Mask of Spells (Mask of the Demonsouled #3)

by Jonathan Moeller

  Again they broke apart, though after a longer time, and Adalar felt Sigaldra breathing hard. His hands rested against her back, and he felt the near-overwhelming urge to let them slide down her hips and backside, to push her against him with all his strength. He remembered the day they had rescued her from the soliphage’s cave. She had been frightened, but she had been naked, and the sight of her at that moment had haunted Adalar’s thoughts since. That memory of her body was tainted by her fear and pain, but he wondered what she would look like if she came to his bed willingly.

  It surprised him how intensely he wanted that.

  “We,” said Sigaldra. “This…not here. Not now. Not in the middle of mountains that are full of things that want to kill or eat us.”

  “Yes,” said Adalar with reluctance. She was right. A part of him wondered if that was just an excuse, if she just wanted to find a way to get away from him without hurting his pride.

  As if she had read his thoughts, she leaned up and gave him a quick kiss. “But we will continue this discussion, Lord Adalar Greatheart.”

  “If we succeed…” started Adalar.

  “No,” said Sigaldra. “When we succeed. When we return to Greatheart Keep with Liane. Then we will continue this discussion. The daughters of the Jutai finish what they begin, and I intend to finish this.”

  Her fingers squeezed his as she spoke, and her eyes all but smoldered.

  “Yes,” said Adalar. It took him a moment to work moisture into his throat. “Yes, we shall.”

  “We should rejoin the others before they come to look for us,” said Sigaldra. She grinned. “But we shall do so with one less regret, yes?”

  “Indeed,” said Adalar, and together they hastened up the rocky path and around the curve of the hill.

  Mazael, Romaria, and Azurvaltoria came into sight, and all three of them stopped. Romaria had taken a few steps forward as if intending to search for them, and he felt a surge of embarrassment. He could only imagine what Mazael would have said if he had seen Adalar kissing Sigaldra.

  Suddenly Mazael drew Talon, the dark blade flashing with golden fire, Romaria lifted her bow, and Azurvaltoria raised her right hand, fire dancing around her fingers. Adalar whirled and stepped in front Sigaldra, placing himself between her and any danger, and drew the talchweisyr as Sigaldra snatched her bow from over her back.

  “Did you see that?” said Romaria.

  “See what?” said Adalar.

  As he spoke, something dark flickered further down the hill, swooping through the air below the path.

  An instant later the creature shot into sight, clinging to the slope above their heads with sinuous, dexterous grace.

  ###

  Mazael had seen many strange creatures in his life, but he had never seen one quite like this.

  It was a shape of black and white, its limbs covered with fur, antennae bristling from its angular head. As it moved, huge wings unfolded behind it, covered with white and black fur, and Mazael thought the creature looked like a huge, human-sized moth. Its body vaguely resembled that of a human woman, though it had six limbs instead of four. Armored plates of black chitin covered its body, and its head was a triangular wedge with two huge black eyes like faceted pearls on either side. Thick clusters of furred antennae rose from its head, and Mazael realized that the patterns of white and black upon its wings formed images.

  Specifically, the images of two huge, grinning skulls.

  “Romaria?” said Mazael, watching the moth-like creature. She had traveled more extensively than he had, and had seen many creatures that he had never encountered.

  She only shook her head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “The creature is called a motaylakar,” said Azurvaltoria in a quiet voice, the fire around her fingers brightening. “They dwell in the caverns of the underworld, feeding upon the mushrooms that grow there. Sometimes they ally with the valgasts, sometimes they war with the valgasts, and sometimes the valgasts enslave them. Don’t look at it.”

  “Why not?” said Mazael, raising Talon in guard.

  “Because it’s here to kill us,” said Azurvaltoria, the flame snarling brighter. The moth-creature, the motaylakar, skittered forward. It reared up on its hind legs, its vast black and white wings spreading behind it, the antennae twitching over its head. A strange iridescence shone within its armored carapace, ribbons of red and purple and green writhing over its body.

