by Ed Greenwood
Horses went down and rolled, lances splintered or flew loose into the air, and men died.
"Telcanor!" the riders of this second force shouted, as they slew. "Telcanor forever!"
Tantaerra and her partner gaped in astonishment. Not one of the riders who'd charged them reached them.
Very swiftly, not a soldier of the first force was left alive.
The triumphant Molthuni shouted in glee and lifted their swords. Then one waved his hand in a signal, and that chaos of mounted men funneled into a trotting line that encircled Tantaerra and The Masked. They recognized one face among these riders, too: the Telcanor who'd fled from them after his colleague had tried to use his crossbow to kill them both.
The one who'd signaled the others stopped his horse to grin down at Tantaerra and her partner, and announce cheerfully, "We're here to see you safely back to Braganza. I hope you'll accept our escort willingly and peacefully. There's a lot of danger between here and the city."
"Our peace and willingness," Tantaerra replied quickly and firmly, before The Masked could utter whatever he was starting to say, "depend on who your master is."
The leader's grin widened. "Prudent of you. Know, then, that we're soldiers of Krzonstal Telcanor's personal guard, sent secretly out of Braganza by our lord's head bodyguard, Onstal Zreem, to wait for you near the Inkwater. To ensure that if you got back across the river, you'd make it the rest of the way to Braganza safely."
"'Telcanor forever'?" The Masked inquired mildly.
The leader shrugged. "We were ordered to shout that whenever we went into battle. Our lord desires to get proper credit for seeing your treasure home to Braganza, if there are any witnesses or wizards spying from afar."
Tantaerra lowered the arm she still had aimed at a foe that was no longer there, the glow from the Fearsome Gauntlet softening. "We accept your kind aid and escort."
"How did the ruler of Braganza take matters," The Masked asked, his voice genuinely curious rather than confrontational, "when a score of fully armored men rode out of his city without him giving any orders or permission?"
"Lord Ravnagask never knew. We went out by threes and fours, for our usual mounted training drills, only one or two coming back, for days and days. No one noticed-except Lord Telcanor, who was told we'd died from poisoned wine."
Tantaerra frowned, and raised the gauntlet again. "So he doesn't know you're out here now?"
"No, no, this is no treachery!" the leader said quickly. "Our orders are to keep you safe and conduct you to the gates of the Telcanor mansion in Braganza, see you let through them, and depart."
Tantaerra and her partner exchanged long, silent looks. Then The Masked shrugged.
Tantaerra shrugged back, turned to the Telcanor leader, and nodded. "Do so, then," she said crisply.
The leader waved his hand in another signal, and his Telcanors formed a two-rider-thick ring around Tantaerra and The Masked, giving them quite a bit of clear space. Horses caught from those left riderless by the slain Mereirs were brought to them, one each, and before Tantaerra could protest or attempt a running leap into the offered saddle, The Masked lifted her onto it with the deft dignity of a royal servant.
The leader rode to take rearguard, waved his hand again, and the mounted Molthuni started to move.
Chapter Nineteen
Blade, Gauntlet, and Wizard
The sun had set, and the moon risen. Inside their defensive ring of warriors, The Masked and Tantaerra rode on steadily across Molthune's grasslands, heading for Braganza.
Whether we want to or not, Tantaerra thought to herself. The rolling fields were coldly beautiful under brightening moonlight, and she and Tarram rode side by side and close together, talking quietly of what they would do when delivered into Telcanor's clutches. The Telcanor leader had pointedly dropped back so they could have privacy.
Not that they'd decided anything useful when the inevitable interruption came.
The foremost riders slowed, then called back, "Dweomercats ahead! Heading the same way we are."
The sharpest-eyed Telcanor promptly added, "There's a patrol-soldiers of Molthune, in proper uniform-riding in the midst of them."
The leader promptly ordered, "Hard right, everyone. Whatever's going on, we don't want to get mixed up in it."
The Telcanors veered right to give the dweomercats a wide berth, though in this open country, under bright moonlight, the cats and the Molthuni among them couldn't help but see the Telcanors.
