by Ed Greenwood
Right now, he needed to set aside such lyrical prattle, find a handy bush, and let fly.
He raised himself on one elbow, and discovered he was cramped and stiff-and that a whisper-snoring Tantaerra was once more curled up against him like a cat.
Ah. That would be why the cold hadn't roused him before his need to relieve himself. The Masked shifted away from the sleeping halfling as gently and quietly as possible, stretched, then stood up, swaying for a moment, and looked around.
The birds had awakened long ago, and their calls reassured him that no one was on the move immediately around their ruin. He'd water the greenery just there …
He took two stiff strides, planted himself, and-
The roof gave way beneath him.
He barely had time to go from upright to falling onto his back before he was plunged into the damp green gloom of the empty rooms they'd explored the night before, rotten beams disintegrating around him in a swirl of dust, as he slammed down onto-
Something large and meaty and alive, that convulsed beneath him with a great gasp and emitted a wild shriek.
The Masked bounced and rolled off whoever it was, ending up with his feet thrust up into the air and his neck in the dirt where the floor had once been, one of his shoulders against a support post that now leaned alarmingly, as wood groaned overhead.
He found himself staring across the windowless, overgrown rooms at a tousled, staring Orivin Voyvik, daggers in both hands and looking very much like he wanted to bury them in someone.
He blinked, focused on The Masked, then let out a rising snarl of rage and stalked forward. "So! You try to kill me! Wel-"
His words were lost in a sudden tumbling roar as a lot more roof fell-and Tantaerra tumbled helplessly down on Voyvik's head, smashing him to the floor and sending one of his daggers tlanging off a post.
He roared, this time with real pain, and staggered to his feet to face a tousled and furious Tantaerra, with two of her daggers raised to menace him.
He blinked at them-and then whirled and fled, out through an empty window frame and into the forest, at top speed.
The Masked looked at Tantaerra, and she looked at him …and then they both burst into laughter, shouting out helpless mirth that left them doubled over, before hastily departing the ruin to relieve themselves.
It was some time before they could cling to silence again, and join each other with attention for anything else. The Masked produced the map, and Tantaerra held up Voyvik's lost dagger, arching an eyebrow.
"My first trophy."
The Masked shook his head. "Drop it. Or leave it thrust into a post or beam for him to find. He might be able to trace his own weapons, from afar."
Tantaerra nodded soberly, then flung the dagger away across the room, to thunk into a post. "So," she asked, "did he track us here, or can he trace us-or did he just happen upon the same ruin, through sheer happenstance?"
The Masked spread his hands in a helpless shrug.
Tantaerra sighed. "Show me the map and let's get walking. To someplace where food hangs ready from the trees, cooked and plentiful."
Both of their stomachs rumbled then in loud complaint, which set them to chuckling again.
"If he's out there listening to us, he's going to be furious," Tantaerra warned.
The Masked shrugged again. "True, but that's far from the greatest of my worries."
"Oh? Am I the greatest of your worries?"
"No. Not anymore."
∗ ∗ ∗
Tarram Armistrade knew he shouldn't show himself on this lofty height of rocks, but he was long past caring. This was not a mission either of them was going to live through. What he needed was a wagonload of riches to pay some wizard he could trust-if all Golarion held such a thing-to make sure he and Tantaerra were free of spells that would locate or kill them if they just walked away from this fools' task.
So they could do just that, and at least save their necks.
They'd been stealing food and skulking, then trudging, for days now. Hurlandrun was less than a day away-if they'd been able to fly, rather than clambering through trackless forest trying not to be seen or heard by anyone, while at the same time trying to steal food.
Nirmathas, green and rolling, stretched away below him in all directions. It was a beautiful country, but deadly; after all these years of war with Molthune, the Nirmathi treated every stranger as a spy or invader to be killed on sight or led into prepared traps. When he and Tantaerra weren't being shot at-every local seemed to have a bow, or at least a crude crossbow-people were trying to draw them into snares, pit traps, or ambushes. Even the damned innkeepers.
