Mistress Of Masks (Book 1)

by C. Greenwood

  The silver haired one was speaking in a cultured accent. “If I wanted a simple murder, I would have hired a cheap thug to do the job. But the mistress of masks is no ordinary mark. She has powerful protectors and magical abilities she herself probably does not comprehend. Such an extraordinary problem requires … extraordinary measures.”

  “I don’t ask questions,” answered the hooded man in a gravelly voice. “All I care about is that I get paid.”

  “I admire your single-mindedness, my cutthroat friend. For your price I only hope you are as skilled as they say.”

  “I’ve had no complaints.”

  Silver hair quirked a brow. “Yes, I suspect anyone who interfered with your good word-of-mouth might find himself summarily silenced.”

  Despite his outward ease, Eydis sensed silver hair was wary of his companion. As if to cover the emotion, he shrugged and reached into the folds of his over-robe, saying, “Here’s the first half of your payment. The rest when your assignment is complete.”

  He tossed a jingling coin pouch to the hooded man, who caught it with quick, cat-like reflexes.

  Whatever the hooded man said in response, Eydis couldn’t hear. That was because the men and the hall had begun to recede. Or maybe it was Eydis herself being pulled away…

  * * *

  Flailing, Eydis gasped for breath. But instead of air, cold water filled her nose, mouth, and throat. She was drowning. Lungs burning, she paddled toward the surface, but the dark waters were disorienting. She no longer knew up from down, and her strength was fading fast. When something clamped onto her collar and began dragging her along, she was too weak to fight the unknown force. Instead she gave in and allowed herself to be pulled.

  Then, miraculously her head broke the surface. Coughing and sucking in air, she was so dizzy it was hard to make sense of her surroundings. Behind her was a high, roaring waterfall, and before her a steep and muddy embankment. As she stopped choking up dirty water and her head cleared, she realized it was Geveral who had a tight grip on her collar and was towing her toward the safety of the bank. She kicked and paddled in a feeble effort to assist him, until together they reached the shallows.

  Helping one another up the side of the river bank, they collapsed at the top and took a moment to catch their breaths.

  “Are you all right?” Geveral asked when he could speak.

  “I think so. I got confused under the water and couldn’t find my way up. For an instant I thought I was back at the sacred grove, being rescued by one of the pool guardians.”

  “By one of the what?”

  “Never mind. It’s a long story.” She shoved a curtain of wet hair out of her face and looked up and down the bank. “Where’s Orrick?”

  Geveral looked around too. “I don’t know. I surfaced just in time to see you sinking to the bottom. There was no sign of Orrick.”

  Her concern grew and she hauled herself to her feet, saying, “We’ve got to look for him.”

  The last she had seen of the big Kroadian had been his back as he leapt down the falls and she and Geveral followed after. Everything after that was a blur in her mind. She couldn’t recall hitting the water or anything that happened afterward, prior to waking from her vision and being rescued by Geveral. Maybe Orrick hadn’t made it out at all.

  Banishing the thought, she stumbled up and down the shoreline with Geveral, calling out for the barbarian. There was no response, except the roar of the waterfall all but drowning out their voices. Their friend had simply vanished. The only useful thing they found was the remains of Eydis’s halberd washed up on shore. One end of the pole was shattered, but the half with the blade remained intact.

  “You take it,” Eydis said, tossing the broken weapon to Geveral. “I’ll never look at the thing again without thinking of those awful cave crawlers.”

  He seemed like he wanted to protest but didn’t.

  They continued their search, until both grew hoarse with yelling and found themselves exhausted and shivering from the cold. Although last night’s storm had passed, the skies were still cloudy and the wind was high.

  “We’re helping no one like this,” Geveral finally pointed out. “Even if we found Orrick, we’d be of little use to him weak and half-frozen. We should build a fire, rest until we’re dry, then continue the search.”

  Reluctantly, Eydis agreed.