  The strange glow ended when a blast of fire erupted from Azurvaltoria’s outstretched hand and slammed into the creature. The motaylakar let out a horrid shriek as the dragon’s magical fire ripped across its body, twisting its wings into ash and chewing into its flesh. The creature twitched a few times, fell from the hillside, and landed upon the path, curling up as it burned.

  The smell was horrendous.

  “The light upon the carapace is mesmeric,” said Azurvaltoria. “Do not look…”

  Three more of the motaylakars landed upon the hillside, rising on their hind legs as they spread their wings. The strange colors rippled up and down their carapaces.

  The light fell into Mazael’s eyes, and the color drowned the world.

  ###

  Sigaldra gazed at the approaching moth-creatures, staring in wonder at the radiant beauty shining from their armored bodies.

  Some part of her mind screamed in revulsion as the motaylakars came closer. She had never cared for insects, and her ordeal in the soliphage’s cave had left her with a revulsion of anything that looked like an insect or a spider. The motaylakars, with their moth-like appearance, filled her with disgust.

  The radiant colors shining from their carapaces made her forget her disgust.

  The colors were beautiful beyond anything she had ever imagined, and in their soothing light, she forgot her fears for Liane, forgot her worries for the future for the Jutai. She even forgot the heat that Adalar’s kiss had sent spreading through her body.

  Sigaldra forgot everything except the soothing colors and the peace that spread through her mind.

  The motaylakars scuttled down the hillside and moved along the path, their antennae twitching, their wings fluttering, a pale slime covering their serrated mouthparts. Again part of Sigaldra’s mind screamed a warning and recoiled with revulsion at the thought of the creatures touching her, but the colors drowned that part of her mind.

  The motaylakars came closer, the skull patterns upon their wings grinning at her.

  ###

  Mazael gazed at the advancing creatures, the soothing radiance of their glows washing through his mind.

  Something within him snarled at the sight.

  He was never calm. He had never been completely calm in his entire life. As a young man, he had always been restless, always seeking the next fight, prone to irritability and debauched behavior when he could get away with it. Later he had learned the truth, that the blood of the Demonsouled burned through his veins, and with that truth, he had gained a measure of self-control he had never enjoyed before.

  But the restlessness was always there.

  The rage was always there. Mazael could control it, even turn it into a weapon, but it never entirely went away.

  The calm was so unnatural that his mind rebelled against it, his fury boiling over. He growled and shook his head, stepping back, and saw Romaria, Adalar, and Sigaldra gazing at the advancing motaylakars with slack, rapturous expressions. Even Azurvaltoria, to his surprise, looked entranced, her dark eyes wide as she stared at the moth-creatures.

  Mazael looked back at the motaylakars, and again the colors washed through his mind, only to shatter against the rage of his Demonsouled blood. One of the motaylakars skittered towards Romaria, reaching for her with its clawed limbs, its jagged mouth yawning wide as its mandibles dripped with poison.

  The fury exploded through Mazael, and not just from his Demonsouled blood. These wretched creatures, whatever they were, presumed to threaten Romaria? Malaric of Barellion had poisoned Romaria, and in retribution Maza
el had destroyed his army, thrown him from the throne of Barellion, and fed him to the spirit he had bound. The Old Demon had tried to kill Romaria, and while Mazael had his own reasons for killing his father, the harm he had inflicted upon Romaria had been one of the major reasons.

  Mazael had killed princes and demons for hurting Romaria.

  This creature, whatever it was, would share their fate.

  The motaylakars did not react as Mazael strode forward. Perhaps they thought him entranced by the peculiar light show upon their carapaces. He kept Talon low and at his side as he approached the nearest motaylakar. At the last moment, Mazael raised Talon, seized the sword’s hilt with both hands, and brought the blade hammering down. The sword of dragon talon ripped into the creature’s neck and severed its head. The angular head bounced away, the antennae writhing, and the rest of the motaylakar collapsed to the ground.

  The other two creatures let out hideous shrieks and surged towards Mazael, but the Demonsouled fury was on him, and they could not stop him. The first creature lunged, raking with clawed forelimbs, and a sweep of Talon took off one of the creature’s limbs. Mazael chopped again as the creature reeled in sudden pain, and his next blow took off its head.

