“It’s too far to jump,” said Adalar.
“Can you use your magic to bring them over?” said Mazael.
“Not without setting them on fire in the process,” said Azurvaltoria. “Lord Adalar, heed me! Look to your left.” Adalar complied, looking at the balcony to the left. To his left he saw a purple-glowing archway that led deeper into the Spire. “Go down that corridor. The fifth door on the left leads to a stairway that encircles the Spire of Spells. Climb six levels, and exit onto the first walkway you see. That will pass right beneath the walkway where we will enter the Tower of the Spider, and we can pull you up.”
“We’ll wait for you there,” said Mazael.
Adalar nodded, but he knew the grim truth. He and Sigaldra would have to make haste. If they tarried too long, the valgasts might catch and kill them. Or they might overwhelm Mazael and the others on the upper walkway.
“Go!” said Adalar. “We’ll catch up with you.”
Mazael nodded. “Good luck.” He turned and ran up the damaged stairs, Romaria and Azurvaltoria following him. Adalar met Sigaldra’s gaze. He could tell she was frightened, but she did not waver.
“We had better hurry,” said Sigaldra.
Adalar nodded and led the way into the gloomy corridor.
###
The stairs ended, and Mazael found himself in a library.
At least, it looked like a library. The room was large and round, the walls lined with shelves. Instead of books, the valgasts had rows of scrolls that looked as if they had been made from the hide of some creature or another, likely the motaylakars. Desks stood in rings throughout the room, holding scrolls in various stages of completion, their surfaces marked with rows of valgast glyphs.
Two valgast priests whirled, both holding staffs and both began casting spells.
Mazael sprinted forward as Romaria drew back her bowstring and released. An arrow slammed into the valgast on the right, and the wizard twitched from the impact. Before the priest could recover, Mazael swung Talon with all his strength and momentum behind the blade. The valgast wizard’s head hopped off his head in a burst of dark blood. The second wizard had turned, purple fire snarling up his staff, but Azurvaltoria made a flipping gesture with her left hand. A howling blast of flame slammed into the wizard. The burning wizard collapsed the floor in a rain of scrolls. Mazael expected the scrolls to catch fire, but apparently they were fireproof.
“Good shot, both of you,” said Mazael, stepping over the valgast wizard he had beheaded.
“A pity my arrows don’t explode on impact,” said Romaria in a dry voice.
“I could teach you,” said Azurvaltoria, following Mazael and Romaria. “As half-Elderborn, you have a certain amount of inborn magical aptitude. You could…”
“Later,” said Mazael, crossing the library.
The archway on the far end opened into another stone walkway, one high over the city. The teeming valgasts below were so far away they seemed like ants. Mazael saw dozens of soliphages scaling the stalagmites, along with dozens more valgasts mounted on the back of giant spiders. A flicker of motion caught his eye, and he glimpsed a half-dozen motaylakars soaring over the plaza below the Tower of the Spider. The razormanes might have blocked off the approach from the Tower of Beasts, but the lack of access would not slow the valgasts for long.
But Azurvaltoria’s plan had worked. The walkway crossed over the heart of Tchroth and passed within a half a yard of the dark, cylindrical mass of the Tower of the Spider. It would be easy to jump from the walkway to one of the balconies jutting from the side of the Tower, and from there they could ascend to Mount Armyar and reach the Heart of the Spider before the Prophetess.
Though Mazael saw no sign of the Prophetess in the furious chaos. Perhaps she had decided to depart for Mount Armyar at once. They might intercept the Prophetess and Rigoric as they ascended the Tower of the Spider. Fighting the Prophetess’s magic in the confined space of the Tower would be suicidal, but perhaps they could snatch away Liane and flee before the Prophetess and the Champion reacted.
“How long will we wait for the others?” said Azurvaltoria.
“As long as we can,” said Mazael. He had absolutely no intention of abandoning Adalar and Sigaldra in this horrible place. He would fight to hold the walkway as long as possible, though he recognized that they might have no choice but to flee…
A dark blur vaulted over the railing ahead, interposing itself between Mazael and the Tower of the Spider.