  They kept close to the river, sheltering from the wind in a nearby stand of fir trees. They had lost their flint-stone, but luckily Geveral was adept at the old woodsman’s method of rubbing sticks together. The damp firewood resisted at first, but he eventually coaxed a fitful flame to life. Huddling close to the fire, they spoke little at first, as there seemed nothing hopeful to be said.

  But Geveral eventually voiced the question that had to be asked. “Is it likely our barbarian friend survived the falls and abandoned us by choice?”

  Eydis remembered how reluctant Orrick had initially been to join her quest. But she recalled also how determined he had been to locate his old acquaintance, Arik the One-Eyed, a man whose location was known only to her. And she would not divulge that location until after the mission was over.

  She said, “No. I cannot imagine Orrick would leave us by his will. As long as there’s breath in him, nothing would stop him from completing our quest.”

  She said nothing of the vision she’d had after the Isle of Bones, the vision in which she’d seen Orrick betray her at the battle for Asincourt. It was the vision more than anything else that convinced her the betrayer of blood was still alive out there somewhere and that they were destined to meet again. The knowledge was unexpectedly comforting. She told herself it was because if their party lost one of its catalysts, they could not obtain victory.

  Changing the subject, she said, “I’m going scavenging for some dry firewood. We’ll never get a decent blaze out of these wet sticks.”

  Leaving Geveral behind, she wandered into the deeper shadows of the grove. Her search for dry wood took her farther than expected, but each time she looked up she could still see and smell the smoke of their fire burning in the distance. The ground remained soggy, the wet leaves muffling her footsteps. Maybe that was why she didn’t immediately realize she was not alone. It came to her gradually, the sense that she was being watched by hostile eyes.

  Was it her imagination, or did she hear a low growling sound from the underbrush? Did a dark shape crouch beneath the screen of brush and another identical shape slink behind a fallen log? Her thoughts jumping to the hunger hounds they had left behind mere days ago, she backed away. She should never have come out here unarmed, should never have left Geveral alone.

  She turned to run back to camp, but before she had gone a dozen steps, she was struck from behind. She gave a sharp yelp of pain as the force of the blow knocked her to her knees. The ground reeled before her, and she struggled not to fall on her face. Before she could regain her bearings, she was grabbed by her hair and dragged to her feet by an unseen person, quickly finding a massive arm wrapped tight around her head.

  “Go ahead and scream,” an inhuman voice grated in her ear. “I could snap your skinny neck now, but the master wouldn’t be pleased. He wants your friends with you. So do Naroz a favor and call out to them.”

  Eydis shuddered at the waft of hot air on her cheek. The creature’s breath held the stink of decay, and its voice was like metal against metal. A mental image surfaced of the monster she had seen with the hunger hounds—the giant with spikes protruding from its eye sockets.

  Suppressing her horror, she said, “I don’t know any Naroz.”

  “Naroz is me,” it growled impatiently. “I serve the master who demands your death. But help me destroy your friends, and I promise your own end will be quick.”

  “I can’t. I have no friends left to call,” she lied. “The others were killed when we jumped over the waterfall. Only I survived.”

  Before she could ascertain whether her captor believed her, there came the noisy sounds of someon
e crashing through the trees. Geveral! He must have heard her involuntary cry.

  When her friend burst on the scene, the monster growled, “Don’t take another step, dryad scum. Drop the weapon or I’ll twist her head off.”

  Freezing, his eyes rushing to Eydis in alarm, Geveral lowered the broken halberd he carried.

  “Don’t, Geveral,” she said. “He’ll kill us both anyway.”

  But the halberd had already hit the ground.

  “Good, good,” the monster approved, hauling Eydis toward Geveral.

  “Bind the dryad with this,” it ordered, shoving a dirty coil of rope at her with its free fist.

  She had every intention of refusing, but Geveral caught her eye and gave a slight headshake. “It’s all right, Eydis. Do as he says.”

  Play for time, his eyes urged. We may yet find a way out of this.

  So she followed directions, binding her friend’s wrists as loosely as she dared under their captor’s scrutiny. She was unsure how good his sight could be with those great spikes driven through his eyes. But he seemed aware of her every movement. So too did the pair of great black hounds that slunk snarling out of hiding, watching her with hungry eyes that burned like coals.

