Mask of Swords

by Jonathan Moeller

  The Guardian leveled his staff and loosed a burst of brilliant golden fire at the Prophetess, but the black-robed woman was already casting another spell, and she vanished in a ripple of distorted air. Sigaldra could not tell if the Prophetess had traveled away using magic as Lady Molly did or if she had simply turned invisible, but she knew that the sorceress would go after Liane.

  Sigaldra ran forward, but Rigoric sprang into the air, and the Crimson Hunters shot forward in a black blur.

  ###

  The attack came so fast that Mazael could barely react.

  Rigoric landed before him like a thunderbolt, and Mazael just got Talon up in time to parry the hulking warrior’s furious attack. Steel clanged against the dragon claw of his blade, and Mazael retreated. Rigoric did not give him a moment to catch his breath, and Mazael had no choice but to keep retreating. Romaria loosed an arrow at him, and the shaft sank into Rigoric’s left shoulder. The orcragar reached up and snapped off the shaft without looking, and bladed steel threads sprouted from his mask, sinking into his neck and shoulders. He showed no sign of pain. The orcragar never showed any sign of pain, never made any sound of discomfort.

  Perhaps the mask blocked his voice. Perhaps he never stopped screaming.

  Mazael launched a slash at Rigoric’s face, and the orcragar did not get his blades up in time. Talon struck the mask with enough force to split a normal man’s head in twain. Yet Talon rebounded the mask, though the blow had enough force to snap Rigoric’s head back. Mazael ripped Talon across Rigoric’s throat, blood spraying from the wound, yet more steel threads wound down from the mask and sealed the gash shut. Even that did not slow the orcragar down, and he stabbed with both blades. Mazael managed to parry one, but the other struck his chest. His armor turned the blade, but the sheer power of the strike rocked him back.

  Mazael caught his balance and prepared to hit back, and then the nearest Crimson Hunter crashed into Arnulf’s thains. The spearthains bellowed and stabbed their weapons, but the steel points rebounded from the giant spider’s obsidian armor. The creature lashed out with its bladed legs and pincers, and three men fell dead in as many heartbeats. The Crimson Hunter charged at Mazael, and he dodged the lash of its bladed legs, swinging his sword in a two-handed blow. He expected his sword to rebound from its armored hide as the spears had, but instead the golden sigils upon the dark blade flared brighter, and Talon ripped through the Crimson Hunter’s armored hide, glowing crimson slime bubbling from the wound.

  That was bad. The others had blades of steel, but Mazael’s was enhanced with magic. If he had the only weapon that could harm the Crimson Hunters…

  Riothamus’s voice rolled out over the square, and he gripped his staff with both hands, raised it high, and struck the end against the ground. A thunderclap echoed through the village, and a ring of golden fire rolled out from him. It passed through both the men and the giant spiders without touching them, but the fire clung to their blades, wreathing them in brilliant golden fires.

  “Strike!” said Riothamus, the same fire playing about his staff as he maintained the spell. “Your weapons will harm them! Strike!”

  Mazael ducked under the Crimson Hunter’s furious swipe, only to find himself face to face with Rigoric once more. The wounds he had dealt to the orcragar had vanished, and Rigoric pressed his attack with vigor.

  ###

  Golden fire thrummed up and down Adalar’s greatsword, the hilt seeming to vibrate beneath his gauntlets.

  It reminded him of the day of the Great Rising, the day that the Guardian had spread the blue fire of Mazael’s sword Lion to every blade in the world. Then the blue fire had allowed them to fight off the runedead. Now the effort seemed to strain the Guardian, his face taut as if he was struggling under a heavy load. Adalar did not know how much longer the Guardian could maintain the spell.

  Best to put the time to good use, then.

  He charged at the nearest Crimson Hunter, Wesson and Arnulf at his side. The hulking creature wheeled to face him, its bladed legs slashing, and Adalar swung. His golden-burning sword sheared though one of the legs, severing it at the base, and the Crimson Hunter shrieked, its pincers snapping a few inches from his face. Adalar stepped back, trying to recover his balance before the Crimson Hunter bit off his head, but the creature was too fast. One of its surviving legs swept beneath his knees and knocked him over. The giant spider stooped over him, and would have torn off his head, but Wesson’s mace smashed down and snapped off one of its pincers. The Crimson Hunter went into a wild, thrashing dance, its legs hammering down, killing an armsman that took a slash at its flank.

