Mask of Swords

by Jonathan Moeller

  The Prophetess sneered, her mask of serenity falling to reveal irritated contempt.

  “Pathetic,” she said, and gestured.

  Invisible bands of force seized Sigaldra, lifted her into the air, and ripped the sword from her grasp. Sigaldra tried to fight, tried even to scream, but the Prophetess’s power clamped her mouth shut. The sorceress stalked closer, Liane floating after her.

  “What vermin you are,” said the Prophetess. All trace of her previous calmness had vanished, and there was nothing but loathing and rage upon her face. “You filthy barbarians, Jutai and Tervingi both. I cannot believe Mazael allowed you to settle upon his land. He should have killed you all. A Travian lord would have killed you all. You…”

  Her voice trailed off, and her eyelids fluttered, sweat dripping down her face. The Prophetess shook her head and raked a hand through her hair. She looked exhausted. The effort of all the magic she had cast recently must have finally caught up with her.

  “This would have been so much easier,” said the Prophetess, “if you had just married Liane to that idiot Earnachar like I had planned. He never would have touched her, you know. I would have killed the fool as soon as I no longer needed him. All I needed him to do was to get Liane before anyone could stop me.” She gave a disgusted shake of her head. “You wretched, useless barbarians. By the goddess, what miserable savages you are. You’re worse than the Skuldari – at least most of them are loyal to the goddess.”

  Sigaldra tried to scream, tried to fight. The best she could manage was a small grunt.

  The Prophetess laughed. “Still, you can take solace in this. I am glad Mazael did not exterminate you barbarian vermin, because that saved your sister’s life…and your sister is special. She is the one I have sought.” She smiled and tapped Sigaldra’s forehead. “Look at you. What a worthless thing you are. The best you can aspire to is to be a brood mare for some barbarian thug like Earnachar. But your sister…ah, she has a greater destiny. She shall be the instrument for the return of the goddess. I have a child gifted with the Sight, I have the catalyst, and soon I shall have the Mask of Marazadra. And then,” her eyes seemed to shine with something like lust, “and then the goddess will return, and then we shall have order in the world.”

  Sigaldra wrenched against the invisible spell.

  “But you,” said the Prophetess, stepping past her, “will not be there to see it. I suppose you would chase me like one of the imbecilic shieldmaidens from the barbarous songs your nation loves so much. That could be inconvenient, thought I would enjoy watching the Skuldari torture you to death.” She turned towards the doors, Liane floating motionless and unconscious after her. “Farewell, holdmistress of the Jutai.” The Prophetess lifted her hand, flames burning atop her palm as her face tightened with the strain of one more spell. “The entire purpose of your nation was to produce your sister, the key to the return of the goddess. The rest of you can die forgotten and…”

  Something clicked.

  An instant later a crossbow quarrel slammed into the side of the Prophetess’s chest. The sorceress fell back with a shocked scream, her green eyes wide with alarm. The spell holding Sigaldra vanished, and she hit the floor hard, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs.

  Adalar stood in the doorway, a crossbow in his hands. He discarded the weapon and raced into the hall, drawing his greatsword from its sheath. Sigaldra got to her knees and snatched her fallen short sword, fury driving her on.

  The Prophetess staggered back, grabbed Liane, and cast a spell. Both the Prophetess and Liane turned hazy and insubstantial, wraiths wrought out of mist and pale light. Sigaldra yelled and stabbed at the Prophetess, but her blade passed through the sorceress as if she was not there.

  Even in her ghostly form, Sigaldra saw the smirk on the Prophetess’s features. The sorceress took Liane and fled through the wall, passing through the stonework as if it were not there.

  “No,” spat Sigaldra, “no, no, no.”

  She sprinted out of the hall and back onto the hilltop, but the Prophetess was long gone.

  ###

  Mazael raised Talon, calling for another charge, when the last Crimson Hunter shuddered.

  The giant spider had a score of wounds carved into its armored hide, but none of them had slowed it. Yet now it began to twitch and shudder. Perhaps the wounds had done it more harm than Mazael had thought.

  It vanished in a swirl of gray mist, leaving Mazael and the others alone with the dead.

  Riothamus lowered his staff with a sigh, the golden flames vanishing from the weapons of the knights and armsmen and thains.