  When Geveral was securely tied, the monster Naroz bound Eydis too, tying her ankles with a line to Geveral’s so neither could walk without the cooperation of the other.

  “What are you planning to do with us?” she found the courage to ask. On their last encounter, the creature had seemed willing to let his hounds devour them. There had been no attempt to take prisoners.

  The monster answered, “The master wants three heads, not two. The pair of you will make a pretty trap for your Kroadian friend.”

  “But I’ve told you he died in the fall—”

  “Silence!” The monster slapped the back of her head so hard her skull rang. Clearly, she needed to work on her lying skills.

  They returned to the camp in very different circumstances than they had left it. Eydis and Geveral were dropped to the ground, where they sprawled helplessly before the fire. The monster and his hounds melted into the shadows of the near trees, leaving the prisoners temptingly displayed and to all appearances unguarded. But Eydis had no doubt if any rescue were attempted, their captor would immediately descend on the would-be rescuer.

  As the afternoon passed and evening fell, she found herself hoping Orrick, if he were even alive, had truly abandoned them. That would deprive the enemy of at least one prize.

  She had been unobtrusively working to free her hands from their bonds for so long the skin of her wrists was raw. But it was no use. The monster had secured her too tight.

  Geveral was having better luck.

  “Don’t look,” he whispered, “but I’ve managed to slip my hands free. All we need is a distraction so the creature doesn’t notice me untying my ankles. When I get them free, I’ll rush him.”

  “With what? Your bare hands?” she whispered back. Their broken halberd was long gone.

  Before he could answer, there came a heavy crashing sound from the trees. Something big and clumsy was charging their way, and it was moving fast. Was it the monster? His hounds?

  It was both! And they were being chased by some creature larger than any of them. Eydis strained to see through the gloom. What could make the eyeless monster and his hunger hounds flee in fear? Whatever it was, this new threat was unlike anything she had seen before. It was larger than a horse, with twin pincers in front and a massive tail tipped with a wicked stinger.

  “Fire scorpion!” Eydis realized. She and Geveral tried simultaneously to throw themselves out of the charging scorpion’s path. But they leapt in opposite directions, forgetting their ankles were bound together, and the result was they fell together in a tangled heap.

  Bursting into their camp, the scorpion reared back on spindly legs. Its black eyes glinted wildly in the dying glow of the fire. But Eydis and Geveral weren’t what held its attention. The scorpion had driven the eyeless monster before it and into the clearing. Now it circled him.

  The monster dodged the scorpion’s advances while trying to knock its skinny legs from beneath it with powerful swings of his spiked mace. Narrowly, he evaded the scorpion’s pincers, which looked big enough to cut him in two. The black hunger hounds followed their master’s lead, rushing at the scorpion, snarling and snapping.

  Finding itself outnumbered and its prey now taking a stand, the scorpion stumbled around in a frenzy, backing into trees and blundering through the campfire as it struck at monster and hounds, its stinger never quite quick enough.

  “This is the best chance we’re going to get!” Geveral shouted to Eydis over the commotion.

  Working quickly he untied them both.

  The instant she was loose, Eydis grabbed a smoldering stick from the campfire. Only she had no idea who to use it on. The clearing was filled with enemies, and she couldn’t decide which was the most immediate threat—their captor and his hounds or the fire scorpion.

  As if sensing his prisoners’ escape, the eyeless Naroz took his attention from the scorpion he was battling. In that instant of distraction, the scorpion’s tail descended swiftly and its giant stinger slammed between the monster’s shoulder blades. Naroz froze, the handle of his mace slipping through his fingers. Then he collapsed to the ground, screaming and writhing in agony. Lunging on its fallen prey, the scorpion ended the monster’s suffering by using one big pincer to slice his head from his body.

