The Wizard's Mask

by Ed Greenwood

  "Worry not, Daethan. We have moths in Canorate, too."

  "I grow no younger," a third man observed coldly. A voice used to command, this one, and humorless. Probably ruthless. "So let us proceed. My rank you can plainly see. My name is Osturr, though those not in this room should know me only as 'Lord Investigator.' I report directly to the General Lords, and they dislike deceit, half-truths, and corruption large and small. My current orders have me traveling Molthune ferreting out Nirmathi spies. Your most recent reports mention a masked man you are suspicious of—so here I am. Have you anything to add to what you reported?"

  "N-no." That was Rolph's voice. He was one of the Halidonese military commanders, evidently. "He's been doing business with Tarlmond—er, Escolarr Tarlmond. A manygoods merchant with a rather sly reputation, but an ex-soldier and no convictions. We gave our man Harl a report on this 'Masked' as a warning. Suitably abbreviated, of course."

  "And? Has this 'Harl' reported back to you?"

  "Only that he was expecting to meet with the masked man again soon. Claims to know no name for the man, nor to have seen behind his mask."

  "And the nature of their 'business' together?"

  "Message-running. Verbal, not written, the masked man being the runner."

  "Clearly communications about illicit matters, then. And the cover cargo?"

  "Eh?"

  "The document or key or other portables The Masked carried to Tarlmond's associates, as his pretext for visiting them to pass on the merchant's secret messages. We call it 'cover cargo.'" The Lord Investigator didn't utter the word "dolts," but his tone of voice made it as clear an addition as if he'd spat it in their faces.

  Tantaerra grinned up at the glittering stars. My, but Molthuni bloodcoats were so civil to each other.

  "We don't know," Rolph replied, a little stiffly. "Our investigations have not proceeded—"

  "That far. Indeed. Halidon is so rife with lawbreaking that your resources are overstretched. I shall report as much."

  "Here, now!" A fourth voice rose in protest, in tones rough from little use. "There's no call to—"

  "Oh, but there is, Lancecaptain. Molthune is at war, in case you've forgotten as much, here in this dusty backwater. The border with Nirmathas, I should not have to remind you, is not all that far away. And any weakness in the soldiers of Molthune must be identified and obliterated, for we are only as strong—"

  "As our weakest warrior. I know the saying. We all do."

  "Then why, Lancecaptain, don't you apply it? The General Lords' orders, reports, even suggestions—none of them are empty words, or intended to be taken as such. You might perhaps—just perhaps—have noticed that I am armed. These blades are not for show. I use them often—and almost always on soldiers, or our hirelings, who've been found wanting. Now as you clearly have nothing of value to tell me, suppose you avoid being found wanting by releasing to my command your best patrol—or assembling one, if you cleave to the rather desperate practice of harnessing your few competent soldiers to your drooling dolts and disloyal malingerers—forthwith. As in, right now."

  The voice turned brisk; the Lord Investigator was clearly on the move. A door banged open. Tantaerra smiled again, not needing to see into the room to know that the oh-so-pleasant Osturr had turned on the threshold to add, "I see no reason to wait for morning to start hunting masked men, as Halidon is clearly no great metropolis. The stench as I rode in tells me you lack sewers, for instance."

  "That is correct," Rolph confirmed, even more stiffly. "If you'd care to dine off the roast in the kitchen, I'll assemble the patrol for you before you're done."

  "Lord Investigators trust no food they've not watched being prepared. We are not deeply loved."

  "Oh?" the Lancecaptain dared to say, sarcasm clear in his voice. "You surprise me."

  "Wanting," the Lord Investigator replied, as gently as any lover speaking endearments, and turned to descend the stairs. Tantaerra's eyes narrowed. She heard just the faintest of scrapes as heels moved on stone; the investigator was almost as quiet as a thief, despite the Molthuni boots the man must be wearing.

  Whoever this Masked was, he was in for a bad time.