  Adalar rolled to the side and seized his greatsword, the vibration of the golden flame traveling up his arm. The Crimson Hunter turned towards its attackers, limping a bit from its severed legs, and Adalar seized its back and vaulted up. The glossy hide felt deathly cold beneath him, as if it had been wrought of black ice, and the peculiar crimson hourglass mark seemed to glow. The giant spider reared up, trying to dislodge him, but Adalar locked his legs in place, raised his greatsword high, and drove the blade down with all his strength. The sword plunged through the creature’s abdomen and into its head, and the Crimson Hunter loosed a hideous wailing shriek. A violent convulsion went through the cold body, and the force of it sent Adalar flying. He hit the ground, his armor clattering, and rolled to his feet, preparing to dodge the Crimson Hunter’s next attack.

  But the huge spider was motionless.

  “I think,” panted Wesson, “I think you killed the damned thing.”

  The Crimson Hunter unraveled into nothingness, vanishing into a swirl of gray mist. Adalar’s greatsword clanged to the ground as the creature faded away. The Hunter had been a creature of the spirit world, he realized, and its death had sent its corpse back to the spirit realm.

  Yet there were still two more Crimson Hunters.

  Adalar snatched up his greatsword and ran into the battle.

  ###

  Sigaldra loosed arrow after arrow, the shafts flying from her bow in blazes of golden fire.

  Her bow seemed like a puny weapon against the giant spiders, and her arrows couldn’t possibly be doing much injury to the Crimson Hunters. Yet the Guardian’s magic snarled around her shafts, and the arrows actually penetrated the spiders’ gleaming black hide. Sigaldra did not like the Tervingi and she did not trust magic, but she was nonetheless grateful for the Guardian’s presence. Without his magic, she suspected the Crimson Hunters would have killed everyone in Greatheart Keep.

  They still might.

  One of the giant spiders speared a Jutai bondsman through the chest, its leg penetrating him like a massive black spear. A second blow sent a Tervingi swordthain motionless to the ground, the man’s skull crushed, and one of Mazael’s armsmen fell dying, green foam bubbling around his lips as the Crimson Hunter’s poison did its work. Sigaldra sent another arrow at the giant spider, the shaft sinking into its thorax, and the huge creature shook itself with annoyance. The head, she had to aim for the head. She needed to land a killing blow on the creature, or distract it long enough for someone else to do so. Adalar had already killed one in a display of daring valor, but the other two were holding their own.

  The Prophetess had vanished. Sigaldra had no doubt that the sorceress had gone to abduct Liane while her minions fought and died. Everything the Prophetess had done had been about claiming Liane. Perhaps she had even allied with Earnachar simply because of the Tervingi headman’s interest in claiming the lands of Greatheart Keep. Sigaldra hoped that Earnachar had died for his folly.

  They all might die for his folly.

  Sigaldra put an arrow into the Crimson Hunter’s head, and the creature’s gleaming eyes turned towards her. She felt the creature’s malevolent attention wash over like a freezing river, and its legs bunched as it prepared to tear her apart. Before it could move, Adalar and Wesson and his men attacked from the left and Arnulf and his thains from the right. The Crimson Hunter lashed out, killing one of the arms
men, but Adalar’s burning greatsword tore a massive gash down its side. The creature reared up, and Arnulf darted beneath its flailing legs and sank his broadsword to the hilt into its flank.

  Sigaldra seized the opportunity to put another arrow into its belly.

  “Holdmistress!”

  She saw Talchar One-Eye and the wizard Timothy hurrying into the square. Mazael and Rigoric still danced in their furious duel, steel clanging and blood flying.

  “The valgasts are retreating back into their tunnels,” said Talchar, “and the Skuldari are fleeing, at least those that escaped the mammoths. What the devil are those things?”

  “Spirit-creatures of great power and potency,” said Timothy.

  “Do you have any spells that would work against them?” said Sigaldra.