  The final creature decided to retreat, and leaped into the air, its wings blurring into motion. It rose before Mazael could strike, but one of Romaria’s arrows sprouted from its abdomen, pinning its right wing against its body. The motaylakar let out a hideous screech and crashed to the path, and Adalar sprang forward, raised the talchweisyr, and drove the blade into the prone creature.

  The motaylakar’s head bounced away, black slime spurting from the stump of its neck as its limbs thrashed. For a moment the same eerie colors that had once swirled around its carapace flickered within the talchweisyr’s blade, and Mazael felt his gaze drawn towards it.

  Then the colors faded from the silvery blade, and silence fell over the hillside.

  The enemy had been defeated, but the Demonsouled rage howled through him, and he wanted to strike and kill and slay, and his maddened mind wondered if Azurvaltoria had planned this ambush, if she had plotted against them…

  He forced back the rage, forced himself back to calm, and let out a long, shuddering breath.

  “What were those devils?” said Sigaldra, her revulsion plain as she gazed at the motionless carcasses. Somehow the moth-like creatures seemed even more disturbing as they lay dead, the skull-like patterns on their limp wings seeming to glare.

  “I told you,” said Azurvaltoria, rubbing her temples as if her head pained her. “They are called motaylakars. Creatures from the underworld. They only rarely come to the surface.”

  “Let me guess,” said Mazael. “They like to eat living flesh, but living flesh can fight back. So those colors on their bodies mesmerize their victims, and the victims stand there and smile as the motaylakars rip the flesh from their bones.”

  “Actually,” said Azurvaltoria, “they inject a venom that liquefies their victims’ internal organs, and then they drink the resultant slime through their victims’ mouths.”

  “Gods and ancestors,” said Sigaldra. “That is as bad as the soliphages.”

  “Weak-minded mortals are often susceptible to their mesmerism,” said Azurvaltoria.

  “You succumbed to it,” said Sigaldra.

  Azurvaltoria scowled. “I am locked in the form of a hairless ape with udders. Of course I am susceptible to its mesmerism.”

  “How did you fight it off, hrould?” said Sigaldra. “If you had not attacked, those vile creatures would have devoured us.”

  Mazael shrugged. “I got angry.”

  “Ah,” said Azurvaltoria. “I suppose that would have done it.”

  “What would getting angry have to do with it?” said Sigaldra.

  Adalar spared Mazael from having to think up a convincing answer.

  “He got angry at Ragnachar and Malaric and Grand Master Caldarus,” said Adalar, “and look what happened to them.”

  “A good point,” said Sigaldra, looking at the dead motaylakars again.

  “Anger helps to fight off their hypnotism,” said Azurvaltoria. “Certain spells do as well, though they do not last long. Anger is the best defense. If we face them again, you would do well to become angry. That, and don’t look at their glows.”

  Mazael frowned, forcing back the last shreds of his Demonsouled fury. “Then you think we will face them again?”

  “Oh, almost certainly,” said Azurvaltoria. “It’s still daylight, and the motaylakars hate daylight. They would only come to the surface if compelled. Likely these ones were enslaved by the valgast priests and forced to come to the surface to hunt. Either they were scouts for the valgast host marching to join the Prophetess…”

  “Or they were sent to find us,” said Mazael. “Or you.”

  “Or me,” said Azurvaltoria. She scoffed. “Sending moths to hunt a dragon.”

  “You’re not a dragon at the moment,” said Sigaldra.

  Azurvaltoria let out a sour sound.

  “Be wary,” said Mazael. “We’ve chased the Prophetess through war and blood and soliphages and a dragon’s lair. I don’t intend to let some moths stop me, no matter how large they happen to be.”

  They pressed deeper into the rocky valley.

  Chapter 7: Underworld

  Before sunset, they reached the entrance to the underworld.

  Sigaldra looked at the cliff face of gray stone as a wave of foreboding went through her. A large cavern mouth yawned in the cliff, its edges jagged, and it made her think of some vast beast waiting to swallow prey whole. It reminded her of the soliphage’s cave and the most helpless moment of her life.

  Sigaldra would have given almost anything not to walk into that dark entrance.