  As was she, if Osturr didn't find his quarry. He'd turn sleepy little Halidon behind-over-brisket searching it—and when the sun rose, this roof would become a halfling oven. A moment ago she'd been thinking staying put up here for the night would be best—but no, stalking along right behind this patrol, waiting for a chance to make an "accident" befall the Lord Investigator would be safer. Less chance of being found by searchers, and all enthusiasm for searching would likely die with this Osturr.

  "I warned you he bites," Daethan murmured merrily, from the window above her.

  "I asked for this posting because it was quiet," Rolph snarled. "Fight a few forest beasts who dislike our logging, and jail a few thieves trying to move about the country in disguise, with the caravans. It's vipers like him I left Canorate to get clear of. 'These blades are not for show.' Pah. I'd like to show him a thing or two. I'll wager he's never set foot in Nirmathas, nor fought in a real battle."

  "I'd save your coin, if I were you," Daethan murmured. "Be glad he didn't light up. He likes horrible greenish cigars—'stinkchokes,' we call 'em—from somewhere beyond Cheliax. Even with this window open, we'd have gone just as green as they are. But he didn't even get one out. He must like you."

  And with that, he went out and down the stair far more noisily than the Lord Investigator had.

  "Damned funny way he has of showing it," Rolph growled. "Ruldroon any better yet?"

  "Well, he won't be climbing ladders anytime soon," the Lancecaptain replied heavily, his voice fading as he and Rolph followed everyone else down the stairs.

  Tantaerra kept her sigh silent as she got up, stretched—then hastily crouched back down again as one of her feet started to go through the gutter. Every bit as rotten as she'd feared.

  So, now? Down, yes, and that'd be an easy climb with all these rough edges and sloppy finishes, but whither after that?

  Someone barked an order in the barracks yard below. Ah, yes, the gods forbid soldiers of Molthune would do anything stealthy or sensible. Not with Lord So Mighty High Investigator around.

  Boots crunched on loose stones, spears were grounded, swords clanked. That'd be the best patrol.

  "You will obey me," Lord Investigator Osturr said, his voice silk over ice. Someone's spear trembled.

  "We search this barracks first. First rank, out and form a cordon, looking in. You and you, stand behind them facing out, to guard against attack. The rest of you, search room by room, and report results for each room back to me, as you deem it clear or have trouble to report. We'll begin with the cellar, if you have one, and work our way up to the rooftops. Cordon first, and call when ready. Watch for anyone seeking to flee."

  Dung! Steaming, dripping dragon dung!

  She had to get out and gone before that cordon—

  Tantaerra put her foot firmly through the rotting gutter, pulled it back up again, and tore off a piece of wood with a crack loud enough to echo off the roof, then tossed it over the roof peak, just high enough to clear.

  It landed with a tiny crash on the far side of the roof, bounced once and made a second, tinier crash, then fell to the ground below.

  Men shouted and rushed, spears waving wildly.

  Good, they were headed around the far end of the building, which meant she—

  "That was thrown, idiots. The first sounds came from up there."

  The Lord Investigator was standing just below her, looking up. Three guards were with him.

  "A child—no, a halfling. You do own some crossbows, do you not? And know how to use them? Go and get them and shoot it down, but alive. I need some questions answered. I think it highly unlikely a masked halfling could fool even Halidonese merchants into thinking he was a man—even with stilts, or a chair. Yet what better spy than a halfling? And Nirmathas has spies everywhere."

  Gods spit, w
as this man for real? He sounded like a bad actor in one of those tavern-stage satires Hroalund had liked so much.

  Two of the Molthuni soldiers were hurrying back around the tower, no doubt to fetch those crossbows. Leaving just this devilspawn Lord Investigator and one bloodcoat.

  Which meant her time, if she was to live much longer, was now.

  Tantaerra sighed and started to undress.

  "Whoa! Lord—"

  "I do have eyes, soldier. They're called 'breasts' in polite company. Even halfling ones. You are professional enough not to be distracted, I trust? Good. Have your spear ready for when she jumps. Mind you aim low, away from the face and the heart. I'll need her to live long enough—"

  Overvest and tunic bunched up and firmly clenched in her teeth, Tantaerra launched herself off the edge of the roof, the plump little bags she'd retrieved from her armpit-slings in either hand. She'd only have one chance at this.