And Tantaerra was in a particularly foul mood this morning.
"Finished gazing out over your domain? Or are you contemplating leaping off, because death will be just so much easier than what we're going to have to try to do?"
When he didn't reply, she added tartly, "May I remind you, masked man, that you still owe me my ten silver weights back-as you've done such an execrable job of hiding me and abetting my escape."
The Masked rolled his eyes. "And have we not escaped Braganza? After escaping Halidon? I'd say you owe me another ten silver weights," he replied, not turning.
The halfling sputtered at him, one of her sudden rages choking her so severely that she fought to find words.
He ignored it, turning and transfixing her with a steady gaze.
"Seriously," he told her quietly, all playfulness gone from his voice. "If anything happens to me, do not try to loot the Shattered Tomb by yourself. You'll die. Horribly."
"You think so little of my skills?" she flared, predictably enough.
The Masked quelled a sigh. "It's not what I think, it's what I know. I know you don't have the magic, or the familiarity with the ways of magic, you'd need to stay alive."
"Oh? And just how do you know this so unerringly?"
Beneath his mask, Tarram smiled. "Magic."
"Ah. Of course. How convenient. Magic, that splendidly glib explanation for everything!"
"Tantaerra Klazra," he said patiently, "let me tell you a story."
"Why not? Deceitful men always do! Pray make it a good one, Sir Armistrade, for I have heard a fancy-tale or two before in my time."
Ignoring her scorn, he chose a sloping rock to sit on, waved her to another that faced it not far away, and began. "Far away and long ago," he said, "I was once as brashly confident as you. If a little taller."
"Until you stole a certain mask," the halfling retorted.
That earned her a glare, but she merely said, "Suppose you begin with this tomb and how it came to be, back when the world was younger and a certain masked man was still brashly confident. Tell me a fireside tale. After all, it's about time."
The Masked nodded. "Very well. Once there was a mighty wizard named Mahalagris, who dwelt where we're headed. He was known for transforming squirrels and rabbits and the like into ferocious beasts under his command, and summoning monsters to do his bidding. He was not a nice man."
Tantaerra's lip curled. "They never are, are they?"
But The Masked wasn't listening to her. He was thinking about Karm, and masks, and his greatest mistake …
Chapter Twelve
Wizards, Scripts, and Secrets
Tarram Armistrade cleared his throat, looked at the halfling who'd hired him seemingly half a lifetime ago, and warned, "After I finish telling you this, we should move. Far from here, and fast."
Tantaerra looked disgusted. "Magic."
He nodded. "Wielded by one who can kill us as easily as snapping his fingers."
"Say on," the halfling commanded, giving him a shrug to let him know what she thought of his warning.
The Masked grinned. Feisty to the last, this one.
"Mahalagris had an apprentice," he told her. "Araungras Karm, a younger and more ambitious man whose spells were paltry compared to those of his master, but who learned fast, and was bold beyond prudence. Not to mention greedy."
"He wanted the magic Mahalagris had, and killed him for it," Tantaerra said flatly. "Not a unique tale, Tarram."
"He wanted power over men, and wealth, and all the good things in life," The Masked continued patiently, "the very things Mahalagris scorned in favor of isolation and study and the crafting of new magic."
"This Karm wanted it all, without having to work for it."
"He did."
"And so?"
"And so, when Mahalagris stayed in his backland home and refused to involve himself in the strife between Nirmathas and Molthune, Karm met secretly with Molthuni who paid him well-and went to war on behalf of Molthune."
"Starting by murdering his master."
"I see you're familiar with minstrels' scripts. Karm's first strike against the foe was indeed to treacherously murder Mahalagris, in hopes of gaining his master's power-but his first mistake was to think that the Nirmathi regarded Mahalagris with the same fear and contempt he did."
"Oh?" Tantaerra looked up, and her eyes held real interest at last.
"Wracked-and pursued-by the spells loosed by his dying master, Karm managed to bear away from his master's abode just one thing. This mask."
The halfling's full attention was on him now.
