It had to be at least a thousand feet from that walkway to the courtyard at the foot of the Tower of the Spider. Sigaldra tried not to think about the potential for falling.
“Aye,” said Mazael. “We enter through there?”
“That stalagmite is called the Tower of Beasts,” said Azurvaltoria. “The valgasts train their razormane war beasts within, along with other creatures.”
“Splendid,” muttered Sigaldra.
“From the apex of the Tower of Beasts, that walkway leads to the Spire of Spells,” said Azurvaltoria, gesturing at the stalactite. “Valgast priests are trained in the rudiments of magic within. From there we can reach the walkway that runs alongside the Tower of the Spider, cross the gap, and then reach the Heart of the Spider.”
“You want us to enter a school filled with apprentice valgast wizards?” said Adalar.
“Of course not,” said Azurvaltoria. “That would be suicidal. All the valgast acolytes will gather in the plaza to hear the Prophetess’s address. The Spire of Spells should be deserted, and the Tower of Beasts nearly deserted, save for laborers assigned to watch over the war beasts. We should have little trouble overpowering any opposition.”
“Well, we’ve no choice but to find out,” said Mazael. “Azurvaltoria, stay with me. Romaria, Sigaldra, have your bows ready. We may need to fight our way clear in haste.”
###
The crowd of valgasts thickened around them, and Adalar fought the overwhelming urge to draw his sword.
Fortunately, the valgasts did not seem inclined to fight. Most of the valgasts around him bore the tattoos that marked those of common station. Again and again, he felt those hard, glittering black eyes turn towards him. When the valgasts saw the blue paint on the faces of the women or the seals of black stone in the hands of Adalar and Mazael, the valgasts lost interest.The disguise was working. As much as the valgasts loathed humans, they seemed unwilling to break the commands of the Prophetess and attack their allies.
“There,” murmured Azurvaltoria.
Mazael moved to the left, and Adalar followed him, Sigaldra and Romaria and Azurvaltoria coming after. The broke away from the main flow of traffic into the Tower of the Spider and headed for the base of the Tower of Beasts. Up close, Adalar saw hundreds of purple-glowing windows carved into the rough, gleaming stone of the stalagmite. Doors yawned in the higher levels, along with stone perches, and Adalar realized the doors and the perches were for the use of motaylakars. He had not yet seen one of the moth-creatures in the city. Perhaps the valgasts did not permit them to use the streets.
They came at last to a massive stone arch and a wide corridor that led into the depths of the Tower of Beasts. A sullen purple glow came from within, and valgast glyphs gleamed upon the walls. The air carried a heavy, strange stench, almost like the dung of horses, but unlike anything Adalar had ever smelled before. Perhaps it was the mingled odor of the razormanes and the motaylakars. Or perhaps it was the stench of some other beast, something even more powerful and dangerous.
A dozen different passageways led off from the dark tunnel. Any one of the passages could hold a mob of valgast warriors. Or perhaps the valgasts let their pets roam freely through the Tower of Beasts.
“Which way?” said Mazael.
“The central stairs,” said Azurvaltoria. “If we encounter any valgasts, bluff.”
“How reassuring,” said Sigaldra.
Azurvaltoria’s grin flashed in the purple gloom. “Better than starting a fight we cannot win.”
They strode forward, the purple glow brightening with every step. Adalar felt a warm, stinking breeze against his face, and he reached for his sword when he saw something moving in the shadows. The shape approached closer, and he saw that the creature looked a bit like a dog-sized ant with a red hide and bristling crimson fur, moving with a slow, skittering gait.
“Do not be alarmed,” said Azurvaltoria. “It’s a scavenger. It eats refuse much the same way pigs and dogs do in the streets of a human city.”
“Does it eat humans?” said Sigaldra, eyeing the creature.
“Just don’t play dead in front of it,” said Azurvaltoria.
The passageway ended in a large cylindrical room, a shaft running through the heart of the Tower of Beasts. A set of spiral stairs rose upwards, vanishing into the purple haze overhead. At every level, balconies jutted into the shaft, with more doorways leading into the Tower. The place was a maze, and Adalar hoped that Azurvaltoria knew where she was going.