  She threw almost gently, trying for accuracy.

  And almost missed the bloodcoat's face anyway—but the bag from her right hand caught the Lord Investigator square on the nose, and burst in a dark red cloud covering the two men.

  The Lord Investigator shrieked helplessly as his face was drenched in pepper, but still got his sword out lightning-swift as he staggered, slashing the air wildly and blindly.

  And she was falling right into that steel, was going to be hacked by this too-clever Molthuni shark-ass after all ...

  The instant before steel bit into her, the sneezing, helplessly sobbing soldier staggered right under her, spear falling from his hand—and got butchered by the Lord Investigator instead.

  Tantaerra bounced off his head and shoulder into a hard landing in the street as his dying gurgle began.

  Soldiers were running hard from around both sides of the barracks now, but the blind and suffering Lord Investigator was rushing about and hacking like a madman, and they slowed warily to try to go wide around him.

  "These blades," Tantaerra could not resist calling out cheerfully, "are not for show."

  Then she was off and running again, her tunic back down to her waist as she raced into the night. In the direction of the forest, just as fast as she could, before—

  A Molthuni bloodcoat trudged out of a side street, spear in hand. Behind him were more, a dozen spears at least, and a hooded lantern.

  "Thief! Runner! We've got us a runner, lads—after him!"

  "And so, as always, it comes down to me being entertainment," Tantaerra gasped aloud in amused exasperation. She sprinted one street closer to the forest, then was forced to swerve north again to avoid a crowd of men spilling out of a pitiful rural excuse for a tavern in order to watch the chase.

  She'd never wanted to be a thief, and was just about out of thieves' tricks, but how else was an escaped slave to eat? If she could become a citizen of Molthune, now—

  Later. She'd chewed on such thoughts too many times, these last few days, and this was no time to be gnawing on them again. She'd need all her wits to get clear of this legion of enthusiastic bloodcoats—and how by all the grinning gods could Molthune field armies to pillage and plunder her beloved Nirmathas at all, if a backland logging village had this many dolts in uniform? After all, whether veterans or clumsy untried recruits, they all had to be paid, and eat and drink every day.

  The small, no-two-alike homes that leaned against each other in clusters were giving way to muddy spaces, and fences, and huge barnlike buildings that had to be warehouses.

  The shouting soldiers were right behind her, lanterns bobbing and spears glinting in all directions. They seemed to have gained reinforcements; there were dozens of them!

  Soon she'd be out amid fields, in the moonlight, with nowhere to hide except the wild forest on her left—and she'd have to plunge dangerously deep into it to shake off this many pursuers, with no time to climb or hide.

  Uncaring stars twinkled down. Molthune stretched off in gently rolling hills as far as she could see to the north and east, and—and she'd be damned if a bunch of heavy-booted Molthuni bloodcoats were going to catch her after all this!

  There were more than ten warehouses, and that might just be enough, if she could start some sort of fire or loose some draft-beasts or start some other distraction.

  Aye, always the "if," as the saying went.

  She had to get in among them, far enough ahead of all of these bellowing bloodcoated heroes that they couldn't see precisely where she went, and try to get inside a warehouse that wasn't empty, without leaving obvious signs of her entry.

  At a dead run, in the middle of the night, in a place she'd never been before, with a few panting seconds to manage it all.

  Grinning gods, why was anyone fool-headed enough to try thievery?

  Well, perhaps most of them were as desperate as she was.

  She took the second muddy cross-trail, between warehouses and their fenced-off paddocks. The dirt fields stood empty—no one had carelessly left wagons or tethered beasts or anything else she could let loose or topple or otherwise use to slow the pursuit.

  Tantaerra sprinted, huffing for breath, feet slapping on the dirt. She had to be fast and nimble, and all that mattered now was staying alive.

  Damn these bloodcoats and their heavy-booted enthusiasm! Why couldn't they all hie themselves off to Canorate and do something useful, like keeping the peace in that city of seething feuds and cutthroat traders? How much guarding did trees need, anyway?

