Mask of Spells (Mask of the Demonsouled #3)

by Jonathan Moeller

  The soliphage’s spider legs drew back, preparing to stab him for the kill.

  Sigaldra appeared behind the soliphage, shooting as fast as she could draw arrows from her quiver. Usually, her short bow did not have the power to punch through soliphage chitin, but she was close enough that the arrows hammered through. The soliphage swayed, turning towards her, and Adalar caught his breath.

  He threw himself to his feet, snatching up the talchweisyr, and hammered the sword’s pommel into the back of the soliphage’s neck. The plates of chitin shattered from the impact and Adalar reversed the sword and swung for the damaged area.

  This time, the talchweisyr took off the undead soliphage’s head. The green glow of its eyes flickered and went out, and the creature slumped to the ground.

  “Thanks,” croaked Adalar. It hurt to talk.

  “Gods and ancestors, we’re almost out of time,” said Sigaldra.

  Adalar followed her gaze and saw his friends struggling against the undead soliphages. Mazael battled Rigoric, both the Champion and the Lord of Castle Cravenlock moving almost too fast for the eye to follow. Behind the altar the Prophetess stood wreathed in shadow and purple fire, chanting as she gestured with the maethweisyr, which had started to burn with a strange blood-colored fire. She had to be casting the spell to summon Marazadra back. And when Celina du Almaine finished, Marazadra would be reborn within Liane’s flesh.

  Sigaldra’s sister would be lost, and Marazadra would conquer the world.

  Yet for the moment, the Prophetess was alone. Rigoric and Mazael held each other’s full attention, and the remaining undead soliphages fought against the rest of Adalar’s friends. He saw the tide of the battle turning and realized that with Azurvaltoria’s help, they would be able to blast their way through the undead soliphages. When that happened, the Prophetess would have to respond, and she might bring her magic to bear or summon additional defenders.

  But until that happened, the Prophetess was alone, and her full attention was on the summoning spell.

  “We have to get to her,” said Sigaldra.

  “She’s alone,” said Adalar. “If we can surprise her, maybe we can win. Or maybe we can just get Liane away from her.”

  “How?” said Sigaldra.

  “We go straight through the battle,” said Adalar, looking at the talchweisyr. Would it be enough to strike the Prophetess through her defensive wards? Perhaps Adalar could distract her while Sigaldra spirited away Liane. “Come on.”

  ###

  Mazael fought for his life, exchanging blow after blow with Rigoric.

  The Champion of Marazadra had indeed become faster and stronger. Perhaps the proximity to the rift above the altar, to the spirit of Marazadra itself, had poured new power into the Mask of the Champion. His swings landed with the force of a stone hurled from a catapult.

  Yet even with the Champion’s augmented speed, Mazael could still land strikes. That huge greatsword took time to position, and that time gave Mazael openings to strike. He hit Rigoric again and again, raining blows upon his ornamented cuirass, intending to hack through the armor as he had in the caverns of the Veiled Mountain.

  This time, Mazael suspected his tactic would not work.

  Every time he struck the armor, the symbols of purple fire upon the black steel flashed, and Talon failed to leave a scratch on the metal. There were gaps in the armor, places where Talon’s hard blade of dragon talon could punch through the weaker chain mail and enter the Champion’s flesh, but whenever it did, steel threads erupted from the wound, knitting it shut at once. Mazael’s own armor wasn’t nearly as effective, and Rigoric had already inflicted three minor wounds on him. His Demonsouled blood was healing them, but not as quickly as the steel threads closed Rigoric’s wounds.

  Unless Mazael did something unexpected, unless he changed the terms of the battle, Rigoric was going to kill him.

  The Mask of the Champion was the key. All of Rigoric’s power came from the Mask. The tactic had worked against Basracus, and it would work against Rigoric. If Mazael got the Mask off Rigoric’s face, then he could kill Rigoric and go after the Prophetess.

  That was easier said than done.