  “What happened?” said Mazael. “Did we kill it?”

  “No,” said Riothamus. “The spell holding it here was canceled.”

  “Then someone killed the Prophetess?” said Molly.

  “Or she needed the power binding the Crimson Hunter to cast another spell,” said Riothamus.

  “To escape, perhaps,” said Mazael.

  He let out a quiet curse. They had saved Greatheart Keep and the Jutai, driving off the attackers. The battle had been won.

  The war, he suspected, was about to begin.

  Chapter 20: Debts To Pay

  “Bring him,” said Mazael.

  Two days after the battle, he stood in the hall of Greatheart Keep. There was a great deal of work to be done. The dead had to be buried. The Jutai dead had to be burned, their ashes interned in their families’ ancestral urns. The damaged houses had to be rebuilt. At least there was not yet a crop in the ground, and the fires had not damaged the barns storing the seed. Greatheart Keep would be rebuilt in time. Dozens of Jutai had been killed and wounded in the fighting, but the Jutai would recover.

  Assuming, of course, the Skuldari did not overrun the Grim Marches.

  Riders had come to Greatheart Keep, bearing messages from the western Grim Marches. Bands of raiders had been seen on the borders with Skuldar, some of them accompanied by valgasts and soliphages. For the first time in living memory, the Skuldari were stirring from their homeland, and they intended to turn their eyes toward the Grim Marches.

  Mazael intended to stop them.

  The two armsmen he had commanded bowed and left the hall, leaving Mazael alone with Romaria, Adalar, Sigaldra, and Timothy. Adalar leaned upon his sheathed greatsword almost as if it was a staff. He had spoken little since the battle, his expression grim. Mazael suspected he blamed himself for the Prophetess’s escape. He shouldn’t – the Prophetess would have escaped in any event, and his intervention had saved Sigaldra’s life.

  Sigaldra said nothing as well, standing motionless at the edge of the dais. Mazael doubted that Sigaldra had slept. She had spent every moment with her people, directing the repairs.

  She had almost ridden out in pursuit of the Prophetess. Mazael had thought to dissuade her, but in the end Sigaldra had dissuaded herself. Neither Romaria nor Riothamus had been able to find any trace of the Prophetess’s trail. The sorceress was too skilled with cloaking spells, and Mazael had no doubt that she would could heal the wound that Adalar’s crossbow had inflicted upon her.

  Mazael intended to find her, recover Liane, and stop the Skuldari.

  First, though, he needed to know where to start.

  A moment later the armsmen returned with Earnachar. The Tervingi headman had lost none of his fierceness nor his bluster in defeat, and he glared at them. Sigaldra took a deep breath, her hand brushing the hilt of the short sword at her belt.

  “Steady,” said Mazael. He knew what she was thinking.

  Sigaldra gave a sharp nod, not meeting his eyes.

  “The goddess will destroy you,” said Earnachar, glaring at them. “All of you.”

  “She did a poor job of it so far,” said Sigaldra, “seeing as we are still here.”

  Earnachar grinned at her. “But your sister isn’t, is she?”

  Sigaldra started forward, reaching for her sword, and Adalar stepped to her side.

  “Wait a moment,” said Mazael. “R
omaria?”

  “It’s still inside of him,” said Romaria.

  Mazael nodded. “Hold him steady.” The armsmen gripped Earnachar’s arms and forced him to his knees. “Timothy.”

  The wizard followed Mazael from the dais. Earnachar started to snarl a threat, but Mazael pinched his nose shut and wrenched his jaw open. A small part of his mind, actually a rather large part, wanted to crush the man’s skull. Instead he held the struggling headman in place as Timothy poured a vile-smelling potion down his throat. Mazael stepped back, and Earnachar started coughing.

  “Are you trying to poison me?” said Earnachar. “This is dishonorable! This is…this is…”

  He started gagging, then choking, and then heaved forward with such force that he ripped free of the armsmen. Earnachar landed on his hands and knees, still coughing. His eyes bulged and his face turned red, and he started gagging.

  Mazael gave him a sharp blow between the shoulders.