  “Possibly,” said Timothy, “though nothing as effective as the spells the Guardian has already…”

  “Use them!” said Sigaldra, sending another arrow at the nearest Crimson Hunter. “The Prophetess has gone to the keep. We have to stop her.”

  Timothy nodded and began casting a spell, and Sigaldra drew still another arrow.

  ###

  A maze of steel threads wound their way beneath Rigoric’s skin, and to Mazael’s alarm, the masked warrior was getting faster.

  It had something to do with that strange mask. The bladed filaments erupted from its surface whenever Mazael dealt a wound to Rigoric. The wounds closed in time, healed by whatever power gave Rigoric his inhuman strength and speed, but those steel threads wove their way into his skin. Perhaps they were like conduits, pouring magical power into his flesh.

  Which meant if Mazael was going to defeat him, he had to find a way to remove or destroy that mask.

  He blocked another swipe from Rigoric’s broadswords and stepped back, watching his deadly opponent. Even without magical enhancement, Rigoric would have been a dangerous foe. His bladework was masterful, his footwork precise, his movements controlled and disciplined. Very few men could fight competently with two swords of equal length, especially with weapons as heavy as broadswords, yet Rigoric wielded them with the speed of a man fighting with daggers. Combined with his magical augmentation and his inhuman healing speed, and Mazael was not sure he could have taken Rigoric in a straight fight.

  Fortunately, he was not alone.

  Riothamus was busy maintaining the spell around the men fighting the Crimson Hunters, but Romaria circled around Mazael and Rigoric, shooting an arrow whenever the opportunity presented itself. Molly disappeared and reappeared around the orcragar, striking at him and then disappearing once more. Yet her attacks were not as effective as they could have been. Rigoric’s mask seemed to grant him the ability to sense where Molly would reappear, and he was almost always ready for her attacks. Yet Molly distracted him, and despite his inhuman prowess, Rigoric could only split his attention in so many directions at once, and when Molly distracted him, Romaria sent an arrow into his chest, or Mazael landed a blow with Talon.

  Yet none of it seemed to slow Rigoric. Mazael had hit him in the face several times, but Talon had not even scratched that mask of swords. Their battle hung in the balance as the men struggled against the remaining Crimson Hunters. The giant spiders were wreaking an appalling amount of carnage, and Mazael wanted to aid his men. Rigoric dodged around an arrow, and Mazael attacked, ducking under the sweep of a broadsword and coming up with a swing of his own. Talon opened a gash in Rigoric’s neck, cutting through the peculiar steel filaments like string. The orcragar rocked back, and Mazael pressed the attack. Yet the wound upon Rigoric’s neck sealed shut, the steel threads writhing through his skin, and he recovered his balance and regained the offensive. Mazael danced aside as a sword opened his left forearm, pain flooding up his arm, and lashed out with Talon. The orcragar backed away, and an idea came to Mazael.

  He could not get the mask off Rigoric’s face, but there might be another way.

  “Molly!” he shouted, Talon raised his guard. Romaria loosed another arrow, and Rigoric swatted it aside.

  Molly appeared next to Mazael in a flicker of darkness, sweat glittering on her forehead.

  “Remember when we fought in Arylkrad?” said Mazael.

  “All too well,” said Molly.

  Mazael looked at Rigoric, backing away as the orcragar advanced, and then glanced at Molly.

  His daughter blinked, and then she grinned. “Ah. I understand.”

  She sidestepped and vanished.

  Rigoric charged at Mazael, and he backed away, sword flying as he parried and dodged. Rigoric landed several minor hits, blood flowing from Mazael’s cuts, the blades ringing against the golden scales of his armor. Mazael kept retreating as Romaria circled around them, trying to get a clear shot.

  Suddenly Rigoric glanced to the side and stopped his advance. Molly appeared out of the shadows, and Rigoric whirled to face her, his swords coming up to block. Yet Molly dropped her weapons and dove, slamming into Rigoric’s knees. The impact rocked the orcragar, but only briefly, and he reversed his swords and prepared to bring them plunging into Molly’s back.

  Molly disappeared in a swirl of darkness, and this time she took Rigoric with her.

  They both reappeared a few yards away. Molly gasped in exhaustion and rolled away as Rigoric’s blades came stabbing down. Rigoric, disorientated by his journey through the shadows, lost his balance, his blades clanging off the ground, and Mazael had his chance to strike.