  Even as the thought crossed Mazael’s mind, he was a heartbeat too slow, and the side of Rigoric’s pommel clipped his temple. Had it struck his head full on, it would have crushed his skull. Instead, a blaze of pain shot through his head, and Mazael fell. Rigoric leaped forward, raising his armored boot to crush Mazael’s throat, and Mazael flung himself to the side, lashing out with Talon. The blade ripped across the back of Rigoric’s knee, and the Champion jerked, his momentum halted as Mazael’s sword severed the tendon. Mazael rolled back to his feet as steel threads burst from the back of Rigoric’s leg, healing the wound.

  Rigoric strode forward, greatsword ready, and Mazael charged, aiming his blows at the Mask itself. The Champion accepted the blows without flinching, and Talon could not leave a mark on the strange silvery metal of the Mask. Yet if Mazael could land a hit of sufficient power, perhaps he could stun the Champion long enough to get the Mask off his face.

  Brilliant purple light flared over the hilltop and the ring of shrine stones, the Prophetess’s voice rising in a scream of fury.

  ###

  “That one,” said Adalar, pointing at a soliphage.

  One of the undead soliphages was on fire, the left side of its body set ablaze by either Azurvaltoria or Timothy, both of whom were hurling blasts of magical fire at their enemies. More and more of the remaining soliphages had turned their full attention to the dragon and the wizard, forcing them on the defensive, but that let Earnachar and Basjun and Romaria attack. Romaria had abandoned her Elderborn bow for her bastard sword, using the long blade to lop off soliphage legs and give Earnachar and Basjun an opening with their shorter weapons. In the midst of the chaos, the burning soliphage had drifted away from the others, giving Sigaldra and Adalar their opening.

  “That one,” agreed Sigaldra.

  Adalar nodded, taking the talchweisyr in both hands. He looked exhausted, his face grim, but his eyes did not waver. Sigaldra felt a desperate wave of guilt that she had brought him here, that she had accepted his help, that she had likely led him to his death against the Prophetess’s minions.

  But if the Prophetess was not stopped here, if Liane was not saved, then Marazadra’s shadow would fall over all nations.

  “Go right,” said Adalar. “I will go to the left.”

  “All right,” said Sigaldra. “Adalar, if…”

  “Fear not,” he said with a tired smile. “We will be victorious. Go!”

  Together they ran forward, Adalar heading towards the burning soliphage’s left side. She started shooting arrows as she ran. Her accuracy was not the best, but all of her shots slammed into the undead soliphage’s torso. The creature pivoted towards her, one of its clawed hands coming up and glimmering with necromantic power. Sigaldra hit it in the chest with another arrow, but the shaft did nothing against the undead flesh. The ghostly green light around its clawed fingers brightened.

  Adalar came up on the creature’s left side. The fire seemed to have blinded its eyes on that side, and the soliphage made no reaction as Adalar swung the talchweisyr. The undead soliphage’s head jumped off its shoulders and rolled away, and the body slithered to the ground in a motionless heap.

  And for the moment, the way to the Prophetess was clear.

  “Go!” shouted Adalar, running for the altar as fast as he could.

  Sigaldra sprinted after him, yanking another arrow from her quiver. The altar drew near, and she saw Liane lying upon its surface. Her chest was still rising and falling with breath, thank all the gods, but the hideous Mask of Marazadra obscured her features. Sigaldra wanted to get that vile thing away from Liane as soon as possible.

  The Prophetess stood on the other side of the altar, gesturing with the crimson maethweisyr, a vortex of shadow and purple fire rising above her and flowing into the mist-choked rift. Her face was rapt, almo
st ecstatic, as she cast the spell.

  Sigaldra snapped her bow up and started shooting.

  Her first two arrows shattered against the Prophetess’s wards. The sorceress snapped out of her trance, eyes locking onto Sigaldra, and she pushed with her free hand. Sigaldra flung herself to the side. The wall of invisible force that would have snapped every bone in her body instead clipped her and sent her spinning to the ground, and she landed with a gasp of pain.

  Gods, but that hurt.

  She rolled up to one knee, aimed, and loosed another arrow. She missed the Prophetess’s neck by a few inches. Celina du Almaine sneered as she worked another spell, shadows knitting together in her free hand. Sigaldra’s attack had accomplished nothing, and she had not even scratched the Prophetess.

  Her attack had, however, given Adalar the time he needed to close with her.

