“The destiny has changed,” she pronounced. “It is the nature of evil. Marazadra and the Prophetess sought to do great evil and summoned power for that. Yet evil can do good it did not intend, and so it has happened. The power she summoned wrought good that they did not intend.”
Sigaldra reached up a trembling hand and touched her father’s face. The skin was warm, the stubble rough beneath her fingers, and she felt his pulse, felt his breath.
He was alive. All the Jutai around her were alive.
“My daughters,” said Theodoric. “I do not understand how, but I am glad to see you again.”
He gathered Liane and Sigaldra in his arms, and she pressed her face into his chest and wept.
Chapter 20: The Last of the Jutai
“It is,” said Riothamus the next morning, gazing at the Horn of Doom and Fate, “a relic of the High Elderborn indeed.”
Mazael and the others had gathered in the southern fane of the Heart of the Spider, the skythains and their griffins patrolling overhead. He had no major fear of attack at the moment. Molly and Riothamus and the wizards had destroyed most of the soliphages and valgast priests and all of the Spider Guards. A host of thousands of valgasts had poured up the slopes of Mount Armyar, heading for the Heart of the Spider, only to encounter Azurvaltoria. The enraged dragon had needed to let out some frustrations, and she had incinerated thousands of the valgasts. The survivors fled in disarray back to Tchroth, and Azurvaltoria had flown away to the west, vanishing from sight.
Mazael wondered if he would ever see her again. The thought disappointed him more than he had expected. Still, she could do as she wished, so long as she did not harm the Grim Marches. Those lands were Mazael’s to protect.
As the Prophetess had found out the hard way.
Riothamus had laid the Horn upon a fallen stone, and they gathered around it. Molly stood next to her husband, and Mazael stood with Romaria and Earnachar and the others. The chief swordthains of the resurrected Jutai stood on the other side of the stone, gazing in wonderment at the Horn. Theodoric waited in their midst, stern and commanding, flanked by his sons. Sigaldra and Liane stood with their brothers, along with Adalar, and Sigaldra was holding Adalar’s hand.
Neither Theodoric nor his sons seemed to mind.
“How did it bring us back, Guardian?” said Theodoric. “For I was dead, as were all my men, I doubt it not.”
“Nor do I,” said Riothamus. “The Guardians of the High Elderborn, my predecessors, wrought this Horn in the deeps of time, during their bitter war against the Demonsouled and the Dark Elderborn. It was designed to be an instrument of final defense. When a stronghold fell to the enemy, one of the remaining warriors could sound the Horn and summon the shades of all those who had died in defense of the stronghold. Hopefully, that would inflict great losses upon the attackers.”
“We were shades,” said Theodoric, “but now we are flesh and blood. More, I remember nothing from the other side, and it has been years since my death.”
“Time does not function the same way for spirits as it does for living mortals,” said Riothamus. “Likely the Horn called your soul from the moment of your death, before it could cross to the life beyond, and brought it here. As to your bodies of flesh and blood, the Prophetess summoned a vast quantity of magical power to resurrect Marazadra in the body of your daughter. When Lord Mazael disrupted the spell, the power no longer had a viable receptacle. It had to go somewhere…and it went into you.”
One of Theodoric’s sons, the eldest one, frowned. “Then we shall become these spider-monsters?”
“No,” said Riothamus. “The power of the Mask of Marazadra is broken. To put it simply, Sigaldra and the Prophetess brought you back to this world, entirely by accident.”
“Though your aid was timely,” said Mazael. “Without your help, I don’t think we could have made our way past the Crimson Hunters and stopped the Prophetess from killing Liane.”
Theodoric shook his head. “It is…strange to think of such things, strange to speak of them. I died in our homeland in the middle lands, and I feared all my nation would die with me. And then a moment later I wake up here, in an alien land, with my daughters fighting for their lives against the foe. It is strange, yet it is marvelous. Truly it is a miracle beyond all reckoning.”
“And we have a homeland again, father,” said Sigaldra. “Lord Mazael has given us lands along Greatheart Keep. We can return there and be at peace.”