"It took months before Karm was healed in body and confidence, and well-girded enough in replenished magic to dare to return. When he did venture back into Nirmathas, well disguised, he hoped to gain the spell-tomes of Mahalagris and his master's things of power, including a blade that whispered and a gauntlet that blasted men in battle. The first had been borne by a loyal bodyguard who died in Karm's attack, and the second by the wizard himself, though Karm's swift savagery robbed him of any chance to use it. There was much wealth, too."
"So did Mahalagris rise from his grave and murder this Karm, or did Karm replace him and become the same fell and mighty wizard his master had been?"
"Who's telling this tale?"
The halfling rolled her eyes, but nodded and waved at The Masked to continue.
Bowing his head gravely, he did. "Karm found his master's abode much changed. The Nirmathi had interred Mahalagris with honor-possibly out of respect for what good he'd done Nirmathas, but more likely out of fear of reprisals from his ghost. And they were right to be afraid. Mahalagris's spirit had indeed risen as a mighty undead creature, adding his own magic to the tomb's already extensive defenses. Karm's second attempt failed as well, and he had to flee for his life, leaving Hurlandrun a smoldering ruin behind him."
"Just how do you know all this?"
"Some I learned by listening late on nights when drink had loosened tongues, but most of it I've had from the mask itself. Visions, unexpected and beyond my bidding. I've paid attention, in hopes of staying alive a little longer. And there's more."
"I'm sure. Say on."
"So Karm's pride was in tatters, and his fear-of a master risen and implacable as a terrifying, undying thing-ruled him. He wanted to keep his Molthuni riches, so he staged his own glorious battle-death, going down fighting in a blaze of spells.
"A year or two later, a nameless backchambers wizard quietly surfaced in Braganza, casting spells in private for those who could afford them. He later hired a particular thief, a far-traveled loner, to carry out an, ah, acquisition for him-but really to be blamed for something else."
"And would this particular thief have enjoyed the name Armistrade?"
"Among others. In my profession, changes of name are a frequent necessity. So is travel. I've been…traveling a fair while."
The halfling gave a wave that said she was aware of such things, and asked, "And so?"
"And so, not finding the taste of a wizard's betrayal any more to his liking than any other betrayal, Armistrade decided to get even by learning the wizard's true name and story and stealing Karm's most precious possession: this mask."
"And that was your big mistake."
"You know scripts frighteningly well, Tantaerra Loroeva Klazra." He sighed, then leaned close and muttered, "I'm a prisoner of this thing. What happens to it, happens to me-and though I can wear a mask under or over the mask, or take it off when the need arises, it has to be on my face a lot of the time, or else I sicken. If I hire a wizard to cast an illusion on me or on the mask, it soon melts that illusion away. It eats any undermasks faster than I can afford to have them made. And it has some connection to the Tomb. I think it was made there-and I'm hoping it can get unmade there, or else its hold over me weakened, or something of the sort. I'm sorry to be so mysterious-I feel more about the mask than I really know. It's not as if it's ever come with instructions-though I suspect Voyvik knows something."
"Voyvik!" Tantaerra exclaimed. "Where does he come into this?"
"Karm hired him to hunt me down," The Masked replied. "Or so Voyvik hinted."
"Voyvik told you that? When?"
"Hinted, I said. Gloatingly, over crossed swords, as we fought in an alley a year or so back, long before I met you. He said someone I'd stolen from had hired him to see that I went to where I was supposed to. He's been shadowing me across Molthune-but could have trapped me long ago, and hasn't. There's more to him than a wizard's hireling. Even a crazed hireling-and he's definitely that. Wanting us to trust him, yet attacking us whenever he thinks he has a good chance. He delights in acting mysterious-cold and calculating one moment, then manic the next. I doubt he's entirely sane." He shook his head. "Wizards' meddling, perhaps …yet I feel there's something more to him, too."
"So his patriotism," Tantaerra asked. "It's an act?"