A group of six valgasts made their way down the stairs, clad in the loincloths and elaborate tattoos of valgast laborers. Behind them came a trio of strange-looking creatures that resembled sheep-sized snails with insect legs. At first, Adalar thought the creatures were war beasts, but then he saw the baskets strapped to each of the curved shells. They were beasts of burden.
“What are humans doing in the Tower of Beasts?” rasped one of the laborers, black eyes reflecting the purple light. “Humans are not permitted in the Tower of Beasts…”
“Be gone from my path!” roared Mazael. “Do you impede the servants of the great goddess Marazadra?” He gestured at the women. “If you think to defy the will of the goddess, then you shall suffer for your impertinence.”
Azurvaltoria made an elaborate rolling gesture with her right hand, fire starting to crackle around her fingers. The valgast laborers looked at each other, and in unspoken agreement moved to the side, clearing the path. Mazael strode past them without a second glance, and Adalar and the others followed him. After a moment the valgast laborers continued on their way, grumbling to themselves.
“We’re not going to be able to bluff our way past everyone,” said Adalar. “Especially if we run into a valgast wizard.”
“I know,” said Mazael. “Keep your sword ready.”
They kept climbing. Soon Adalar felt the burn in his legs from the endless stairs. He glimpsed other passageways opening off the stairs, leading to rooms filled with steel cages like the ones they had seen in the Shadow Market, or rooms filled with barrels of food and drink. Still another room held armor made from the carcasses of dead razormanes. In one room Adalar glimpsed what looked like a nursery for razormanes, rows of glistening black eggs growing in pools of slime.
“Hold,” said Romaria, raising a hand.
“What is it?” said Mazael.
“Above us,” said Romaria. “Someone’s coming. I think they have magic.”
Azurvaltoria waved her hand through a quick spell. “They do. Six valgast wizards, I think. Hastening to the assembly in the plaza.”
“We won’t be able to bluff our way past them,” said Adalar.
“No,” said Mazael. “Likely they will stop to question us, and we’ll have to fight. Six wizards…” He shook his head and looked at Azurvaltoria. “Is there another way?”
“Yes,” said Azurvaltoria. “Probably.”
“Probably?” said Sigaldra.
“They may have renovated since my last visit,” said Azurvaltoria. “This way.”
They went up one more revolution of stairs and stopped at one of the landings. Azurvaltoria pointed at a doorway, and Mazael and Adalar stepped through it. The room beyond looked like an armory, though one equipped with weapons for handling dangerous beasts instead of human foes. Long spears with crosspieces lined one wall, and an elaborate array of harnesses adorned another. A table held dozens of crossbows, some of them in various stages of assembly. Fortunately, the armory was deserted, with no sign of any valgasts.
“That way,” said Azurvaltoria. A doorway stood at the far end of the armory, and Mazael headed towards it, Adalar and the others following him. The door opened into a narrow stairway, the slope gentle. From time to time they passed windows, and below Adalar saw the thousands of valgasts filling the plaza at the base of the Tower of the Spider. The stairs had to be just within the skin of the Tower of Beasts.
“What is this place?” said Romaria.
“A back way for the laborers to use
,” said Azurvaltoria. “Lest they offend their betters with their stench and uncouth manners.” She laughed to herself. “Unless they have beasts of burden. Then they must use the main stairs.”
Ahead Adalar began to hear a rustling, creaking noise. It reminded him of leather flexing under strain…and also the sound the razormanes had made in their cages in the Shadow Market.
“My lord,” said Adalar.
“Aye, I hear it,” said Mazael. He glanced at Azurvaltoria. “Are you taking us into a razormane hatchery?”
“No,” said Azurvaltoria. “Just the main stable for razormanes.”
Sigaldra swallowed. “Truly? At least the razormanes will kill us more quickly than the soliphages.”
“The razormanes are caged,” said Azurvaltoria with some exasperation. “The stable occupies the top level of the Tower of Beasts. There will only be a few guards since most of the valgasts of the Tower will have gone to hear the Prophetess harangue them. If we cannot bluff the guards, we can kill them easily enough.”
“Very well,” said Mazael.
