Mask of Spells (Mask of the Demonsouled #3)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “The valgasts would have retreated in disarray down that tunnel,” said Azurvaltoria. “However, sooner or later the little maggots will regain their courage and return to investigate. Or the priests will command it to reclaim the bodies.”

  “When the valgasts raided the lands of the Jutai in the middle lands on the days of midsummer and midwinter,” said Sigaldra, “they never left their dead behind.”

  “They would not,” said Azurvaltoria. “The priests collect the bodies, you see. Usually, the valgasts consume their dead, but various organs from the dead valgasts are quite useful for necromancy, and the valgasts are a thrifty race who let nothing go to waste. Much how they use every part of the human slaves they kill.”

  Sigaldra winced, but Adalar scowled.

  “You know a great deal about the valgasts,” said Adalar.

  “Of course I do,” said Azurvaltoria without rancor. “More than you do, sir knight. I’ve spoken with them, and traded with some of the smarter ones, and killed a great deal of the stupider ones. I’ve been watching them for a very long time, for centuries before your ancestors wandered over the Great Mountains to settle in the Grim Marches. No need to be so distrustful.”

  “Do all dragons talk so much?” said Adalar.

  Azurvaltoria grinned. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to anyone for a while.”

  “This other entrance,” said Mazael before Azurvaltoria could start up again. Elderly humans often tended to ramble, and it seemed that millennia-old dragons shared the same trait. “What advantage does that give us? It is further from Tchroth.”

  “It is,” said Azurvaltoria. “But if the valgasts decide to pursue us, or to simply harvest their dead, they’ll come up the passage to the valley to the south. The entrance to the underworld north of here will take longer, yes, but it is less heavily patrolled. We will have a better chance of coming to Tchroth and the Shadow Market unobserved. Surely you can appreciate the value of coming at the enemy from an unexpected angle.”

  “True,” said Mazael, thinking of some of the battles he had fought in years past. “Lead on, then.”

  Mazael had regretted losing Basjun and his vast knowledge of Skuldar’s paths and valleys, but he had not taken into account Azurvaltoria’s own knowledge. She had haunted the mountains of Skuldar for centuries, and she knew them well. They made good time over the hills and the paths, and the dragon thought they would reach the entrance to the underworld by noon.

  And then…

  Mazael rolled his shoulders, his fingers brushing Talon’s hilt.

  They hoped to enter Tchroth without drawing suspicion, but if not, he would be ready to fight.

  ###

  Adalar walked alongside Sigaldra as they followed Lord Mazael, Lady Romaria, and the dragon.

  He found that he missed Basjun and Earnachar and Timothy. Earnachar was a loud-mouthed braggart, but he was a steady man in a fight and had battled alongside Adalar as they had fought valgasts and soliphages and Skuldari warriors and salamanders. Basjun, likewise, had been a solid fighter, and his knowledge had been useful. Timothy might have been a wizard, but his magical power had not gone to his head, and he had fought alongside Adalar at Castle Cravenlock and Tristgard and a dozen other places. Ever since he had become a knight, Adalar had appreciated the presence of steady men around him in battle.

  He suspected we would miss their presence in the days to come.

  Azurvaltoria was mad and powerful and dangerous. Lady Romaria was fearless and skillful, but there was always something alien about her, something strange and wild from her Elderborn blood. And Mazael…well, Mazael was not a wizard or a creature like a dragon, but there was something strange about him, something that rejoiced in battle too much. Adalar didn’t know what it was.

  But he would follow Mazael. The Lord of Castle Cravenlock had broken the Dominiar Order and the Justiciar Order and Lucan Mandragon and his runedead. If anyone could bring ruin down upon the head of Celina du Almaine, it was Mazael Cravenlock.

  If anyone could help Sigaldra save her sister, it was Mazael Cravenlock.

  Sigaldra herself did not seem frightened by the dragon and her power. If anything, she seemed more eager than before to chase down the Prophetess. They had faced the Prophetess at Greatheart Keep, in the citadel of Armalast, and in the caverns of the Veiled Mountain. All three times the Prophetess had escaped with Liane. This time, with Azurvaltoria’s magic backing them up, perhaps they could overcome the Prophetess and Rigoric and rescue Liane.