Her eyes fell on Earnachar as she spoke. The Tervingi headman muttered something but did not answer. Mazael had no doubt that Earnachar would behave, especially since Theodoric would return to Greatheart Keep with seven hundred Jutai swordthains, all that the Horn had summoned.
Yet would the other Tervingi headmen hold themselves in check?
Mazael wasn’t sure. If enough of the Tervingi headmen decided that the Jutai now posed a threat, they might try to attack preemptively and present Mazael with a done deed. He would make them regret it, of course, but that might not stop them.
It was a problem to consider for later.
“We would be willing to follow you, Mazael Cravenlock,” said Theodoric. “Sigaldra says the survivors of the Jutai have already sworn to you as their hrould, and from what I have seen, you are a fell warrior. You would make a worthy hrould.”
“Thank you,” said Mazael. “Then as hrould, I give you my first command. Prepare your men to depart. We are leaving Skuldar and returning to the Grim Marches.”
“An excellent plan, father,” said Molly. “Just how are we going to get this many men past Armalast and into the Grim Marches?”
“Very carefully,” said Mazael.
Molly sighed.
###
As it happened, it took only three days to get from the Heart of the Spider back to the camp at Weaver’s Pass. Basjun’s knowledge of the paths of the Skuldari Mountains proved useful, and soon they returned to the Weaver’s Vale. Several times they encountered Skuldari warbands, but the warriors backed off, unwilling to challenge so many. It seemed that with Basracus dead, the various clans and chieftains of the Skuldari had turned to warring with each other.
“I must return home, sir,” said Basjun as they reached Weaver’s Pass and began descending towards the Grim Marches. “With the High King dead, his followers and the priests of Marazadra will wage war against each other to succeed him. If the secret church acts now, perhaps we can carve out a portion of Skuldar free from the influence of the priests of the goddess and the soliphages.”
“If you want my help, tell your father he needs only to ask,” said Mazael.
“I shall, sir,” said Basjun. “Perhaps you shall be lord of at least part of Skuldar before the end. You rid us of both the High King and the Prophetess. Everyone in the secret church would be glad of your help.”
“My offer still stands,” said Mazael. “If you want to come to Castle Cravenlock and become master of the kennels, you are more than welcome.” Crouch barked his approval at the thought.
“Thank you, sir,” said Basjun, “but for now, I will return to my father.” He paused for a moment, frowning behind his black beard. “I think Skuldar is about to change, and I think it will change for the better. For too long we have hidden in our mountains, listening to the soliphages and the priests of Marazadra. Perhaps it is time we dealt more with the outside world, and not just smugglers like my father.”
“I think,” said Mazael, “that you are a wise young man, Basjun. Good luck.”
“Good luck, sir.”
They returned to the camp at Weaver’s Pass, and Mazael issued orders for his vassals to return to their homes. The Skuldari and the Prophetess had been defeated, and at an only minimal cost to the lords and knights and headmen and thains of the Grim Marches. Mazael spent the first day back at the camp in his pavilion, dictating letters to his scribes. When they had departed, he sat in his camp chair with a sigh, reaching for a cup of wine.
“I had no idea you were so industrious.�
�
Mazael looked up from the cup of wine.
Azurvaltoria sat in a chair across the table, again wearing the form of the black-haired young Skuldari woman, her lean body wrapped in a coat of crimson leather.
Mazael took a drink of wine and set the cup down. “I had no idea we would ever see you again.”
Azurvaltoria shrugged. “It had been a while since I was able to fly. It’s much more enjoyable than walking. Then I saw those valgasts swarming towards the Heart of the Spider, and I got carried away.”
“Since it resulted in a lot of dead valgasts,” said Mazael, “I’m not going to complain. Wine?”
She smiled. “How very chivalrous.” Mazael poured her a cup and passed it across the table. “You know, while in human form, I have taken lovers before.”
“Have you?” said Mazael. This was more information than he had wanted to know.
“And we are alone,” said Azurvaltoria, smiling over the wine cup.
“As I’ve told you before,” said Mazael, “I’m married. And if you are that eager for the company of a human man, go visit poor Basjun. You gave him enough grief for staring at you.”