At last the stairs ended in another doorway which opened into a vast domed chamber that had to take the entire top of the Tower of Beasts. Nearly fifty steel cages lined the round walls, each one holding a single razormane. The black-armored creatures twitched and skittered in their cages, their bladed forelimbs sometimes sliding against the steel bars with a ringing noise. Adalar wanted to draw his sword, but he didn’t think the creatures could break free.
Each cage had a massive lock, the mechanism as large as a knight’s kite shield.
“Those locks,” said Romaria, her eyes narrowed. “There are spells on them.”
“Aye,” said Azurvaltoria. “The valgasts want to make sure their pets do not run amok.”
“I think,” said Romaria, looking at the seal Mazael carried, “I think those seals will open the locks.”
“Indeed?” said Azurvaltoria, and again she cast that sensing spell. “I believe you are correct. I would not recommend it, though.”
“No,” said Mazael with a snort. “If we want to kill ourselves, there are less painful ways to do.”
They crossed the chamber to the archway at the far end. A massive portcullis hung from the ceiling, but for the moment it was open. Beyond the archway stretched a broad stone walkway, perhaps fifteen feet wide, stone railings running on either side.
Five hundred feet below the walkway lay the plaza of the Tower of the Spider, filled with thousands of valgasts gathered to hear the word of the Prophetess.
“The Spire of Spells,” murmured Azurvaltoria, gesturing at the massive stalactite hanging at the end of the walkway. They were likely too far away from the assembled valgasts for anyone to hear them, but Adalar still felt the overwhelming need for stealth. “We will ascend to its top, and from there we can reach the Tower of the Spider from that walkway.” She pointed at one of the stone walkways leading from the Spire of Spells to the rest of the city. It passed close enough to the black shaft of the Tower of the Spider that a man could jump from the walkway and reach the Tower, assuming he did not slip and fall to his death a thousand feet below.
“Single file,” said Mazael. “Stay in the center of the walkway. Less chance anyone will see us. Don’t say anything until we reach the other side.”
Adalar nodded, and the others sorted themselves into a line. Mazael went first, followed by Romaria and then Azurvaltoria. Sigaldra walked behind the dragon, and Adalar brought up the back. He saw Sigaldra’s ragged blond hair, the delicate line of her neck, the way her leather jerkin and her trousers hugged the shape of her body…
Gods, he was infatuated, wasn’t he?
Adalar shook his head to clear it and followed the others onto the walkway.
They had gotten maybe a quarter of the way across when the voice thundered in his ears.
“Hear me!”
Adalar whirled, yanking the talchweisyr from its sheath in a silvery flash. He knew that voice. Celina du Almaine had taunted him in the hall of Greatheart Keep, had challenged them in the caverns of the Veiled Mountain.
The Prophetess of Marazadra had found them.
A thunderous roar rose from the valgast host below, and Adalar’s brain caught up with his alarm. The Prophetess hadn’t seen them. She had used a spell to augment her voice, making it loud enough to project across the plaza below.
Adalar looked over the railing. A small party stood on the steps leading to the doors of the Tower of the Spider. A dozen valgasts in elaborate armor stood there, flanked by a dozen wizards with pale hides and dark staffs in their clawed hands. Next to them waited a group of Skuldari clerics of Marazadra, men and women both, their faces painted with the same blue spider that Sigaldra and Romaria and Azurvaltoria bore. With them stood a man Adalar recognized as High King Basracus of Skuldar, his arrogant sneer visible even across the distance separating them.
A huge human male in black plate armor stood in their midst, his face hidden by a mask wrought from miniature sword blades. He was Rigoric, the Champion of Marazadra, and no matter how many times Mazael seemed to wound him, the man kept coming back to fight anew.
Next to Rigoric stood a slender girl in a green dress, her hands bound behind her. Adalar saw Sigaldra stiffen at the sight of her sister Liane.
Before both Liane and Rigoric stood Celina du Almaine, the Prophetess of Marazadra.