  “There’s nowhere left,” murmured Sigaldra.

  “Eh?” said Adalar.

  Sigaldra blinked her blue eyes and smiled. “Sorry. I was…thinking aloud, that’s all.”

  “About what?” said Adalar.

  “She can’t run anywhere,” said Sigaldra. “The Prophetess, I mean.”

  Adalar nodded. “We have the maethweisyr with her blood, and can follow her anywhere.”

  “That is so, but it is not what I meant,” said Sigaldra. “It doesn’t matter where the Prophetess runs. We know where she is going. She has to go to the Heart of the Spider and Mount Armyar to bring back her goddess. Otherwise, everything she has done has been in vain. We can lie in wait for her. She’ll have to go through us to get to the Heart of the Spider.”

  “It will be a difficult fight,” said Adalar.

  “Let her come,” said Sigaldra. “Every time we’ve fought, she’s had an advantage. This time, though, the advantage is ours.”

  Adalar smiled, and Sigaldra laughed.

  “What?” said Adalar. “Did I do something?”

  “No,” said Sigaldra. “No…it’s just that you were smiling.”

  “Do I look foolish when I smile?” said Adalar.

  “Not at all,” said Sigaldra. “You look very nice when you do.” She blinked a few times and stuttered over her next words. “I mean…just…you do not smile very often.”

  “Neither do you,” Adalar pointed out.

  “I suppose not,” said Sigaldra. “There has not been much cause to smile, has there? Not in either of our lives. Not with all the war and death and destruction we have seen.”

  “The war and death and destruction would have happened regardless of what you and I chose to do,” said Adalar. “It has taken me some time to understand this, but I think…I think we must take what joy we can, for it may not come twice.”

  “Aye,” said Sigaldra in a quiet voice. “Liane was good at that. I hope she is still good at that.”

  “I didn’t have much chance to speak with her,” said Adalar, “but she called me…”

  Sigaldra frowned. “What did she call you?”

  “The rusted knight,” said Adalar.

  “Aye,” said Sigaldra “She foresaw it with the Sight, the day you came. She called you the rusted knight, and she called Mazael the warrior, the storm of blood and chaos and war.”

  Adalar glanced ahead to where Mazael walked between Romaria and Azurvaltoria, all three of them speaking in low voices. “That’s accurate enough.”

  “Though I don’t know why she called you the rusted knight,” said Sigaldra. There was a bit of teasing to her tone. “You take good care of your armor and weapons.”

  “Rusted,” said Adalar, his eyes on Sigaldra’s face. She smiled at him, and it made her look younger, less harsh and weary, her blue eyes enormous in her sharp face. It made Adalar feel better, and he came to a sudden decision.

  “Rusted,” he said again. “Yes, I had gone to rust.”

  “From the lack of war?” said Sigaldra.

  “No,” said Adalar. “No, I did not miss the war. I missed…I missed having a sense of purpose. I missed having hope for the future. That was why I had rusted. I had no purpose and no hope.”

  “And now?” said Sigaldra. “What do you hope for now?”

  He did not have very much experience with women, but Adalar recognized that he would never have a better opportunity. He took a step towards Sigaldra, and she blinked, but she did not step aw
ay, and…

  “You were talking about rust?”

  Azurvaltoria’s voice cut into his thoughts, and Adalar almost cursed in frustration.

  The dragon stepped towards them, wrapped in her coat of dark red leather. There was a peculiar expression on her pale face that Adalar could not quite recognize, but that was often true. She looked human, but she wasn’t, and her thoughts and emotions were different from those of a human.

  “No,” said Adalar.

  “You needn’t worry,” said Azurvaltoria, falling into step alongside Adalar. “The sword you now carry will never rust. Surely you must be curious.”

  Come to think of it, Adalar was curious about the sword he had taken from the dragon’s hoard in the Veiled Mountain, and with great reluctance, he turned his thoughts from Sigaldra. The curved blade looked as if it had been made from a metal like silver, but it was lighter than real silver and stronger than steel. For that matter, it had a peculiar vibration when he used it in battle. The vibration was never enough to distract him, but it was there.

