The Serpent Knight

By Jonathan Moeller

To celebrate the tenth anniversary of the internationally bestselling DEMONSOULED series, here is a new novella set in the world of the Demonsouled.

Mazael Cravenlock has prevailed over terrible foes and now rules the Grim Marches with a firm hand. Yet when ruthless brigands threaten his lands, Mazael must take up his sword and defend his people.

But Mazael has enemies more powerful than mere bandits, enemies who see a chance to bring about his downfall...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Moeller
• Release date: May 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310731563

Jonathan Moeller

Standing over six feet tall, Jonathan Moeller has the piercing blue eyes of a Conan of Cimmeria, the bronze-colored hair of a Visigothic warrior-king, and the stern visage of a captain of men, none of which are useful in his career as a computer repairman, alas.He has written the "Demonsouled" trilogy of sword-and-sorcery novels, and continues to write the "Ghosts" sequence about assassin and spy Caina Amalas, the "$0.99 Beginner's Guide" series of computer books, and numerous other works.Visit his website at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.comVisit his technology blog at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/screed

Book preview

THE SERPENT KNIGHT

Jonathan Moeller

***

Description

To celebrate the tenth anniversary of the internationally bestselling DEMONSOULED series, here is a new novella set in the world of the Demonsouled.

Mazael Cravenlock has prevailed over terrible foes and now rules the Grim Marches with a firm hand. Yet when ruthless brigands threaten his lands, Mazael must take up his sword and defend his people.

But Mazael has enemies more powerful than mere bandits, enemies who see a chance to bring about his downfall...

***

The Serpent Knight

Copyright 2015 by Jonathan Moeller.

Smashwords Edition.

Cover images copyright themacx | istockphoto.com & Illustration 15470082 © Andrei Radzkou | Dreamstime.com.

Ebook edition published May 2015.

All Rights Reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

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Chapter 1: Hunters

Mazael Cravenlock never really cared for hunting.

He knew how to hunt, of course. A nobleman and a knight of the Grim Marches needed to know how to hunt, and Mazael had been a knight long before becoming first the Lord of Castle Cravenlock and then the liege lord of the Grim Marches. Still, he never enjoyed hunting. He preferred to fight, and if fighting was not an option, then to drink or gamble. He did not like to get up before dawn and ride off in pursuit of red deer or hill lions or whatever game was close at hand.

Come to think of it, a knight was also supposed to be skilled at chess, and Mazael had never cared for that, either. Real battles were rarely as orderly as rows of pieces upon the board.

He did not like to hunt…but his wife did.

Romaria had endured a great deal of pain because of Mazael, and he had a hard time saying no to her.

So one morning Mazael found himself riding north along the edge of the Burning Hills, a short bow in his hand and a cramp in his back. His wife rode at his side, clad in leather armor, trousers, boots, and a green cloak, her hip-length black hair wound into an elaborate braid that concealed the delicate Elderborn tips of her ears. Romaria Greenshield Cravenlock had eyes the color of blue ice, her face a little too angular to be fully human. The long staff of an Elderborn bow rested across her saddle, and the hilt of a bastard sword bounced from her hip.

Around Mazael rode forty armsmen and knights of his household, men sworn directly to Mazael himself. His host and the master of this hunt, a jowly, red-faced knight named Sir Cowlon Redshore, rode at Mazael’s left. Sir Cowlon looked like a jovial old innkeeper, but his family had held lands in the Grim Marches since the days of the High Lords of Old Dracaryl. Cowlon’s three hunting hounds, lean, fearsome-looking beasts cheerfully named Terror, Havoc, and Mayhem, ranged before their master’s horse, eager to run down prey.

The northern edge of the Grim Marches was hilly and rocky, the slopes of the hills coated with green pine trees. Here and there brilliant blue lakes lay between the hills, and in the distance Mazael saw short, dark mountains, their tops jagged. From time to time those mountains erupted in flame, throwing great clouds of ash skyward and raining cinders upon the countryside, thick flows of molten stone oozing down their slopes. Lord Ashmantle of Cinder Keep ruled the Burning Hills, though in practice his vassals did as they wished. The people of the Burning Hills made their living from mining and logging, or by herding and farming and fishing the vast blue expanse of the Rift Lake in the heart of the Burning Hills.

Or through hunting, as Mazael and his companions now did.

We’re almost to Corbadan, my lord, said Sir Cowlon. My hunting lodge is there, and I shall be honored to host you, the Lady Romaria, and your men as my guests.

The honor shall be mine, Sir Cowlon, said Mazael.

I fear the accommodations are somewhat rude, said Cowlon. Those of us on the northern edge of the Grim Marches are a simple people, and have little need for luxuries.

Mazael snorted. Before I became the Lord of Castle Cravenlock, I spent fifteen years wandering from one end of the realm to the other. I’ve slept in more ditches and under more wagons than I care to remember.

Romaria grinned. Do I seem like the sort of woman who needs luxury, Sir Cowlon?

Er, said Cowlon. No, my lady. He blinked several times, seeming befuddled. Romaria often had that effect upon the nobles and knights of the Grim Marches. Unless, of course, that is something you want. Uh…

Tell me about the boars, said Mazael. Romaria gave him a quick smile and turned her attention back to Cowlon.

Of course, my lord Mazael, said Cowlon. He seemed much more comfortable on the topic of boars. There are many herds of wild red pigs wandering through the Burning Hills. Usually, they stay near the Rift Lake, and the men of the Grim Marches cannot hunt them, since Lord Ashmantle and his knights hang any poachers they capture.

I’d prefer that you not start a war with the lords of the Burning Hills, said Mazael.