  The heart spider burst from his mouth and landed upon the flagstones with a wet splat. The ugly little creature went into a spastic dance, and before it could escape, Mazael brought his boot down upon it.

  The crunching noise echoed through the hall, and Earnachar flopped onto his back with a groan.

  “Now,” said Mazael when Earnachar had caught his breath, “I suppose you are ready to talk.”

  “Where is my sister?” said Sigaldra, stepping forward. Her hand hovered near the hilt of her sword. Mazael would have to keep her from killing Earnachar until the Tervingi headman had told them everything useful. After that, he hadn’t yet decided if he was going to let Sigaldra kill Earnachar. “Where did your damned Prophetess take my sister?”

  “What?” said Earnachar, staggering to his feet. “Hrould? What…what the devil am I doing here?” He shook his head. “I have such a headache. How much did I drink?”

  “Do not play dumb with me, you blithering fool!” said Sigaldra. “Where is my sister?”

  “You,” said Earnachar, swaying a bit on his feet. “The Jutai whore. Why…”

  Sigaldra did not scream, did not curse. Her face went utterly flat, and she drew her sword and stepped forward, drawing back the blade to stab. Earnachar scowled and reached for his weapons, but he did not have any.

  Mazael had expected this, and he caught Sigaldra’s wrist.

  “Let me go,” she said, her voice as flat and empty as her face.

  “Not until he tells us what he knows,” said Mazael.

  “He doesn’t need his fingers to talk,” said Sigaldra.

  “Lady Sigaldra,” said Adalar, stepping to her side. To Mazael’s surprise, a flicker went over Sigaldra's face and she stopped straining against him. “I will help you find your sister, I swear. But we don’t know where to look for her. He might know.”

  The tension went out of Sigaldra’s arm, and Mazael released her.

  “I had,” said Earnachar, shaking his head, “the most peculiar dream.”

  “Did that dream happen to involve a sorceress calling herself the Prophetess forcing a spider down your throat?” said Mazael.

  Earnachar blinked. “How…how did you…”

  Mazael pointed at the crushed spider upon the floor, and Earnachar blanched.

  “That’s not…that’s not…that’s not possible,” said Earnachar. “It was a dream, it was…”

  “If it was a dream,” snapped Sigaldra, “then how did you get here, hmm? Did you sleepwalk all the way from Banner Hill?”

  “I don’t know,” said Earnachar. For the first time that Mazael could remember, he saw doubt upon Earnachar’s face. “I remember…I remember everything, but it was a dream.”

  “No,” said Mazael. “It wasn’t. If you want to leave Greatheart Keep alive, I suggest you start talking.”

  “You are threatening me?” said Earnachar, some of his bluster returning.

  “In the past few days,” said Mazael, “you threatened one of my vassals, disobeyed my commands by allowing an orcragar into the Grim Marches, kidnapped me, and broke the peace of the Grim Marches by waging war against the Jutai. I am not threatening you. I am merely stating facts. Whether or not I execute you depends on what you tell me next.”

  “Then it wasn’t a dream?” said Earnachar, growing horror on his face. “I…truly did all those things?”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Mazael.

  “Gods and ancestors,” said Earnachar. “Surely you can see that I am not at fault? The blame lies with the Prophetess and her lies. You…”

  Sigaldra’s hand twitched towards her sword again.

  “I suggest,” said Mazael, “that you start at the beginning. When did you meet the Prophetess?”

  “A few months past,” said Earnachar. “She came to Banner Hill with that masked orcragar. I thought about simply killing them and claiming the bounty you offered for any orcragars, but…”

  “But the Prophetess,” said Mazael, “had a tongue dripping with fine promises, is that it?”

  Earnachar shifted a bit. “Yes. You see, hrould, you had made a mistake.”

  “And what mistake is that?” said Mazael.

  “You should never have settled the Jutai at Greatheart Keep,” said Earnachar. “Not so close to the Tervingi. The Tervingi are a thriving and growing people, and…well, what are the Jutai? Cripples and dying old men, led by a crazed termagant. The Tervingi people need room to grow, and Greatheart Keep holds fertile lands. You should have put the Jutai near the Burning Hills or the Great Mountains, some dead land where they could die off in peace and not disturb the rest of us.”