  “Very well, Lady Azurvaltoria,” said Adalar. “Tell me about the sword.”

  “It is called a talchweisyr,” said Azurvaltoria.

  “Then it is indeed a weapon of the Dark Elderborn,” said Sigaldra, frowning. “Like a maethweisyr.”

  “Correct,” said Azurvaltoria, tapping the sheathed dagger at her belt. Timothy had passed the weapon to the dragon before he had departed for the Grim Marches. “It has a different purpose, though. A maethweisyr was designed to trap the blood of a victim for use in a magical spell. A talchweisyr drains some of the attributes of its victims…”

  Adalar frowned. “You mean this thing drinks life?” He almost reached over his shoulder and threw the sword away.

  “Not at all,” said Azurvaltoria. “Rather, it is a mimic. Strike down a Crimson Hunter with the sword, and for a brief time, the sword may give you the speed and strength of the spider. Kill a valgast with the sword, and for the next few moments it might give you the creature’s resilience and resistance to poison. But fear not. The power comes from the sword’s innate magic, and not from any stolen life force.”

  “I didn’t notice any of that,” said Adalar.

  “You weren’t paying attention,” said Azurvaltoria. “Survival occupied your attention, I imagine. But if you focus your will upon the blade after you have killed a foe, it will mimic the abilities of the slain enemy.”

  Adalar frowned. “I am a knight and a lord, not a wizard to wield magic.”

  Azurvaltoria only smiled. “It is magic, but you are no wizard, my lord Adalar Greatheart. The sword is magic. You may use its power. Or you may not. It will leave no mark upon either your flesh or your soul if that is what you fear.”

  “I have been given good cause to be wary of magic,” said Adalar. “It was a sorceress who kidnapped Lady Sigaldra’s sister and set us upon this path. And that same sorceress, I should point out, who caused your current…” He searched for an appropriate word.

  “Discomfiture?” said Sigaldra.

  Azurvaltoria snorted. “If you call being locked in the form of a hairless monkey a discomfiture, then yes.”

  “So it seems I have good cause to be wary of magic,” said Adalar, “if I am to follow your noble example.”

  “Such flattery,” said Azurvaltoria. “But you needn’t fear the sword, Lord Adalar. You’ve come all this way to rescue the girl with the Sight. What is a little further?”

  “No,” said Adalar. “No, you’re right. I won’t turn to dark magic, or use evil in the pursuit of a greater goal. That was the folly of Lucan Mandragon. But I’ve come this far. I will do whatever I can to rescue Liane.”

  “You will?” said Sigaldra. The was an odd catch in her voice.

  “Of course,” said Adalar. “I’ve said I would, haven’t I? I’m not thrilled about carrying a weapon forged by the Dark Elderborn, but if it helps and it’s not a thing of dark magic, I will not turn it away.”

  “A little clarity is always useful,” said Azurvaltoria.

  With that, she walked away, rejoining Mazael and Romaria further ahead.

  ###

  Mazael glanced back as Azurvaltoria rejoined them. The dragon had been telling them about the dangers of the underworld, only to stop talking and fall back to join Sigaldra and Adalar, who brought up the back of their little column.

  “What was that about?” said Mazael. “Valgasts?”

  “No, nothing like that,” said Azurvaltoria. She seemed pleased with herself. “I wanted to talk to Adalar about his sword.”

  “What is it?” said Romaria.

  “A talchweisyr,” said Azurvaltoria.

  “What?” said Mazael, alarmed. “A kalchweisyr?”

  “No,” said Azurvaltoria, blinking. “A talchweisyr. A completely different kind of weapon. You’ve encountered a kalchweisyr before?”

  “Years ago,” said Mazael, shaking off the memory of that ruined castle in the Stormvales. “So what is a talchweisyr?”

  “Another weapon of the Dark Elderborn,” said Azurvaltoria, looking back to where Adalar and Sigaldra walked side-by-side. “Fear not, it’s harmless to its wielder. The blade is a mimic, and temporarily bestows its wielder with some of the attributes of its victim.”

  Mazael frowned. “A peculiar ability. Hard to think of when it would be useful.”