Rigoric, the Champion of Marazadra, raised his greatsword in both hands.
His bloodshot eyes glared through the mask of swords he wore over his face, veins of steel seeming to thread from the mask and into the skin of his shaved head. He wore plate armor of black steel over black chain mail, a different set since Mazael had destroyed his previous suit of armor during their duel in the Veiled Mountain.
The Champion planted himself before Mazael and did not move, his greatsword ready.
“You again,” said Mazael, lifting Talon. “How many times have I beaten you? Perhaps you ought to lie down and die already.”
Rigoric let out a rumbling, hissing noise. The Mask had taken his power of speech, but nonetheless, the hissing noise conveyed his full contempt for Mazael.
“Care to back that up?” said Mazael. Romaria stepped to his left, drawing her bow, and Azurvaltoria stepped to his right, fire dancing around her fingers.
Again Rigoric let out a contemptuous hiss, spinning the massive, razor-edged greatsword as if it was a light branch.
“He doesn’t have to kill us,” said Azurvaltoria in a low voice. “He only has to delay us until the Prophetess and the high priests arrive to finish us off.”
“Well,” said Mazael, “we’re waiting for Adalar and Sigaldra anyway, aren’t we? This will help us pass the time. Now!”
Romaria loosed her arrow, and Azurvaltoria flung her spell. Romaria’s arrow slammed into Rigoric’s right shoulder, but the chain mail deflected the razor-edged head. The fire of the dragon’s spell struck Rigoric in the chest, the cuirass glowing cherry-hot for a moment, but the Champion did not seem to even notice the attack.
His greatsword blurred at Mazael’s head. Mazael ducked and struck back, the blade of dragon talon in his hand clanging against the black steel plate.
###
Sigaldra and Adalar ran through the gloomy corridor. Adalar led the way, both hands grasping the hilt of his Dark Elderborn sword. So far the rest of the Spire of Spells had seemed deserted, but Sigaldra knew that would not last. Even through the walls of thick stone, she heard the distant cries of alarm echoing through the city. All of Tchroth had been roused and was coming for them. She intended to fight to the death rather than allow herself to be captured by the valgasts.
There was a noise ahead.
“Ready yourself!” said Adalar, his talchweisyr snapping up in guard.
Two valgasts with the tattoos of laborers burst from the side door, both of them gripping clubs. Sigaldra released her bow, her arrow shooting past Adalar’s shoulder to slam into the stomach of the nearest valgast. The valgast laborer staggered with a shriek of rage, its fang-lined mouth yawning wide, and Adalar killed the valgast with a quick sweep of the silvery blade. The second valgast charged at Adalar, hammering with the bone club. They were too close together for Sigaldra to take a shot, but it didn’t matter. The valgast was strong and quick, but it had obviously not been trained as a warrior. Adalar parried once, twice, three times, and then whipped his blade around in a sideways swing. The sword sank into the valgast’s neck, and the creature fell to the floor.
“Are you hurt?” said Adalar, wrenching his sword free from the dying valgast. He did not bother to clean the blade. No doubt there would be fresh blood upon it soon enough.
“I’m fine,” said Sigaldra.
Adalar nodded, and they hurried through the passageway. Sigaldra kept an arrow set to her bowstring, watching for any more valgasts. They reached the end of the corridor without inci
dent and found the stairwell that Azurvaltoria had described. It was a narrow corridor that wound its way upward, the stairs broad and shallow.
“We had better run,” said Adalar. “Those stairs must circle all the way around the Spire at least five or six times. I don’t know how far we’ll have to climb to reach six levels up.”
“Splendid,” said Sigaldra, catching her breath. Her legs ached a little from all the running and fighting they had already done today, her heart hammering against her ribs. Still, she was Jutai, the daughter and descendant of hroulds and warriors, and pain was simply something to be endured. “Lead on.”
They started running up the stairs, boots slapping against the stone floor. Tall, narrow windows rose on her right, showing Tchroth far below in its alien glory. They passed another archway, one that opened into another dim corridor with doors on either side. Sigaldra supposed that was the first level. They passed the second level without encountering anyone, and then the third, and a flicker of hope came to life in her chest…
“Watch out!” shouted Adalar.