  “Such pretty words,” said Sigaldra, “to justify oath breaking and murder.”

  “Let me guess,” said Mazael. “You realized that the Prophetess was a madwoman, but you also realized that she had power. You decided to turn her over to me…but only after she had helped you claim Greatheart Keep and drive out the Jutai.”

  “That is preposterous slander,” said Earnachar. “I am the victim of her machinations as well.”

  “It’s not slander,” said Mazael, “if it’s true.”

  Earnachar sighed. “Perhaps…there may be a kernel of truth to it.”

  “What went wrong?” said Mazael.

  “The Prophetess promised me power and glory,” said Earnachar, “but I am not a fool.” Sigaldra let out a derisive laugh, and this time Earnachar did glare at her. “It was soon clear to me that the Prophetess simply wanted Liane of the Jutai for whatever reason. The simplest way to claim her was to marry her, of course, but I had no interest in wedding a Jutai woman, and neither did any of my men. This displeased the Prophetess, so I commanded Agaric to go to Castle Cravenlock and warn you of her.”

  “Instead,” said Mazael, “the Prophetess gave you a heart spider.”

  “And most of my chief thains,” said Earnachar. “After that…well, you know what happened. The Prophetess summoned the valgasts and the soliphages to her side, and…it seemed like a good idea to do what she commanded. The influence of that damned spider, I suppose.” He waved a hand at Sigaldra. “A lot of bloodshed could have been avoided if she had simply surrendered her sister.”

  “And if you had not been such a fool,” said Sigaldra.

  Earnachar scowled. “Will you allow this woman to address me so, hrould?”

  “Why not?” said Mazael. “You were a fool to listen to the Prophetess.” He moved forward, and Earnachar flinched back a step. “Now. The Prophetess obviously had a plan. She came here to take Liane. What did she intend to do after that?”

  “I am not entirely sure,” said Earnachar. His lip curled with disgust. “She did not confide her plans in me. She merely commanded, and the spider ensured that I obeyed. But I know where she is going next, and what she intends to do. I know why she took Liane.”

  “Why?” said Mazael.

  “She needs Liane to find something called the Mask of Marazadra,” said Earnachar.

  “Do you happen to know what that is?” said Mazael.

  “
No,” said Earnachar. “Some magical relic like the mask upon Rigoric, I suppose – she called his mask the Mask of the Champion.”

  “Do you know where the Mask of Marazadra is?” said Mazael.

  “I do not,” said Earnachar, “but I know where she is going next, as I said. The Prophetess is going to Armalast.”

  The name meant nothing to Mazael, but Romaria stirred.

  “I know the place,” she said. “A town in eastern Skuldar. It’s one of the few towns the Skuldari allow outlanders to visit.”

  “What does the Prophetess intend to do there?” said Mazael.

  Earnachar shrugged. “She did not say. I overhead some of her conversations with the soliphages. Evidently the priests of Marazadra rule in Armalast, and she intends to get something from them before searching for the Mask of Marazadra.”

  “Very well,” said Mazael.

  “I have told you all that I know,” said Earnachar. “What are you going to do with me?”

  Mazael considered. He wanted to kill Earnachar, but the Tervingi headman had not been completely responsible for his own actions. He had always been ambitious and unscrupulous, but he had not acted on those impulses until the heart spider had sunk its claws into him. Still, he had cooperated with the Prophetess, which had started this entire mess. Earnachar might have claimed he would have sided with Mazael against the Prophetess eventually, but if the Prophetess had been triumphant, Mazael had no doubt that Earnachar would have switched sides.

  Of course, the same thing could be said of half of Mazael’s vassals.

  For that matter, Earnachar had the support and friendship of a great many Tervingi thains and headmen. If the Skuldari were planning to invade the Grim Marches, Mazael needed their help.

  “The Prophetess forced you to attack Greatheart Keep against your will,” said Mazael. Sigaldra stirred, her glare turning towards him. “She tried to place a heart spider in me, so I know their power, and I see no way you could have resisted it. But you invited her into your home, even knowing my law against orcragars. You willingly trafficked with a wielder of dark magic…and by ancient tradition, the Guardian protects the Tervingi from dark magic. So the Guardian of the Tervingi shall decide your fate.”