Azurvaltoria laughed. “No, no, I think not.” She took a drink of wine. “I think I would prefer a mate of my own kind if one can be found.”
“Where will you go?” said Mazael.
“I don’t know,” said Azurvaltoria. She swirled the wine in the cup. “It’s a wide world, and I’ve been trapped in a very small part of it for a very long time. Perhaps I shall wander for a few decades.”
“You are welcome here,” said Mazael, “so long as you do not eat anyone in the Grim Marches.”
The dragon in human form laughed. “Perhaps a cow or two.”
“Only if you buy it first,” said Mazael.
That made her laugh harder. “I wouldn’t dream of hurting a single hair upon the head of anyone in the Grim Marches, Mazael Cravenlock. Do you know why the Prophetess failed? She would have triumphed, but she made one serious mistake.”
“She cheated at your game in the caverns of Veiled Mountain?” said Mazael. “We would not have gotten as far as we did without your help.”
“Even before that,” said Azurvaltoria. “She kidnapped Liane.”
Mazael shrugged. “She needed a girl with the Sight.”
“There are other scattered throughout the world,” said Azurvaltoria. “Our dear Lady Celina should have looked harder. Because when she kidnapped Liane, she kidnapped someone under your protection, and she brought your wrath down upon her head. Do you see now why I will not attack or consume anyone in the Grim Marches? I would not want you for an enemy.”
Mazael snorted. “You’re a dragon.”
“I would not want you for an enemy,” said Azurvaltoria.
They sat in silence for a while, and Mazael inclined his head.
The pavilion’s flap swung open, and Romaria stepped inside.
“Ah,” she said, looking at Azurvaltoria. “I thought the Sight detected you.”
“Lady Romaria,” said Azurvaltoria. “I came to say farewell and thank you…and to give you a warning.”
“A warning about what?” said Mazael.
“Other dark powers,” said Azurvaltoria. “Your father had many, many enemies, and none of them could defeat him. He destroyed some, but locked away many others…and now that he is slain, other dark powers might try to claim their share of the world. Marazadra was not the only one, nor even the most powerful. Be wary, Lord of Castle Cravenlock. You shall need your sword again soon enough.”
Mazael started to respond, and Azurvaltoria vanished without a trace, just as she had when masquerading as Mother Volaria.
“Do all dragons enjoy a dramatic exit?” said Mazael, scowling at the empty seat. “Or just her?”
Romaria laughed, crossed the tent, settled herself on his lap, and draped her arms over his shoulders. “I think dragons do as they wish. Are you done for the day?” She smiled and kissed him. “We haven’t been alone together for a while now.”
“I just have to talk to Adalar,” said Mazael.
“I think Adalar’s going to be busy for a while,” said Romaria.
“Really? Doing what?”
Romaria smiled.
###
Adalar stopped next to the crackling bonfire. Theodoric stood there, warming his hands against the flames. Night had fallen over the Grim Marches, though it still remained hot and dry, the wind carrying a harsh edge to it.
“Lord Adalar,” said Theodoric. “Welcome to our camp, such as it is.” Mazael had provided tents for the Jutai once they arrived, though finding enough had been something of a strain for the quartermaster.
“Hrould,” said Adalar. It seemed that Theodoric would remain a hrould, even though he would swear to Mazael. One hrould could swear to another, much as one lord could swear to another.
“It is good to see you,” said Theodoric, his face grave. “It seems we are to settle upon your father’s lands, so it is proper that we shall get to know each other.”
“They’re not my father’s lands any longer,” said Adalar. “They belong to the Jutai.” He took a deep breath. “About that. You know that the lands of the Jutai are surrounded by the Tervingi.”
“Lord Mazael will keep the peace,” said Theodoric.
“Lord Mazael cannot be everywhere at once,” said Adalar, “and the Jutai and the Tervingi are…not fond of one another.”
“No,” said Theodoric. “In ancient days, when both our nations were stronger, we often warred against each other. I fear the enmity has become bitter since the crimes of the hrould Ragnachar and his followers.”
