by AJ Ryder
When their lips parted, Liandrya frowned as the memory of her arduous journey pushed its way to the front of her mind. With her body now rested, and the overwhelming pull of lust now passed, the memory of her harrowing and perilous journey was impossible to ignore.
“What is it?” Dorlyn asked with mild concern.
“You weren’t the only one who got distracted last night,” Liandrya replied with a sigh before reluctantly freeing herself from Dorlyn’s embrace and climbing out of bed. “I need to talk to you and Vylkur...especially Vylkur,” she said while reaching for her dressing gown and tying it closed once she had slipped into it.
“Is something wrong?” Dorlyn asked with feigned calm even though his stomach was in knots with anxiety.
Liandrya was silent for a few moments before sighing and regarding her love. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly. “All I know is that I found something on this recent journey of mine, and since I’ve had the object in my possession, I’ve been hunted mercilessly. I need to know why...and how I can make it stop.”
Dorlyn said nothing, but nodded and climbed out of bed while reaching for his own robe. “Get the item and meet me downstairs,” he said simply. “We will get to the bottom of this over breakfast.”
A hopeful smile played over Liandrya’s lips. She hurried around to the other side of the bed and jumped up so she could kiss Dorlyn full on the lips. “Thank you,” she whispered before turning and quickly padding from the room.
Dorlyn watched his woman depart, then sighed while making his way behind the screen that hid the room’s chamber pot. If Liandrya was indeed in danger, he and Vylkur would get to the bottom of it. They would go to the ends of the earth if they knew it would keep their beloved safe. As it was, Vylkur had imbued various talismans upon Liandrya’s person with protective spells and wards in order to give her an additional advantage while she was on her own in the wilds.
After all, their time with her was already so limited.
Both Dorlyn and Vylkur were painfully aware of the fact that they would outlive Liandrya, and already, the two of them were dreading the inevitable day in which Time took her away from them. Half-elven though Liandrya was, she was not immortal. She was much longer-lived than a mortal, yes, but she was not immortal by any means, and it made the time she had left with Dorlyn and Vylkur all the more precious.
Finished emptying his bladder, Dorlyn departed the room and strode down the hall in grim determination before descending the stairs. Already, he could hear Liandrya telling Vylkur what she had told him mere moments before, and Dorlyn quickened his pace down the steps. When he stepped down onto the landing, he turned and strode over to the dining room where the table was set for breakfast. The table was large and sturdy for the times when the three of them simply could not make the journey to the bedroom before having one another, but now, it was laden with porridge, sausage, fruit, and eggs. He and Vylkur had developed quite a taste for the mortal fare since living among them for so long.
Upon seeing his beloved Dorlyn join them, Vylkur motioned to the chairs. “Sit down at the table and tell us everything, my lovely,” he urged while taking his own seat before then serving out bowls of hot, sweet porridge from the large pot in the center of the table.
“Start at the beginning,” Dorlyn added while serving each of them eggs, sausage, and fruit upon their plates.
Liandrya sighed and nodded. “The beginning would be three months ago, when I took the job that took me away from the two of you for so long. I was tasked to search three specific ruins for an ancient relic...a mask.” She had a spoonful of porridge and sighed in appreciation as the flavors of brown sugar and apples graced her tongue.
“Who was it that hired you for this task?” Dorlyn asked before taking a bite of eggs.
“A dark elf. She called herself Mistress M,” Liandrya replied after swallowing her mouthful. “It was clear to me that she didn’t want her true identity known, and by all the Gods, she set me on edge,” she added with a shiver. “All the while she explained the job to me, I couldn’t wait to leave her presence.” She visibly shuddered
“Then why in the name of all sanity did you agree to do the job for her?” Vylkur asked while cutting into his sausage. “Mercenary though you are, you still have the right and ability to turn people away.”
Liandrya sighed. “Because she offered me ten times what anyone else has ever offered me in the past.” Her blue eyes glimmered. “I simply couldn’t turn down a purse of that kind,” she sighed again. “Besides, it gave me the chance to explore ruins that had been untouched and forgotten for centuries upon centuries. Mercenary though I am, I’m a treasure hunter first and foremost. I couldn’t resist the urge to poke around and explore the hidden depths of so ancient a place. You both know how I love a good adventure.”
“And you say you have been hunted from the moment you obtained the mask?” Dorlyn asked.
Liandrya nodded and averted her eyes a little. This gesture did not go unnoticed.
“Liandrya,” the two elves prompted gently.
“My being hunted might be a problem of my own making,” Liandrya began uneasily. “You see...I didn’t contact Mistress M after I found the mask. I came straight back here.”
“Which means that this Mistress M was having you followed right from the start,” Dorlyn remarked with a frown. “That’s the only logical reason to explain why you were hunted so soon after having the mask in your possession.”
“Yes,” Liandrya replied with a nod. “I suspected as much. In fact, throughout my entire journey to the three ruins, I knew I was being watched,” she whispered. “It was a feeling I couldn’t shake for everywhere I went, the hairs on the back of my neck were always raised.”
