Mask of Spells (Mask of the Demonsouled #3)

by Jonathan Moeller

“Mmm,” said Molly. “I hope so. I can imagine quite a lot of killing.” She grinned at Earnachar, who was looking at her with bemusement. “Greetings again, Earnachar. In hindsight, I’m glad I didn’t kill you at Greatheart Keep.”

  “I am in full agreement, daughter of the hrould,” said Earnachar.

  “You’re his daughter,” said Azurvaltoria, looking back and forth between Mazael.

  “So I’m told,” said Molly.

  “Remarkable,” said Azurvaltoria. “I’d never thought that two of you could cooperate without killing each other…”

  “Two of what?” said Sigaldra.

  “Human nobles,” said Mazael. “We tend to fight.”

  “Truly,” said Molly, peering at Azurvaltoria. “A dragon in human form? I’ve seen a lot of strange things but never that.” She looked at the sky. “My husband will want to meet you.”

  “Your husband?” said Azurvaltoria. “Some hulking scarred old warrior like your father?”

  Molly laughed. “Not quite.”

  Another griffin circled out of the sky and landed. The griffin carried two men. The first was Toric son of Torvmund. He was a lean, wiry man, his face leathery from much time in the sun, and he had been at Gray Pillar when the valgasts had first attacked.

  The second man was the Guardian of the Tervingi.

  Riothamus son of Rigotharic dropped from the saddle, legs flexing a little to absorb the impact. He was tall and strong, with thick black hair and hard blue eyes. He wore chain mail and leather, and in his right hand he carried a long staff of bronze-colored wood, its surface already flickering with sigils of golden fire. The ancient staff of the Guardian had been passed from bearer to bearer to centuries, with the Guardian defending the Tervingi nation from all threats of dark magic.

  “Hrould,” called Riothamus, walking closer.

  “Guardian,” said Mazael. “We’ve got a…”

  “A Guardian?” said Azurvaltoria, astonished.

  They all looked at her. Riothamus regarded her with calm blue eyes.

  “Your barbarian nation has a Guardian of the High Elderborn?” said Azurvaltoria. "You mentioned a Guardian, but I did not think it was a true Guardian..."

  “In ancient days, when mighty Tervingar led the Tervingi nation to freedom from the tyranny of the Dark Elderborn,” announced Earnachar, “the Guardian helped free our people and assisted mighty Tervingar in his deeds of valor. The Guardian has watched over the Tervingi ever since.”

  “Indeed,” said Azurvaltoria. “Master Basjun, you were correct. We have seen remarkable sights. I have not encountered a Guardian for a very long time.”

  “Nor have I,” said Riothamus, “ever encountered a dragon bound in human form.”

  “Ah,” said Azurvaltoria. “Yes. The Sight. You are a Guardian, so you must possess it.”

  “You’re bound to the Mask of Marazadra,” said Riothamus. “That’s how the Prophetess locked you in your current form. She exploited the binding the Old Demon placed upon both you and the Mask. So long as she is alive and wielding the Mask, you cannot change form.”

  “Well.” Her smile showed white teeth. “There is a simple way to fix that.”

  “Simple, but not easy,” said Riothamus, looking at Mazael. “The Prophetess has gathered great power around herself.”

  “Aye,” said Mazael.

  “Guardian,” said Sigaldra. “You said that if we brought an army into the mountains, we would guarantee the Prophetess’s victory. That was why the hrould, Lord Adalar, Lady Romaria, Timothy, Earnachar, and I went alone into the mountains. By calling for aid…have we guaranteed the Prophetess’s victory?”

  The fear on her face was stark, and Adalar moved closer to her.

  “No,” said Riothamus. “The vision of the future was clear. If the host of the Grim Marches and the Tervingi invaded Skuldar, we would face certain defeat, and Marazadra would rise in power. Yet recently the vision changed with great force. Based on what Timothy and Earnachar and Basjun told me, I believe the vision changed the moment the Prophetess attacked the dragon with the Mask and you took a maethweisyr charged with the Prophetess’s blood.” He looked at Mazael. “All the paths of the future were going one way, but your actions that day altered all possible destinies. Previously, I saw only two potential futures – Marazadra rose in power and glory and devoured the world or an unknown future.”

  “And now?” said Mazael.