  The Prophetess’s head snapped around as Adalar charged. She took a quick step back, placing the bulk of the altar between her and the charging knight, shifting the aim of her spell towards Adalar. He changed direction at the last moment, seized the corner of the altar, and vaulted over it. The Prophetess jerked back, her eyes going wide with sudden fear, and Adalar swung the talchweisyr. As with Sigaldra’s arrows, the blade rebounded from the Prophetess’s wards. Unlike the arrows, the blade rebounded in a blaze of harsh blue sparks, the sword starting to glow as it drained away the power of the sorceress’s warding spells.

  The Prophetess backed away as Adalar rained blows upon her, fear plain on her face. Sigaldra wondered if the Prophetess had ever fought in hand-to-hand combat, and decided that Lady Celina du Almaine would not have dirtied her hands with such activity.

  Sigaldra heaved herself up. She was out of arrows, so she reached for her short sword.

  “Aid me!” screamed the Prophetess, and the rift above her rippled. She shoved her free hand towards Adalar, and purple fire and shadow leaped from her fingers. The blast hit Adalar and threw him back with terrific force. He crashed into one of the shrine stones with an awful crunching noise, collapsed to the ground, and went limp.

  Sigaldra was already running, screaming at the top of her lungs. As she did, the rift above the Prophetess rippled and bulged, and two dark shapes appeared. They erupted from the mist and landed before the altar, unfolding into the shape of two massive Crimson Hunters, and two more of the giant spiders emerged from the rift after them. The Prophetess laughed in triumph and gestured again, and all four spiders turned towards Sigaldra.

  There was no way, absolutely no way, she could fight four Crimson Hunters. She couldn’t even fight one.

  But it didn’t matter because she was close enough.

  Sigaldra grabbed the corner of the altar, heaved herself around it, and flung herself into the Prophetess.

  Her short sword bounced away from the Prophetess’s wards, but Sigaldra herself did not. She just had time to see the green eyes widen in surprise, and Sigaldra slammed into the sorceress.

  Her weight and speed overpowered the Prophetess, and the sorceress fell, Sigaldra atop her. The Prophetess let out a shriek of fury and drove the red maethweisyr up, but Sigaldra slapped her hands aside and slammed her arms against the ground. She was stronger, far stronger, than this vain noblewoman who had relied upon servants and magic all her life. Sigaldra punched her in the face, and blood flew from the Prophetess’s mouth and nose as the back of her head bounced off the ground.

  That felt so good that Sigaldra wanted to do it again and again until her knuckles were raw, but she did not have time. Instead, she clamped her hands around the Prophetess’s neck, digging her thumbs into the sorceress’s windpipe. The Prophetess’s fingers seized Sigaldra’s wrists, her eyes bulging, her body heaving and bucking beneath Sigaldra’s legs as she struggled to break free. A horrible gagging sound came from the Prophetess’s mouth, and Sigaldra squeezed harder, driving her thumbs in with all her strength, hoping to feel something collapse against her grasp.

  The Prophetess released Sigaldra’s wrists and threw a hand towards her face, purple fire flashing around her fingers. The spell was feeble, but the blast of invisible force nonetheless clipped Sigaldra on the chest, knocking her hands free from the Prophetess’s throat. The Prophetess took a huge, sucking breath, and Sigaldra punched her again, but her aim was off and she only hit the other woman’s temple. The Prophetess raked her hand again, and the invisible force knocked Sigaldra to the ground. The Prophetess jerked to her feet, coughing and wheezing, and Sigaldra threw herself forward, tackling the sorceress around the waist. They both went into a heap on the ground once again, rolling over each other, clawing for advantage. Sigaldra seized the Prophetess’s belt, trying to flip the sorceress on her stomach and entangle her in her cloak.

  The Prophetess screamed as Sigaldra grabbed at her, and magical power erupted from her.

  The force hit Sigaldra like a charging horse. The spell flung her back, something hard still grasped in her fingers, and she hit the ground hard. She felt something snap in her left leg and screamed as pain shot up her leg and into her chest.

  “Kill her!” shrieked the Prophetess. “Kill her!”