  “If he killed a Malrag,” said Azurvaltoria, “he would temporarily gain some of its strength, and if he killed a San-keth priest, he would enjoy some of its immunity to its own venom.”

  “That might come in handy,” said Mazael. “Though if he kills Rigoric with it, I hope he doesn’t sprout a mask of swords. That might be painful.”

  “Indeed,” said Azurvaltoria. “But he needn’t worry about that. The chief virtue of the sword is that it can wound creatures of dark magic, much as your own blade can. Though I should point out that Lord Adalar’s sword was not made from the talon of one of my slain kindred.”

  “If your relative had not been trying to kill me,” said Mazael, “then I would have had no need to slay…him. Her?” To this day he was not sure if the dragon he had killed below the gates of Arylkrad had been male or female. “And if you think that was offensive, you should see the coat of armor I made from the dragon scales.”

  Azurvaltoria snorted. “That is in very poor taste.”

  “Why tell Adalar about the sword now?” said Mazael. “You could have told him about the blade last night.”

  “I am amusing myself,” said Azurvaltoria. “I wanted to give him a little push.”

  Mazael felt his frown sharpen, his earlier doubts about Azurvaltoria’s trustworthiness hardening. “If this is some sort of game, I don’t…”

  “No, it’s not a game,” said Romaria. For some reason, she looked amused.

  “A little push,” said Azurvaltoria, “but for their own good. You see, I remember how Adalar lured the Crimson Hunter into the trapped chamber to save Sigaldra.”

  Mazael wondered what that meant.

  ###

  Sigaldra kept looking at Adalar.

  “Do you really mean that?” she said.

  “What?” said Adalar, taking his mind from Azurvaltoria’s words. He was not used to dealing with wizards and prophecies. Mazael was, which perhaps explained the Lord of Castle Cravenlock’s frequent irritability.

  “That you would do whatever it took to free Liane,” said Sigaldra.

  He looked at her and forgot all about the dragon. There was something in Sigaldra’s face…

  “Yes,” said Adalar. “Why do you think I’m here? Everywhere I went in Mastaria and the Grim Marches I saw dead villages and bones left over from the Malrags and the Great Rising. Then I saw you fighting to save your sister, and I knew I had to help you.”

  “Thank you,” said Sigaldra in a soft voice. “This has been…ah, it reminds me of the march to the west, when Ragnachar forced us to leave our homeland and follow the Tervingi to the Grim Marches. Then I was all al
one, and there was no one else I could trust to save my people. Thank you for coming with me.”

  Adalar smiled. “It shook the rust off the rusted knight, let’s say.”

  “You don’t regret it?” said Sigaldra.

  Adalar looked up the path as Mazael and Romaria and Azurvaltoria disappeared around the curve of a stony slope. He and Sigaldra would have to catch up to them soon.

  His earlier decision returned to the forefront of his mind.

  “No,” said Adalar. “I don’t regret it at all. There is only one thing I regret.”

  “What is it?” said Sigaldra, her voice soft.

  “That I haven’t done this sooner,” said Adalar.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her, very gently, towards him.

  She didn’t resist. Her blue eyes were huge in her face.

  “Adalar,” she said, her voice a faint rasp.

  He tilted her face towards his and kissed her on the lips. For a frozen instant, she stood motionless, and then she let out a little gasp and wrapped her arms around his back, pressing harder against him. Adalar’s arms coiled around her, and he forgot the shadows in his mind, forgot the dangers of the quest, forgot that doing in this in the mountains of Skuldar was probably unwise.

  None of that seemed important just now.

  At last, they broke apart, though she remained in his arms. Sigaldra was breathing hard, spots of color in her sharp cheeks.

  “Now I have one less regret,” said Adalar.

  She blinked, laughed a little, and then smiled. “Good. Good. I…I admit I thought about this, what it would be like to kiss you after I did the first time…”

  “You kissed me before?” said Adalar.

  “In that trapped room in the Veiled Mountain with the basin of poison,” said Sigaldra. “To put the antidote into your mouth. After that,” she looked almost shy for a brief moment, “after that I wondered what it would be like to kiss you in truth…”

  “I wouldn’t want to keep you wondering,” said Adalar, and he kissed her again.