  “Chaos,” said Riothamus. “The future is in flux. I see a thousand potential futures through the Sight, more than I can comprehend. In some of them the Prophetess and Marazadra are victorious, and in others, we prevail. Yet I know this. This day is the critical point. Whatever happens in the next few hours will decide all of our fates and the fates of countless others.”

  Silence answered him. Sigaldra swallowed, and then nodded.

  “Lovely,” said Molly. “Well. The sooner we starting killing valgasts and Skuldari, the less chance the enemy will have to write the future in their favor.”

  “Yes,” said Mazael. “Toric!” The skythain dropped from his saddle and jogged over. “What have the griffins seen?”

  “A large band of valgasts and soliphages were coming up the causeway towards the ruins,” said Toric. “They were marching towards the southern fane. Likely they have reached it by now.”

  “The Prophetess and the Champion move with them,” said Riothamus. “They blaze like dark stars to my Sight. The Prophetess carries the Mask of Marazadra as well.” He looked at Sigaldra. “Your sister is with them. She is still alive and safe for now. Her Sight has awakened to greater power, and it is calling out.”

  “Will they stand and fight in the fane, Guardian?” said Earnachar. “It is a defensible position.”

  “No,” said Mazael. “No, the Prophetess won’t wait. She has come too far and waited too long. She will begin the spell as soon as she can reach the rift at the Heart of the Spider.”

  “That is my thought as well,” said Riothamus. “Likely she shall order her followers to defend her.”

  “Then we will have to fight our way to her,” said Sigaldra.

  “Maybe,” said Mazael. “Maybe not. We have more allies now. We don’t need to ambush her.”

  “We need to distract her,” said Molly, nodding.

  “Aye,” said Mazael. “I expect the valgasts and the soliphages and the others will set themselves at the southern end of the central courtyard. An attack is most likely to come from that direction. So we’ll fulfill their expectations. Molly. Riothamus. Attack the southern end of the courtyard with everything we have. Get their attention.”

  Molly grinned. “I think we can manage that.”

  “Will you accompany us?” said Riothamus.

  “No,” said Mazael. “While you attack, I will sneak into the courtyard, surprise the Prophetess, and kill her.”

  “She will be a powerful foe,” said Riothamus. “Stronger now that she carries the Mask and can draw upon its power.”

  “I know,” said Mazael.

  “You won’t go alone,” said Romaria.

  “I will come as well,” said Sigaldra. “I will not leave my sister to such a horrid fate.”

  “I will come with you,” said Adalar, but he looked at Sigaldra as he said it.

  “My father would wish me to aid you,” said Basjun.

  “I have business with the Prophetess as well,” said Azurvaltoria with that white smile, “and a debt I demand from her.”

  “I would see this to the end, my lord,” said Timothy, “if you are willing.”

  “Earnachar son of Balnachar shall face the Prophetess one last time as well,” announced Earnachar. “She has tainted my honor, and I can gain satisfaction only by taking her lying head. That, and it was funny to call her a whore to her face.”

  “She did become quite angry, sir,” said Basjun.

  “Well, the truth hurts,” said Sigaldra with vicious contempt.

  “Very well,” said Mazael. “We have a plan.” In truth, he
was not happy about taking them all into battle, and he would have preferred to have faced the Prophetess alone. But he knew that path would lead to defeat. He could not defeat the Prophetess without help. For that matter, even if Molly and Riothamus drew off the rest of the Prophetess’s defenders, Rigoric would remain with her, and Mazael knew he could not fight the Champion and the Prophetess at the same time. At least he wished he could have left Romaria behind until the fighting had finished.

  Well, what was done was done. Either Mazael would walk away from the Heart of the Spider, or the Prophetess would. There was no other option.

  “Then let’s begin,” said Mazael.

  Chapter 15: The Heart of the Goddess

  Adalar brought up the back as the others crept through the ruined fane, making their way from column to column. From time to time a motaylakar darted overhead, skull-faced wings flapping, but the moth-like creatures avoided the eastern fane. The griffins were impervious to the mesmeric effect of the creatures’ power, and the skythains had killed a score of motaylakars over the Heart of the Spider. Between that and Romaria’s arrows and Azurvaltoria’s magic, the motaylakars had learned to stay well away from the enemy.