  But that dark cavern was the path to Liane, and Sigaldra had not come this far to turn back now. And compared to what they had already faced, it was hardly worth fretting about a cave.

  Despite however much it might make Sigaldra’s skin crawl.

  She stepped closer to Adalar and felt an overwhelming desire to take his hand, to feel his arms around her. Once the idea that she would seek comfort in the arms of a man would have shamed her. Yet Adalar had saved her from the Prophetess, had lured a Crimson Hunter to its death, had risked his name and wealth and life to save Liane. How could she be ashamed to rely on a man who had done so much?

  He gave her a faint smile, and she smiled back, thinking of the kiss. Sigaldra had set out on this journey to save her sister’s life. Now, though, now she hoped to survive this journey for more reasons than Liane’s life.

  Azurvaltoria’s voice cut into her thoughts.

  “Behold,” said Azurvaltoria. “The entrance to the underworld. Very few humans have entered the underworld and returned to tell the tale.”

  “I have a few times,” said Romaria. “Long ago. It…was not a pleasant experience.”

  “The underworld is not a fit place for humans,” said Azurvaltoria. “It is a vast maze, spreading beneath the surface like veins through flesh, an endless labyrinth of caverns and galleries and tunnels. Some of the caverns lead to pits of molten stone. Others are filled with poisonous gasses, and strange creatures beyond count dwell in the silent darkness beneath the earth. The valgasts thrive in such a place. So do the motaylakars and the soliphages and the Malrags and the San-keth. Humans find it…less than hospitable.”

  “Is the Prophetess there?” said Mazael.

  Sigaldra watched as Azurvaltoria produced the crimson maethweisyr and cast the tracking spell.

  “She is very close,” said Azurvaltoria at last. “No more than five or six hours away on foot. I suspect she approaches Tchroth from another tunnel.”

  “Then let us hasten,” said Sigaldra, “and catch her before she arrives.”

  “No,” said Mazael at once. “We should arrive at Tchroth after the Prophetess, not before, and certainly not at the same time.”

  Sigaldra scowled. “Why not? She is almost wit
hin our grasp.” Her heart burned with the need to find the Prophetess and tear Liane away from the wretched sorceress’s grasp.

  “Because,” said Mazael, “the Prophetess knows all of us on sight. If we walk into Tchroth and the Shadow Market at the same time she arrives, she will sound the alarm, and we’ll have to deal with ten thousand valgasts.”

  “It will be closer to thirty thousand,” murmured Azurvaltoria.

  “Ten thousand or thirty thousand, we cannot defeat that many,” said Mazael.

  “She will not enter through the Shadow Market, though,” said Azurvaltoria. “She will enter through the main gate of the city, the Gate of the Great Goddess as the valgasts call it. Unfortunately, the Shadow Market is easily visible from the Gate of the Great Goddess. A single glance from the Prophetess, and we are done. No, better to let her enter first, and plot an ambush.”

  Sigaldra kept scowling. “You seem very familiar with Tchroth.”

  “That is because I have been there several times in the last thousand years,” said Azurvaltoria with placid calm. “From time to time the priests of the valgasts attempted to steal the Mask of Marazadra, and once I killed their hired thieves, I traveled to Tchroth to teach them a lesson. After a few centuries passed, they would forget the lesson, and we would have to repeat the cycle all over again.”

  “Little wonder the valgasts have a grudge against you,” said Sigaldra.

  Azurvaltoria smiled. “Oh, they certainly had cause for one.”

  “Would they recognize you?” said Mazael.

  “In this form? No,” said Azurvaltoria. “I always came in the guise of Mother Volaria, and then in my true shape.” Having seen Azurvaltoria’s true shape, Sigaldra could just imagine the havoc the dragon had wreaked upon her enemies. “They will not recognize me, and thanks to my spells, they will not be able to smell me. So we should be able to enter the Shadow Market unrecognized.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” said Mazael. “Let’s go.”

  “A few things,” said Azurvaltoria. “Among you, only Lady Romaria has been to the underworld before, so I must warn you of some of the more common dangers. A wide variety of mushrooms grows in the underworld. Some of them glow. Do not eat any of the mushrooms, glowing or otherwise.”