On reflex, Sigaldra threw herself against the curved wall, which was the only thing that saved her life. A spear of bone hurtled past her head, so close that it scraped her hair. A valgast warrior sprang around the curve, yanking a short sword from its belt. Adalar killed the warrior with a quick thrust of the talchweisyr, and two more valgasts came loping down the stairs.
By then Sigaldra had managed to recover her balance, and she snapped her bow up and sent an arrow flying at the valgasts. All the practice over the last few weeks must have paid off because her arrow hit a valgast throat with a wet tearing noise. The valgast fell, and Adalar attacked the second warrior, the talchweisyr stabbing against the warrior’s short sword and shield of bone. Sigaldra lined up a second arrow and released, shooting the warrior in the hip. The creature stumbled, and Adalar split its skull with an overhand blow.
Before it even fell dead to the floor, he turned and ran back towards her.
“Shouldn’t we keep going up?” said Sigaldra.
“Can’t,” said Adalar. “They’re coming. Run!”
She opened her mouth to ask a question and then heard the noises echoing down the stairwell. The clatter of bone weapons and the harsh rasp of valgast voices came to her ears. The valgasts were coming, and in the narrow stairs, they would be trapped.
“Where can we go?” said Sigaldra, running after Adalar.
“Back to the third level we passed,” said Adalar. “I think we’re high enough that we’re past the damage on the main stairs. We can take the main stairs and catch up to Mazael and the others.”
That assumed they were high enough to bypass the damage, or that the valgasts hadn’t sent forces to take control of the Spire's central stairs, but Sigaldra could not think of anything better, so she kept running.
They descended to the third level, and Adalar swung around the archway, leading with the talchweisyr. Sigaldra followed him, raising her bow, and skidded to a horrified halt.
Their death awaited them in the corridor.
A soliphage stood just a few yards away. The creature looked like a human female of stunning beauty, though its entire body was covered in overlapping plates of blood-colored chitin. Six additional eyes gleamed in its forehead over the usual two, and all eight eyes glowed with a harsh white light. Additional legs rose from its flanks like barbed spears, and its fingers ended in long, serrated claws. Those claws came up in the throes of a magical spell, burning bright with purple fire, and there was nothing Sigaldra or Adalar could do to stop the creature before it finished its spell.
Yet no one had bothered to tell Adalar that.
He leaped forward like a lion springing upon its prey, the talchweisyr swinging in his hands. His first blow ripped deep into the soliphage’s chest, the blade flashing with gray light, and the soliphage staggered and went to one knee, still trying to finish its spell. Before it could, Adalar reversed his grip on the sword and drove the blade down, ramming it home into the soliphage’s flesh.
He had killed the powerful creature in less than two seconds. It had been a magnificent feat of swordsmanship.
It had also been all for naught.
At the far end of the corridor, charging from the central stairwell, sprinted a mob of at least thirty valgast warriors. After them came a half-dozen soliphages, all of them casting spells. Perhaps Sigaldra and Adalar together might have been able to take a dozen valgast warriors.
Against that many valgasts aided by the dark magic of the soliphages, they were finished.
###
Rigoric’s greatsword hammered down with enough force to knock stone chips from the railing, and Mazael realized something about his opponent.
The Champion of Marazadra had become stronger.
Perhaps the Mask of the Champion had rebuilt him so many times that it had made him stronger. Perhaps possession of the Mask of Marazadra had allowed the Prophetess to unlock greater power within the Mask of the Champion. Whatever the reason, Rigoric had become far stronger, and Mazael had no doubt that the Champion could use that massive greatsword to cut him in half from head to crotch without slowing down.
Fortunately, Mazael was equal to the fight.
He circled around Rigoric, hammering at the weak points in the Champion’s armor. Mazael never stayed in one place for more than a few instants, never stopped moving, never slowed long enough for Rigoric to land a strike. Even with his superhuman speed, it took Rigoric time to line up blows with his massive sword, and Mazael exploited those brief instants, landing hit after hit on Rigoric’s armor.