  “Hold for a minute,” said Romaria, watching a flying motaylakar. Mazael nodded, and they came to a halt, waiting for the flying creature to move out of sight.

  Adalar found himself watching Sigaldra instead.

  His shoulders and arms and back ached from the effort of so much fighting, and his knees hurt from bracing himself against blows. He was tired, and he wanted to lie down, close his eyes, and not get up again for a long time.

  Yet he kept going.

  Adalar knew that terrible things were at stake. If the Prophetess succeeded in resurrecting Marazadra, not only would Liane die, her flesh consumed to summon the goddess back, but the valgasts and the Skuldari and the soliphages would march across the face of the world, enslaving every nation in the name of Marazadra. It would be a tide of darkness and death like the runedead, and the runedead had left Mastaria barren and desolate. Adalar had seen that kind of destruction once before, and he had no desire to ever see it again. If he could stop it, even at the cost of his life, he would not hesitate to do so.

  All that was important, he knew, more important than any single person.

  Yet even in the face of death, his thoughts kept returning to Sigaldra.

  He wondered what she would do if he asked her to marry him once this was over.

  Adalar could have been married a dozen times in the last few years. He had wide lands in Mastaria around Castle Dominus, making him a great lord. Any number of noblewomen or knights’ daughters would have wished to wed him, but he had been too busy helping Lord Malden’s and Sir Tobias’s campaigns in Mastaria. After the defeat of the runedead, his lands had been laid waste, but he had still been a powerful lord, and he could have found a wife with ease. Adalar had been too sunk in despair, too exhausted and weary, to even think of it. The past had been filled with ruin, and the future seemed without hope.

  Now he was thinking about the future again, about what might happen if they were victorious.

  Perhaps Sigaldra would refuse him. She was the last holdmistress of the last remnant of the Jutai nation. Maybe their customs were too different, too alien for them to wed. Perhaps she would refuse to wed anyone save a man of the Jutai, though from what Adalar had seen at Greatheart Keep, there were no men of suitable age and rank for her.

  For that matter, her first loyalties were to her sister and her nation. If she did wed him…could she really bring herself to leave the Jutai and return with him to Castle Dominus and Knightcastle? Certainly, he would not be able to abandon Castle Dominus and return to the Grim Marches. Adalar was a vassal of Lord Gerald Roland, and he could not abandon his vows to his lord. Had he not agreed to help Sigaldra find Liane, he would have returned to Knightcastle and then to Castle Dominus weeks ago.

  And the Jutai were dying.

  Earnachar, for all his crass greed, had not been lying. Without Mazael’s iron hand to shield them, the remnant of the Jutai would not last long. Sooner or later some bold neighbor might dare Mazael’s wrath and try to seize the lands of the Jutai, presenting the Lord of the Grim Marches with a done deed. Even Mazael Cravenlock was not immortal, and when he died one day the lords of the Grim Marches might seize Greatheart Keep before Molly could exercise her authority.

  Adalar saw no other way around it. The Jutai were doomed if they remained in the Grim Marches.

  A flicker of hope burned within his chest as he thought of it.

  The Jutai could not remain in the Grim Marches, but there were empty lands in Mastaria. Lord Gerald had been offering lands and estates to knights and nobles who swore to his service and settled in the ravaged lands of Knightreach. Adalar could do the same to the lands around Castle Dominus. If he invited Sigaldra and the Jutai to make one last exodus, to settle in the deserted lands of Castle Dominus, would they accept?

  Adalar didn’t know. He wanted to find out.

  “All right,” said Romaria. “Keep going.”

  Adalar rebuked himself, forcing his attention to their surroundings. It would be a dire end indeed if he got himself killed by a valgast because he had been daydreaming about Sigaldra. He could only imagine what his father would have said.

  But he was certain that Nathan Greatheart would have approved of Sigaldra.

  ###

  Adalar followed Romaria’s guidance, watching for any sign of enemies.

  The enemy had abandoned the fane, and it was deserted save for the slain valgasts and Skuldari warriors, the scent of blood coloring the air. Step by step they moved through the silent fane, and beyond the damaged columns and heaps of rubble, Adalar saw the opposite wall.

  He also saw the archway leading into the central courtyard, along with the occasional flashes of harsh purple light from the rift atop the hill.

  They were almost there.