  Sigaldra sat up, trying to stand, but her left leg hurt too much. She felt blood on her face and neck, and a throbbing pain on her left temple. There didn’t seem to be any undead soliphages nearby, but more Crimson Hunters had emerged from the Heart of the Spider, battling against Romaria and Azurvaltoria and the others while Mazael continued his furious duel with Rigoric.

  Four of the Crimson Hunters were coming for Sigaldra.

  She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t run. She had come so close to Liane, and she had failed. There was nothing left for her to do but die…

  A hard weight settled against her chest. The weight of her guilt, perhaps?

  No. It was a hard, curved weight.

  Sigaldra saw the curved thing resting in her lap, a broken leather strap dangling from its side. The thing was a curved war horn of some peculiar dark material, banded with gold at either end. It was not all that heavy, not really, but there was a strange sort of…gravity about the thing, a solemnity, almost like looking at a grave marker.

  It was the Horn of Doom and Fate.

  Sigaldra must have torn it from the Prophetess’s belt when the spell had flung her across the circle.

  The Crimson Hunters surged towards her, their mandibles snapping. Just one snap from those mandibles could bite off her head, and one thrust of those legs could spear her through the heart and pin her to the ground.

  It was over. It was over, and she was going to die.

  Liane had said she would know when to sound the Horn of Doom and Fate, that she would know when the moment had come.

  It seemed the moment had come because it was the last moment of Sigaldra’s life.

  She rotated the horn, lifted it to her mouth, took a deep breath, and blew into it.

  The wailing blast that came from the Horn was unlike anything she had ever heard, and the ground seemed to shake with it.

  Symbols of blazing golden fire, similar to those upon Mazael’s sword, came to life along the Horn’s length.

  Chapter 18: The Champion of the Goddess

  Talon once again rebounded from the Mask of the Champion, knocking Rigoric’s head back. Rigoric continued his relentless advance, his greatsword rising and falling as he attacked. Mazael kept retreating, trying to find a way to get at the Mask, and failing.

  If he did not find a way past Rigoric in the next few minutes, they were all going to die.

  Crimson Hunters had begun to emerge from the Heart of the Spider.

  Two of them battled Romaria and Azurvaltoria and the others, while four rushed towards Sigaldra. Mazael had lost sight of Adalar in the chaos, but he feared that the young knight had been killed. He would not have abandoned Sigaldra for any other reason. It took every bit of Mazael’s strength to keep ahead of Rigoric’s attacks. If even one of the Crimson Hunters went to aid Rigoric, then Mazael was finished, and Rigoric and the Crims
on Hunters would kill the rest of his companions in short order.

  Mazael prepared to charge, willing to accept even a serious wound in exchange for getting his hands on Rigoric’s head.

  Rigoric began another attack, and Mazael ducked, readying himself to charge.

  Then the wailing howl rang over the hilltop.

  Rigoric froze, as did Mazael, and even the Crimson Hunters came to a sudden cautious stop. The noise sounded like the wailing cry of a war horn, but Mazael had never heard a horn quite like this. It was deeper, far deeper, than any other horn he had ever heard. It made his bones and his teeth vibrate, and the hill beneath his boots seemed to tremble with the sound of the horn.

  Nothing mortal could make a sound like that.

  It had to be the Horn of Doom and Fate. The Prophetess had decided to sound it.

  Yet that didn’t make sense. Azurvaltoria had thought the Prophetess would use the Horn to summon the dead of Skuldar and offer them in service to Marazadra, but she had to summon Marazadra first to accomplish that. If she summoned the Skuldari shades now, Mazael didn’t know what would happen. Perhaps they would swarm through the ruined temple and overwhelm the skythains and wizards with Molly and Riothamus. Perhaps they would go berserk and attack everything in sight. Or perhaps the Horn would do nothing at all save to make an impressive noise.

  Mazael spotted the Prophetess standing near the altar, blood on her face, the crimson maethweisyr lying in the dirt near her boots. She was staring at Sigaldra, who sat slumped near one of the shrine stones, something round resting in her lap…

  She was sounding the Horn. Symbols of golden fire burned up and down the Horn’s curved length, seeming to flicker in time to the deep wailing note coming from the instrument. Sigaldra herself looked hurt, blood sheeting down the left side of her face from a nasty gash across her temple. Yet her eyes were closed, her face straining as she blew into the Horn.