The Masked shook his head again. "No, I believe that's genuine enough. If the rumors are true, then he certainly did much for Nirmathas, before he ever came after me. Perhaps his goals are tied into this whole business somehow. But if so, I haven't unraveled yet."
"And if you don't unravel it before we get to the Shattered Tomb?"
He shrugged. "We'll most probably die."
"Well, that's cheerful." Tantaerra frowned. "So all this time, you've known who he is, and you were heading for this Shattered Tomb eventually, anyway. And you said not a word about either to me."
"I didn't want to scare you off accompanying me."
Tantaerra's eyes widened. "Scare? Scare?"
"Dissuade, if you prefer. Adventures are better shared …and I've discovered I like sharing them with you. Sharp tongue and ten silver weights and all."
Tantaerra's expression didn't change. "So you thought you'd lie to me. That's how you treat those you like."
The Masked sat up sharply, as if struck. "It's not like that."
"Oh? Isn't it?" She stood. "I trusted you, Tarram. I should have known better. You're no different than your friend Voyvik." She began to make her way down to the woods.
"Tantaerra! Princess!" The Masked rose hurriedly to his own feet. "Where are you going?"
"To the Shattered Tomb," she spat. "You said we needed to move after your story, so I'm moving. Let's get this over with."
Sighing, The Masked slid down off the rock and followed her into the trees.
The gods take women, he thought. Of all sizes.
∗ ∗ ∗
He'd lied to her.
After all they'd been through, all the trust they'd built, he'd turned out just the same as every other human-too wrapped up in his own affairs to think about anybody else. How could she possibly have been so stupid as to think that he was different?
Tantaerra stormed through the bushes in silence, purposefully choosing a route that led her under low branch after low branch, forcing The Masked to scramble over or under them to keep up. He'd quit trying to talk to her, which was a plus, and now saved his breath for grunts and quiet curses as he thrashed his way through brambles and dense thickets that were only mild inconveniences for someone her size.
It wasn't that he had secrets-everyone had secrets. It was that he'd deliberately misled her. She'd thought them both prisoners of circumstance, caught up together out of coincidence and doing the best they could to muddle throug
h. And now she discovered that he'd been working toward this the whole time. He wasn't her partner-he was using her.
And yet…
Even as she reminded herself of these things, fanning the flames of her anger ever hotter, she found herself remembering the river. The way he'd put himself between her and the charging Nirmathi. That couldn't have been part of his plan-in fact, it was counterintuitive. Why risk himself like that for a companion of convenience? In fact, why help her in the first place? It wasn't for the ten silver weights, that was sure. And if he'd wanted someone to help him break into this tomb, surely he could have hired or conscripted someone more capable than an undersized halfling. And one who had something of a temper, at that.
She looked back at him again. He had to be as tired as she was of this whole stupid quest, yet he wasn't complaining. Instead, he was tearing his cloak and applying a fresh coat of mud to his knees in order to follow her wherever she went.
Follow her.
The fire in Tantaerra's chest cooled.
Yes, he'd lied to her. He'd misled her. But what had his options really been? If he'd told her he was being hunted by this Voyvik, and maybe a mad wizard in the bargain, would she have gone along with him? Probably not, she admitted. By waiting, he'd given himself time to get past first impressions and prove himself. To her.
So had he?
Tantaerra reached up and grabbed the branch she was walking underneath, then stepped to the side, pulling it out of the way.
The Masked looked up in surprise. He turned to gaze at her warily, as if expecting her to let the bough spring back to whip him as he passed. She waved him through.
"Thank you," he said, when he was safely past her.
"Don't mention it," she replied, letting go of the branch and falling back into step beside him. "After all, it's not your fault you're big and awkward."
∗ ∗ ∗
Their journey was unusually peaceful. This stretch of Nirmathas seemed to be far more forest than people. Yet the woods were studded with clearings enough-places where huge old dead trees had, when their time was done, crashed down and taken smaller trees to the ground with them. From these, The Masked could catch sight of the landmarks he'd spotted up on that height, and so keep heading for Hurlandrun.
