danced away.

  Albron went on the attack, his sword reaching for Mazael's neck. Mazael could not parry in time, so he rolled, tumbled past Albron’s legs, came to one knee, and gave the knight a solid hit across the back of his legs. A gasp of wonder rose from the watching soldiers.

  Albron turned, growling, before Mazael could rise and hacked a vicious two-handed blow. Mazael parried high and caught the strike above his head. Albron hammered at Mazael like a smith pounding iron. Mazael parried every blow, his arms and shoulders aching from Albron's pounding.

  Mazael took a chance and rolled to the side. Albron's overbalanced and stumbled as his blow missed, and Mazael shot to one knee and drove his sword forward. Albron twisted to the side, but Mazael's sword smacked into his hip, and Albron fell. Mazael jumped to his feet and brought his sword down in imitation of Albron’s two-handed blows. Albron jerked to the side and regained his feet.

  Mazael tossed his sword from hand to hand as Albron backed away.

  “First, second, and third blood,” said Mazael. “A very good thing we’re using wooden swords.”

  Albron’s sneer said more than words. He ran at Mazael with a noticeable limp.

  Albron was good, but his skills lacked something. Mazael was not surprised when Albron began to repeat the same attack routine over and over again. It was if he knew all the thrusts, parries, and blocks, but had never used them before. Albron fought as one who had been trained by the best tutors, but who had never before lifted a blade in mortal combat.

  Albron swung high twice, his handsome face contorted with exertion. Mazael beat aside the reaching blade. Albron reversed the momentum of his sword, bringing it around in a high loop for Mazael’s head.

  But Mazael moved, and Albron’s sword swished over his head. Mazael took his sword in both hands and swung into Albron’s guard. His sword crashed down on Albron’s wrist. Albron bellowed, his practice sword flying, and Mazael thrust to finish the fight.