In the caverns of the Veiled Mountain, the Prophetess had been wearing a loose black robe. She had discarded the robe for some kind of close-fitting black armor and a dark cloak. From this distance, Adalar could not make out any details, but the armor looked almost like overlapping plates of chitin, similar to the natural armor of both the soliphages and the razormanes. The armor left a considerable portion of her chest exposed, which seemed a poor decision, but it did reveal the Talisman of Marazadra nestled between her breasts. Perhaps the Prophetess wanted to make sure the valgasts could see the Talisman, the proof of her authority from Marazadra.
“Valgasts of Tchroth!” said the Prophetess. “The hour has come at last. I am the Prophetess of Marazadra, her forerunner and her herald, the bearer of her Talisman of power. The Old Demon who bound you has been slain, and the old laws and the old covenants have been shattered. Behold, the goddess shall rise in glory and power once more, and you, her most faithful disciples, shall be there to witness her return. You shall be her emissaries as she sweeps across the world and brings all nations and all races under her dominion, and you shall teach men to fear!”
Again the valgasts cheered.
“After thirty centuries, I have gathered the tools to free our goddess and give her flesh once more!” said the Prophetess. “The Talisman of Marazadra, to draw and summon the power. The Mask of Marazadra, the vessel of her sleeping power. The blood of the goddess’s greatest enemy, to catalyze the spell.” She gestured at Liane, who stood watching the Prophetess with calm interest. “And the flesh that shall be honored above all others, the new body of the great goddess Marazadra!”
Again the valgast horde howled their approval.
“Your priests and your warlords shall ascend with me to the summit of Mount Armyar,” said the Prophetess. “There we shall enter the Heart of the Goddess itself. Once it was the site of her defeat, but soon it shall be the sanctum of her rebirth and resurrection. There the ancient Spider Guards shall submit to our authority, and you shall witness the coming of Marazadra herself, her advent and her return. All the faithful of Marazadra shall spread across the world and bring the nations beneath the authority of the goddess. All men shall bow before Marazadra…and you, the valgasts, shall be her favored servants and lieutenants.”
Again the valgasts cheered.
“Let’s go,” said Mazael. “If we wait too long, we’ll run into the Prophetess and her party just as they ascend the Tower of the Spider. I’d prefer to fight her on ground favorable to us, not the valgasts.”
There was nothing to be gained here by staring at the Prophetess. Adalar had heard
her give the same tiresome speech at Greatheart Keep and again at Armalast. Liane was only a few hundred yards away, but there was no way they could fight past ten thousand valgasts to reach her. Adalar took a step forward, and a flash of light on metal caught his eye.
Something had moved in the plaza below.
Specifically, Rigoric’s masked face had moved. He stared up at the walkway, and Adalar felt the cold weight of the Champion’s gaze. Rigoric did not say anything, did not give any sign, but the Prophetess stopped in mid-sentence.
“What?” said the Prophetess, her voice thundering through Tchroth.
A murmur of surprise went through the valgasts.
“You!” roared the Prophetess, pointing a finger. “Impossible. Impossible! Warriors of Tchroth, the enemies of the goddess have come into your midst. Kill them now!”
As one, ten thousand valgasts looked up and saw them.
The high priests began casting spells. The Prophetess began casting a spell, and Rigoric sprinted forward, shoving aside the valgasts as if they weighed nothing at all.
“So much for stealth,” said Mazael.
Chapter 11: Hasty Departures
“Run!” shouted Azurvaltoria. “Haste is our only chance. Run!”
Mazael ran back towards the Tower of Beasts.
“Wait!” said Azurvaltoria. “Where are you going? Not that way!”
Romaria sprinted next to Mazael. She, at least, had grasped Mazael’s intent.
His Demonsouled blood started to boil within him, eagerly yearning for the battle to come. Mazael suspected there was about to be a great deal of killing, killing enough to sate his Demonsouled nature for a time.
But as much as he enjoyed fighting, he had no intention of dying here.
Mazael had survived a lot of fights. He had won most of them, and even those he had lost he had still survived, and he had done that by keeping his head clear and his wits about him. That was one of the reasons that he was still alive and the other Demonsouled he had faced, men like Amalric Galbraith and Corvad and Ragnachar, were not.
Mask of Spells (Mask of the Demonsouled #3) Page 14