“There will be a war between you and the Tervingi eventually,” said Adalar, “and even Mazael might not be able to stop it.”
“I know all this,” said Theodoric. “I assume you intend to do something about it.”
“Yes,” said Adalar. “Hrould…I would invite you and all the Jutai who are willing to come to settle near Castle Dominus, in the lands I hold for Lord Gerald. The runedead wiped out most of the people of those lands, and many long leagues lie desolate and abandoned. You would have ample room to settle and grow. You would have to swear to myself and Lord Gerald Roland as your hroulds, of course, but Lord Gerald would leave you in peace, save when you need to march alongside his other vassals to war.”
“It would be an arrangement similar to the one the Tervingi have with Lord Mazael,” said Theodoric.
“Yes,” said Adalar. “And Lord Gerald holds the supreme authority in Mastaria and Knightcastle. The Tervingi could not attack you without drawing Lord Gerald’s wrath, and since Lord Gerald is married to Mazael’s sister, neither of them would ever allow it. For that matter, Castle Dominus is a long way from the Grim Marches, and the Jutai would be far from the Tervingi. There are many other foes to trouble the Tervingi long before they ever turn their attention to you.”
Theodoric inclined his head. “You speak wisdom, Lord Adalar. I will accept your proposal, assuming the swordthains of the Jutai nation and Lord Mazael himself approve. But I do not think they will disagree.”
Adalar nodded. That had been the easy part. “There is…one other matter I wish to discuss with you, hrould.”
“Oh?” said the old warrior. “What else?”
Best to say it as quickly as possible. “I wish to marry your daughter.”
Theodoric regarded him without blinking for a moment.
“Not yet,” he said. “Liane is almost of age, but not quite yet. Another year or two, I think, and she will be ready. Until…”
“No!” said Adalar. “I mean…” He took a deep breath. “I meant Sigaldra, hrould. I want to marry Sigaldra.”
For another moment Theodoric stared at him, and then for the first time, the old warrior smiled.
“I know,” he said. “That was obvious. Forgive me. It has been a while since I have been able to amuse myself.”
“Yes,” said Adalar. “About that…”
“I think,” said Theodoric, “that Sigaldra has quite made up her own mind. My oldest daughter was always willful.” He gestured at one of the tents in the Jutai encampment. “Perhaps you should speak with her on the topic.”
“I shall,” said Adalar. “Thank you.”
Theodoric nodded, and Adalar crossed the camp to Sigaldra’s tent, the talchweisyr thumping against his back in its scabbard. “Sigaldra?”
“Come in,” came her voice.
Adalar lifted the flap and stepped into the narrow tent. A bedroll rested against one wall, alongside a wooden chest, and a bronze brazier gave off a dim light. Sigaldra rose from the chest where she had been sitting, her feet bare. She had traded her traveling clothes for a loose shirt and skirt that looked more comfortable.
“Adalar.” She smiled at him. “You talked to my father, didn’t you?”
“I did.” He stepped closer, hesitated. “I asked the Jutai to come to Mastaria, Sigaldra. The lands there are empty, and you should be able to live in peace, away from the Tervingi or anyone else. You will have to swear to Lord Gerald, and your thains will have to fight in his armies, but he is a just lord, and the Tervingi will not trouble you.”
He half-expected disapproval, but instead she smiled, her eyes glinting in the light from the brazier. “Adalar. That is very generous. Thank you.”
Adalar nodded. His mouth had gone dry. Her skin seemed to glow in the dim light from the brazier. He noticed that she had bathed since they had arrived in the camp, and he realized that she smelled of some delicate perfume.
“Did my father say anything else?” said Sigaldra.
“I asked him if I could marry you,” said Adalar.
She raised her eyebrows. “And you didn’t think to ask me? I should be offended, Lord Adalar.”
“Fine,” said Adalar. He closed the distance between them, put his arms around her, drew her close, and kissed her. His heart sounded like a drumbeat in his ears. He pulled away from her, and Sigaldra let out a little gasp, her lips parted. “Marry me.”
Mask of Spells (Mask of the Demonsouled #3) Page 29