  It all happened so quickly there was hardly time for Eydis to reassess the scene. The monster was dead, his severed head rolling across the earth. With his death, the hunger hounds lost their courage. As soon as the scorpion rounded on them, they scattered, fleeing into the trees. Eydis and Geveral were the lone targets now.

  The scorpion struck at Geveral with one great pincer, and he jumped aside to avoid the blow.

  “That’s good,” Eydis said. “Draw it into the woods, where we’ll have the advantage.”

  Geveral obeyed but he looked incredulous. “You aren’t seriously planning to attack this thing?”

  She didn’t answer. The scorpion was attempting to face them both, but as Geveral lured it to the trees, she circled to its other side.

  Her foot accidentally found the giant spiked mace beside the fallen Naroz and she snatched it up, although she doubted she could swing its great weight more than once or twice before her arm would give out. A smoldering fire-stick in one hand, the mace in the other, she made a sudden charge at the scorpion. Gritting her teeth, she swung the mace into its side, but the creature’s outer shell, thick as armor, easily deflected the blow.

  The scorpion rounded on her.

  “Over here!” shouted Geveral, and she tossed him the fire-stick.

  As the scorpion hesitated between them, both rushed it at once. Geveral rolled daringly beneath its legs to thrust the fire-stick into its unprotected abdomen, while Eydis attacked the head, using all her strength to swing the heavy mace at its eyes. The creature reared back, escaping her onslaught but screaming in pained fury as Geveral’s stick scorched its soft underbelly.

  Losing the stick, Geveral was weaponless and could only roll from side to side in a desperate attempt to dodge the pincers aimed at him. Hoping to draw attention from her helpless friend, Eydis slammed her mace into one of the scorpion’s spindly back legs, knocking it momentarily off balance.

  The creature wheeled, stinger raised. To her dismay, Eydis discovered her arm lacked the strength to raise the heavy mace one last time to ward off the coming attack. Frozen, she watched the tail descend, imagining that even in the darkness she could see the poisoned venom dripping from its stinger. The world seemed to come to a standstill. Her heart’s beating was unnaturally loud, and she was intensely aware of every breath she drew, every trickle of sweat rolling down her skin.

  Vaguely, as if from a distance, she heard a prolonged shout and saw a quick blur of movement from the corner of her eye. The scorpion’s massive stinger plunged
downward, coming straight at her. And then a blade swept through the air, slicing the stinger cleanly from the tail. Screaming, the creature scrambled backward, as Orrick appeared. The juices of the severed stinger dripped from his sword as he positioned himself between Eydis and the creature.

  In its haste to escape, the injured scorpion stumbled through the underbrush and into the trunk of a tree, setting branches quivering and leaves raining down.

  When Orrick would have advanced on it, Eydis was surprised to find herself grabbing his elbow, pulling him back.

  “Let it go,” she said. “It’s in no condition to come after us now. Besides it’s done us a favor, rescuing us from Naroz and the hunger hounds.”

  The barbarian visibly hesitated, watching the scorpion make its clumsy escape. After a moment he lowered his sword, admitting, “I’d just as soon not prolong an encounter with a fire scorpion. But you don’t owe your escape to that thing. If I hadn’t discovered the scorpion wandering lost from its swarm and driven it into your captor’s trap, it would never have taken down the monster.”

  “Then thanks for our rescue,” Geveral said, joining them.

  Orrick said, “Keep your thanks. Let’s just move out of here before those hunger hounds find the courage to return. Or before the scorpion comes back with his whole swarm. If you think that one was formidable, you don’t want to see these creatures when they’re full-grown.”

  Eydis glanced uneasily into the deepening shadows. “Right then,” she said. “Let’s walk through the night. We’ve lost too much time already.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Geveral

  Asincourt was unlike anything Geveral had ever seen. Treeveil, with its hundreds of inhabitants, had never seemed small to him. But Asincourt must have held tens of thousands within its gates. On entering, the three travelers found the marketplace so crowded they could hardly move through the jostling press.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Eydis reassured him, pulling him out of the way of a passing fruit cart. “I grew up in a city this size before I made my home at Shroudstone.”