  He ran forward, all his weight and strength behind the blow, and swung Talon with both hands. The curved blade sank into Rigoric’s neck, and Mazael ripped the weapon free and swung once, twice, three times more.

  Rigoric’s head rolled away in a trail of blood, and his massive body collapsed to the earth with the clang of armor.

  Mazael stepped back, breathing hard, and Molly reclaimed her weapons and scrambled to her feet. The steel threads dangling from Rigoric’s mask writhed and twitched like metallic tentacles.

  “That worked,” said Molly.

  Mazael shrugged. “Couldn’t get his mask off his face, so I figured it would be easier to get his head off his shoulders.”

  “Mazael,” said Romaria. “Don’t touch the corpse.” Her blue eyes glimmered in the light of the fires within the burning houses. “The magic in the mask. It’s…”

  Gray mist swirled around Rigoric’s head and corpse, and when it cleared both his head, his corpse, and the mask of swords were gone, though the bloodstains still marked the earth.

  “What the hell?” said Mazael. “He was a spirit creature?”

  “No,” said Romaria. “He was a mortal man. But the mask was powerful. It…I think it might be powerful enough to heal him.”

  Mazael shared a look with Molly. Their Demonsouled blood could heal almost anything, given enough time, but it could not heal decapitation. Just how much power did that mask of swords contain?

  “We will figure it out later,” said Mazael. “Right now we have a battle to win.”

  He turned towards the remaining Crimson Hunters.

  ###

  A second Crimson Hunter went down, speared upon the blade of Adalar’s sword. He and Wesson and Talchar One-Eye had maneuvered around the creature, leading the thains and the armsmen in an attack while Timothy harassed the creature with minor spells. At last Adalar had been able to drive his greatsword through the creature’s head, and it collapsed in death, dissolving back into the spirit world. Across the courtyard, Mazael led the rest of his men in an attack on the final Crimson Hunter, while Lady Molly flickered around it in a haze of shadows.

  Which meant that the path was open to the keep.

  “Talchar!” shouted Sigaldra. “Take command here!”

  She did not wait for an answer, but sprinted across the square, jumping over the dead valgasts and the men who had been slain in the fighting. Her heart hammered against her ribs, her bow creaking beneath her fingers. Liane was in the keep, along with those too old or sick or young to fight. If the Prophetess had gone t
o get Liane, she would kill anyone who was in her path. Sigaldra scrambled up the path to the keep, drawing an arrow and setting it to the string of her bow. She would have to be quick. One arrow through the Prophetess’s heart. If she hesitated, if she let the sorceress bring her magic to bear, than Sigaldra was dead and Liane was lost.

  Sigaldra slowed as she approached the doors to the great hall. They stood partly ajar, firelight leaking out into the deepening dusk. Sigaldra took a deep breath, calming herself and forcing her hands to stillness as her father and brothers had taught her.

  One shot. She would only get one shot.

  She glided through the doors, bow ready in her hands, the arrow resting upon its string.

  The great hall of the keep was silent, the trophies and captured weapons throwing black shadows across the wall in the firelight of the hearths. Men and women and children lay motionless upon the floor, and for a horrified instant, Sigaldra thought that the Prophetess had killed them all. Yet their chests still rose and fell, and Sigaldra realized they were only unconscious. The Prophetess must have stunned them with a spell.

  A shadow moved at the far end of the hall, and the Prophetess herself stepped closer. Liane floated in the air next to her, bound in the grasp of the Prophetess’s magic. She was unconscious, as was everyone else in the hall. Perhaps the Prophetess had simply cast her spell over the entire keep.

  She had not yet noticed Sigaldra.

  In one fluid motion, Sigaldra raised her bow, drew back her string, and released. The arrow hissed across the hall and slammed into the Prophetess’s chest.

  Or it would have, had the air around the Prophetess not rippled, tearing the arrow to splinters. The sorceress looked up, her green eyes growing wide, and Sigaldra threw aside her bow and drew her short sword, charging across the hall. Again and again she had seen the Prophetess’s spells block arrows, but perhaps they would not stop a blade of good steel.