The constant interference of Romaria and Azurvaltoria aided Mazael. Both women hung back from the duel, striking whenever they could. Romaria’s arrows landed with the uncanny skill of the Elderborn, hitting the weak points in Rigoric's armor and causing steel threads to erupt from the Mask of the Champion. Azurvaltoria did not bother with finesse but instead hurled bolts of magical fire. The flames splashed against Rigoric with little effect, though it did leave spots glowing red-hot for a moment on his armor.
Mazael hammered at those spots. Talon had once been the claw of a mighty dragon, and fire meant nothing to the curved sword. His blows began to warp and deform Rigoric’s armor, damaging it bit by bit. In time, Mazael was certain, he could breach the armor and land a killing blow on the Champion of Marazadra.
Unfortunately, he did not have that time.
The noises from the cavern were growing louder, and any moment he expected the motaylakars or the spider-riding valgast warriors to join the fray. Or perhaps the Prophetess and the high priests would decide they didn’t need the current Champion of Marazadra and would combine their powers to blast the walkway to sand. That would probably kill Rigoric, and it would certainly kill Mazael, Romaria, and Azurvaltoria.
He had to find a way to kill Rigoric, and he had to find a way to do it now.
###
Adalar stared at the charging valgasts, his mind racing.
He should have been alarmed, should have been bracing himself to take as many of the valgasts and the soliphages with him as he could in death. Or he should have looked at Sigaldra, and perhaps dared one last kiss before they both died.
Instead, the entirety of his mind focused on the strange sensation coming from the Dark Elderborn sword in his right fist. The sword’s peculiar vibrations had become stronger, and it was giving off an odd white light. In fact, the light almost looked like the glow of a soliphage’s eyes.
He remembered what Azurvaltoria had told him. Had the sword drained off a portion of the soliphage’s power?
They were only seconds from death. It was time to gamble.
“Come on!” shouted Adalar, urging Sigaldra towards the stairs. They ran back into the stairs, heading downward as the sounds of charging valgast warriors echoed after them.
“What are we doing?” said Sigaldra as Adalar returned the talchweisyr to its sheath.
“This,” said Adalar, and he jumped, sl
apping his palms against the stone.
And then hung there, suspended only by the contact of his palms against the rock wall.
“What?” said Sigaldra. “How are you doing that?”
“The talchweisyr,” said Adalar. “The dragon was right. It’s holding some of the soliphage’s power…”
“Including its power to climb walls,” said Sigaldra, and then her eyes widened in sudden realization. “Oh, ancestors and gods! Do you mean to climb…”
“Either that or we stay here and die,” said Adalar, putting a foot in one of the narrow windows. “Climb onto my back.”
She gaped at him, muttered something that might have been a curse or a prayer, and then stepped forward. Her arms wrapped around his chest, and she jumped up, coiling her legs around his waist, her chin tapping against the top of his head. Under other circumstances, Adalar would have very much enjoyed the feeling of her taut body wrapped around him.
Right now, he was only terrified.
The sounds of pursuit grew louder.
It was now or never.
Adalar swung over the edge of the window, Tchroth yawning below him, his muscles straining as he carried Sigaldra’s weight. He slapped his hands against the rough surface of the Spire and felt his palms grip the rock.
It was a long way down. If he was wrong, at least the fall would kill them in a heartbeat.
He jumped off the sill…and his palms still gripped the Spire.
It was the oddest sensation. He wasn’t gripping anything, but his hands remained fixed on the stone as if he had dipped them in potent glue. Despite the unnatural grip, he felt himself start to slide and slapped his boots against the wall. They, too, gripped the stone, and Adalar remained as motionless as if he was gripping the rungs of a ladder.
“Ancestors save us,” said Sigaldra, her voice quavering a little.
More noise rose from the window they had just exited. If they didn’t hurry, the soliphages and the valgasts would realize what had happened. Adalar started climbing the wall of the Spire of Spells as fast as he could manage. Despite the strength of his sticking grip, it took no effort to pull his hands and feet from the rock. By an act of will he could release the gripping power and renew it as he climbed, and he moved with speed.
Mask of Spells (Mask of the Demonsouled #3) Page 16