  The soldiers were as thick as a stone wall between her and the forest, but if she went the other way, back down the spine of muddy, ramshackle Halidon ...

  Blast it, no! Her only way to there, the road she'd come down after getting clear of the barracks and turning this way, was blocked by three bloodcoats.

  Older men, by their faces, veterans who had formed a careful and determined barrier, spears held low and ready before them, spaced close enough to be effective, but not so close that they'd be in each other's way. The tallest one had drawn his sword and planted it upright in the road, handy for him if he needed it—and in her way as she ran.

  Damn damn damn blast!

  She'd have to turn back, and into all the waiting teeth in such disarray behind her, with that one capable guard chasing her and the rest of them angry but having had time to reorder themselves and close in around her ...

  No, they were closing in already! Trying to get past these three was her only chance, however poor ...and it was slim and getting more skeletal by the second ...

  She ran, heart sinking, right at their ruthless grins. This was it, this was—

  Suddenly, one of the three soldiers was moving. Face startled, helpless—

  Thlangg!

  Someone she could scarcely see in the darkness, someone dark-garbed and strong, had just grabbed the necks of two of the three soldiers from behind and dashed their helmed heads together.

  Tantaerra got a glimpse, just for an instant, of a single bright brown eye peering at her from behind the Molthuni helms. Then it was gone, that ringing clang still loud in the air, as the two dazed bloodcoats were shoved hard into the third, grounding them in a brief chaos of thudding bodies and wildly kicking legs. Whoever had felled them darted off into the darkness—leaving a hole right in front of Tantaerra.

  She sped through it.

  Back into Halidon, into a darkness that held fewer spears and wildly waving lanterns and shouting men behind them, into—oh, blast.

  Around a corner, now heading her way, came more Molthuni spearmen. In a tidy line that stretched right across the street, with a second rank right behind, who were holding aloft a bright row of lanterns.

  She kept running toward them. She had to. There was a crossroads just ahead, but she knew before she reached it what was waiting on her right, where the forest was. Yes, there—a few more bloodcoats, spears lowered.

  She turned left, right back to the barracks that almost had to be nigh deserted by now, with all these soldiers in the streets. It would be a bit too much to hope
that a still-blind Lord Investigator would still be hacking the air in all directions ...

  It was. She saw moving helms catching the moonlight, just two—no, three—and then lanterns were unhooded to her right. More bloodcoats! This place must be a patrol-base with a big garrison, gods spit and spew ...

  With a savage snarl, Tantaerra turned left again, and ran along the barracks fence. Back toward the warehouses.

  She was being herded.

  At least the lanterns and the shouting she'd fled from were still over there, one street closer to the forest, and not waiting in front of her.

  One soldier was sprinting back to intercept her, though.

  "What," Tantaerra almost sobbed at the moon, "have I done to enrage you so thoroughly, gods? What?"

  She kept on running, but drew her two daggers. Her only two daggers. She had a stabbing needle, too, but this Molthuni ahead would have to embrace her and raise her to his unprotected face for that to be any good.

  She would need luck to manage this, and it would only work if he were alone and she gave him no time to set himself and be ready.

  "Haaaaa!"

  He charged around the corner of the fence at her, spear to the fore.

  She threw her first dagger hard at his face—and he struck it aside with his spear, laughing—which left him no defense at all against her second knife, flashing end over end like a hungry fang, right into his mouth.

  Damn. She'd been trying for an eye.

  But he staggered, choking, fell hard on one knee, clutching at his throat—and she ran right up him and buried her stabbing needle in his right eye, then let her speed carry her past his head. She caught his chin and jerked his head around, trying to slow herself, and landed on her feet, behind him and facing him.

  She needed both her daggers back. Fast.

  She plucked the first out of his mouth and went back into the road-gloom to seek her second.

  Bloodcoats were running from the barracks and from the patrol with all the lanterns. If she couldn't find her dagger in a few panting moments, she'd have to abandon—there!