Dorlyn frowned and raised an eyebrow. “But Liandrya...why did you not simply give Mistress M the mask? Why renege on a contract? That isn’t like you.”
Liandrya fell silent for several moments. “Had the mask simply been an artifact from days long past, I would have given it to her,” she replied before nervously biting her bottom lip. “But the moment I unearthed the box that contained it…” She rubbed her arms in order to stave off the chill that coursed through her despite the warmth of the house. “I knew there was something not right with it, and when I opened the box, I was filled with an almost crippling sense of dread.” She lifted her gaze and looked back and forth between her two loves. “I knew I couldn’t let Mistress M have the mask...not with how uneasy she made me. Whatever her plans for the mask are, I know in my very soul that it isn’t good, and I couldn’t in good conscience allow the mask to pass into her hands.”
She neglected to mention the nearly overwhelming urge to don the mask that she herself had experienced. The mask was already the cause of enough trouble for her. Why add to it?
“Show me the mask,” Vylkur instructed softly at last after having remained silent for the majority of Liandrya’s retelling. “
Nodding, Liandrya reached down into her satchel and removed a box made out of highly polished wood.
Dorlyn furrowed his brow. “Did you put the mask in that box?”
Liandrya shook her head. “It was in it when I found it.”
“For being made of wood long since taken from its tree, it has stood the test of time remarkably well,” Dorlyn mused.
“There is an enchantment upon the box,” Vylkur remarked as he watched Liandrya place the wooden container on the table. “Clearly, whoever put the mask within it didn’t wish for the box to decay and thereby leave the mask exposed,” he added while reaching out and slowly opening the lid. He recoiled instantly and knocked his chair over while jumping to his feet and staring down at the box’s contents.
“Vylkur?” Dorlyn asked worriedly while rising to his own feet.
“What is it?” Liandrya asked, for surely, this was not the reaction she had expected from her scholarly beloved.
Vylkur’s peridot eyes were wide, and the color began draining from his obsidian skin as he stared do
wn at the mask that was safely nestled within the red velvet lining of the box. The mask was made of molded black leather, and in the center of the forehead was a large opal whose colors swirled as though they were a living mist. Of course, he knew what the mask was. How could he not when he had studied at the feet of the woman for whom it had been a nearly lifelong obsession?
“Where did you get this?” Vylkur asked in a whisper after finally tearing his gaze from the mask and returning it to Liandrya once more.
“In an ancient temple in the western-most lands of Cadarnle,” Liandrya replied with wide eyes. “It might have been a temple, but it also could have been the remains of an ancient city. I honestly can’t say,” she said with a helpless shrug. “It looked like it had been utterly decimated centuries ago. Anything that was left standing was precarious at best.”
Vylkur slowly breathed out through his nose. “Mistress M...what did she look like?” he asked in a choked voice.
Liandrya blinked. “What does that—?”
“TELL ME!” Vylkur snapped in an uncharacteristic bellow that made Liandrya jump.
Dorlyn moved closer to Vylkur and gripped his arm firmly. “Calm yourself,” he said in a low voice before releasing his mate and stepping around to Liandrya and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Answer him, love,” he urged gently.
Liandrya gave a small nod. “I’ll never forget her,” she began. “She was unlike any other dark elf I have ever seen. Her skin was ashen, her hair was blacker than a raven’s feather, and her left eye was--”
“Completely red as though comprised entirely of blood,” Vylkur finished.
Liandrya blinked. “How did you…?”
Dorlyn stepped towards Vylkur upon seeing him begin to tremble, and took his hand in his own. “Beloved,” he began softly. “Is it…?”
“Yes,” Vylkur answered in a whisper while leaning heavily into Dorlyn in a desperate attempt at finding comfort. “Mistress M is Morkessa, which means that this mask is the Mask of Essence,” he added softly.
Dorlyn’s eyes widened. “No...it can’t be,” he said with a shake of his head.
“My love,” Vylkur began. “This mask was my former mistress’ sole obsession. When she wasn’t teaching and tormenting me, she was researching the blasted thing so she could find it...possess it.”
“But, how can you be sure this is the actual mask of legend and infamy?” Dorlyn asked. “Could it not simply be a replica?” he asked with dwindling hope.
Without saying a word, Vylkur drew away from Dorlyn and reached out to lightly touch the mask with his fingertips. Within the span of a heartbeat, his eyes widened, and his entire body went completely rigid.
“Vylkur!” Liandrya and Dorlyn cried together.
Vylkur’s eyes became completely black. “The power!” His body trembled as his magic reached out to become one with those of the mask. The air in the room crackled and popped with wild magic, and objects began flying about the room. “Such power! It seeks to become one with my own!” He tightly squeezed his eyes shut. “No! No, no, I won’t let you take me!” Clenching both his jaw and free hand in determination, Vylkur yanked his hand away before he fell to the floor in a trembling heap.