  “Stop here for now,” said Romaria. They ducked behind a column that leaned drunkenly against one of the walls.

  “Very well,” said Mazael. “We’ll wait here until Riothamus and Molly begin their assault. If anyone finds us, we’ll have to kill them before they can escape to warn the others.”

  “Agreed,” said Romaria, setting one of her arrows to the string of her Elderborn bow. Sigaldra had run out of arrows during the battle, and Romaria had almost run out, but fortunately the Tervingi skythains had brought enough arrows to resupply them. Sigaldra was a good archer, and she was competent enough with a sword, but she lacked the raw strength and the reach to be a good hand-to-hand fighter.

  Fortunately, Adalar had both, and he would do his utmost to protect her.

  “How will we know when the Guardian and Lady Molly begin their assault, sir?” said Basjun.

  “You will know, young Basjun,” said Earnachar. “After the battle of the Northwater, it should be obvious.”

  “I was not at the battle of the Northwater,” said Basjun. “Until two days ago I had no idea where the Northwater even was.”

  “Oh,” said Earnachar. Adalar saw Sigaldra smile briefly at Earnachar’s look of consternation, and he stifled a laugh.

  “It was a great battle,” said Mazael. “The lords of the Grim Marches fought against a horde of runedead and the corrupted Justiciar Order.”

  Adalar remembered the ranks of runedead, their foreheads shining with glyphs of green fire, remembered the cold sneer on the face of Grand Master Caldarus, a man that Adalar had once respected, as he promised to slaughter every living soul in the Grim Marches.

  And now a new evil of equal scale threatened the world.

  To his surprise, Adalar found that heartening. Caldarus and the runedead had threatened to devour the world, and Mazael had smashed them. Perhaps they could do the same to the Prophetess and her followers.

  “Riothamus unleashed the full extent of his powers on that day,” said Mazael. “We wouldn’t have won the battle without his help.”
/>   “What did he do?” said Basjun.

  “He froze the river, young Basjun,” said Earnachar.

  “How did that help win the battle?” said Basjun.

  “The Justiciars and their runedead were lined up along the banks of the river,” said Mazael. “I had sent the Tervingi war mammoths ahead. When the Guardian froze the river, the war mammoths crossed the river and smashed into the runedead, breaking their lines.”

  “I have seen the war mammoths, sir, at Lady Molly’s camp,” said Basjun. “A hundred of them together would be a formidable force.”

  “The ground shook,” said Adalar. It had been the single largest battle he had ever seen.

  “Then we are to be the war mammoths, then?” said Basjun.

  “Eh?” said Earnachar.

  “Lady Molly and the Guardian will provide the main force,” said Basjun. “When they attack the enemy, we shall strike from the rear.”

  “Yes,” said Mazael. “More or less.”

  Adalar wondered if they could strike with as much force as a hundred Tervingi war mammoths. It didn’t seem likely. Yet they had Mazael Cravenlock, and Adalar had seen the Lord of Castle Cravenlock’s fury. They had Azurvaltoria and her burning magic, and Romaria’s bow and Sigaldra’s bow and Earnachar’s mace and Basjun’s axe and Timothy’s spells. Perhaps that would be enough to defeat the Prophetess and her allies.

  Or maybe Crouch would bite out her throat. The big dog certainly seemed fearless.

  “Anyway,” said Mazael. “We’ll know when…”

  There was a flare of brilliant light from the southwest.

  ###

  Mazael turned his head as golden fire erupted over the southern fane, followed by a ringing thunderclap.

  Riothamus had unleashed his power, and a storm of icy shards fell upon the southern fane, each as sharp as a dagger and as heavy as an anvil. The Guardian could not use his powers to kill or wound living mortals, but both the soliphages and the valgasts were creatures of dark magic, and the Spider Guards probably qualified as well.

  Griffins swooped back and forth over the fane, the skythains shooting arrows or flinging javelins. The wizards behind the skythains brought their spells to bear, and unlike the Guardian, they had no restrictions upon their magic. They hurled bolts of fire and forks of lightning and invisible blasts of psychokinetic force or conjured creatures from the spirit world to attack their foes. The familiar sound of a battle came to Mazael’s ears, accompanied by the stranger sounds of magical combat, the roar of fire and the crack of lightning and the howl of summoned winds.