Dorlyn was on his knees beside his beloved in an instant, and he cradled him protectively in his arms. “Liandrya, some water,” he entreated while gently smoothing Vylkur’s hair away from his face. His mate’s skin was cold as the grave even though beads of sweat rolled down his cheeks. “Love? Vylkur, are you with us? Are you alright?”
At first, Vylkur stared blankly at Dorlyn with dull eyes lacking in any recognition; but, then he blinked and seemingly returned to himself. “I’m here,” he whispered while leaning heavily against Dorlyn as Liandrya dropped beside him and carefully touched a cup of water to his lips. “I’m alright,” he assured while reaching out and lovingly brushing his knuckles over Liandrya’s cheek. “I apologize for yelling at you before.”
Liandrya gave a small shake of her head, and her blue eyes were sad. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she whispered. “Unlike me.” She hung her head. “If I hadn’t taken that job…”
“Morkessa would have found someone else to do her bidding, and Cadarnle would already be suffering,” Vylkur remarked before offering Liandrya a small smile. “It is because you took the job that we presently have our current advantage.”
Liandrya’s eyes widened. “What do you mean that Cadarnle would already be suffering? What is the Mask of Essence?”
Vylkur took a sip of water then sighed softly after swallowing. “Countless centuries ago, long before the world was what we know it to be now, none but the Gods existed.”
Liandrya nodded. “Everyone knows this story,” she remarked. She herself had grown up hearing the various creation stories at the feet of her adoptive parents. “One by one, the Gods each created a race of favored children,” she said while beginning to tick each deity off on her fingers. “Anfarwol created the elves, Morgwn created the mer-folk, Dynol created mortals, and Braisg created the dwarves.” She canted her head to the side a little in thought. “Blaiddwych, the Great Wolf, created the wolf shifters, while Draigwych, the Great Dragon, created the dragon shifters.”
Vylkur gave a small nod. “And the dark elves?” he prompted.
“The dark elves were created by Tywyll, twin sister of Anfarwol,” Liandrya replied. “And from the creations that Tywyll deemed imperfect...her mistakes, she created the orcs and goblins.”
“Correct,” Vylkur replied with a nod.
“But what does any of that have to do with the Mask of Essence?” Liandrya asked.
“Tywyll became jealous that her creations were banished underground because her compatriots found them to be ugly and unappealing,” Vylkur answered before taking a sip of water. “And so, she began giving her children dark magic so that they could attack and kill those who were deemed more superior to them.”
“If the legend is to be believed in its entirety, it is then that the bad blood between the elves and dark elves began,” Dorlyn said. “Anfarwol responded in kind to her sister’s actions and bestowed magic upon her children so they could defend themselves and quash the attempts of their dark cousins. But the fighting didn’t stop there.”
Vylkur shook his head. “According to the legend, Anfarwol and Tywyll then began fighting each other. The other Gods determined Tywyll to be a danger to all they were trying to create, and so they dubbed her the Corruptor before exiling her.”
“Yes, I know all of that,” Liandrya said with a sigh. “What I don’t know about is the mask.”
“We’re getting there,” Vylkur assured patiently.
“There is a portion of the legend that is known only by elves in positions of power...Lords, Ladies and Lodestars,” Dorlyn said. “On occasion, one who is neither of those, but who is still in possession of a curious and scholarly mind will stumble upon it through research or extensive reading. I, myself, only know of it because before my elder brother was killed, he talked of it often. It is no great surprise that you don’t know of it, love,” he said to Liandrya.
Vylkur sighed. “The same cannot be said of the dark elves. While over the generations, the legend has become dismissed as a mere flight of fancy, the stories are nevertheless told. We grow up hearing the story of Tywyll rising up against those who exiled her, rather than quietly living out the rest of her existence in banishment. We all were told the tale of how Tywyll created a mask and transferred every ounce of her power and very essence into the mask before hiding it for future generations of her children to find. Once she was certain the mask would remain hidden from her divine compatriots, she attacked. She wanted them to kill her, for only then would her soul be drawn into the mask and complete the ritual.”
Liandrya’s eyes widened, and she rose to her feet, so she could regard the mask that was sitting so passively within its box. “Are you telling me that the powers of Tywyll, the Corruptor, are in that mask?”
“Along w
ith her soul and very life force, yes,” Vylkur replied somberly with a nod as he and Dorlyn rose to their feet. “If someone of immense magical power...someone like Morkessa, were to put on the Mask of Essence, then Tywyll would be reborn into their body.”
“And darkness would overcome the light,” Dorlyn uttered gravely.
Put it on.
“What if someone of little or no power happened to put the mask on?” Liandrya asked curiously while giving her head a small shake. This was not the first time she had heard the faint whisper in her head. She had heard it when she had first opened the box in the ruin, but had dismissed as paranoia from being followed and watched. This time, she was certain that the mask was goading her on into being its first victim.
Vylkur wrapped his arms around himself. “Tywyll was never one to waste resources. The orcs and goblins are living proof of that. If someone unworthy of being Tywyll’s vessel put on the mask, then their essence would be absorbed into the mask and add to Tywyll’s power.”