Eventually the two bands were abreast of each other, the Telcanors well to the south of the dweomercats they'd overtaken-which was when the cats and their Molthuni turned sharply south, as if to intercept the ring of Braganzans.
"Halt!" the Telcanor leader called, and his men reined in, their ring tighter around Tantaerra and her partner, and watched the dweomercats. Who turned more sharply, to come right at them.
As another mounted Molthuni force appeared over a hill behind the dweomercats and galloped right at them, shouting in challenge.
A glow flared up from these new riders; someone among them had cast a spell. It washed over the dweomercats-and suddenly the cats were upon the newcomers, squalling and leaping at horses. The Molthuni that had been riding at the heart of the dweomercats all wheeled around to ride toward the source of the spell.
As the Telcanors sat on their horses and watched, there was a brief melee of milling horses, shouting men, and swords waved in warning-and another spell flashed out at the men who'd ridden with the dweomercats. Several fell from their saddles-but one hacked and hewed with a sword that was suddenly afire with an intense magical light, carving his way through Molthuni toward the source of the spells.
"Let's get gone, well away from here!" the Telcanor leader snapped, and set his mount to a gallop. The Masked veered his horse as close to the distant battle as the ring of riders allowed, peering hard.
Another spell flashed, hurled at the rider with the glowing sword, and Tantaerra cursed softly as she recognized it as the Whispering Blade.
A moment later, the spell was gone, sucked into the sword in a whirling vortex. Whereupon the Molthuni wielding the sword reached the wizard-and sprang from his saddle to embrace the caster.
They swayed atop the wizard's rearing horse, surrounded by the sword's bright glow. Within it, the rider could be seen thrusting the glowing sword into the wizard's hand and forcing him to hold it. Then the rider stiffened, impaled on the thrusting swords of several of the Molthuni riding with the wizard, and fell.
The Masked stood in his stirrups to try to see more, but the onrushing Telcanors had galloped over a rise, and tall moonlit grass hid the fate of the wizard and his new sword from view.
"Down, man!" the Telcanor leader snapped. "Do you have to fall out of your saddle to know they'll be after us? Ride hard!"
The Masked obeyed that command, but when he looked back a short time later, he was unsurprised to see the Molthuni and the dweomercats racing after them, likely to overtake the galloping ring of Telcanors long before they reached Braganza.
∗ ∗ ∗
The moonlight was serene. There was nowhere at all to hide in the coldly spotlit open country beneath it, and the horses were tiring. A tiny handful of twinkling lights on the horizon marked the walls of Braganza, but they might as well have been far across the Inner Sea. It wouldn't be long now.
Tantaerra looked back again. Yes, the pursuing Molthuni were much closer, and the dweomercats were darting excitedly up to the hooves of the rearmost Telcanors, falling back, then bounding up again.
They want to be where the magic is strongest. The Whispering Blade and the wizard wielding it are stronger than this gauntlet and Tarram's mask. We're doomed.
"Tarram Armistrade," she called, amid the pounding hooves, "it's time."
The mask-always, one mask or another-turned toward her. "Time?"
"You know a lot more about this Fearsome Gauntlet than you've told me," she said grimly. "When I open my mind to it, I just about get
fried; there's no way I can stay in this saddle if I try now! If there's anything that can help us against Mahalagris-and that's him back there, in the wizard's body, I'm sure of it-you have to tell me! Our only hope is if he dismisses me as a know-nothing and goes for you …and by then, it'll be too damned late to tell me anything! Now's the time to say all!"
Before The Masked could reply, the night behind them erupted in roaring flames.
Horses screamed and faltered, a wave of heat rolled over them, and …they were still alive, still galloping raggedly on.
Tantaerra looked back. Flames from the fireball were racing away in all directions through the grass, the dew clinging to it going up in smoke, and behind her horse's tail was nothing but blackened earth. The back of the Telcanor ring-including its capable leader-was simply gone. Blown to burning, tumbling ashes.
There was nothing now but whirling embers and cinders, grass, and moonlit air between Tantaerra and her partner, and their pursuers.
"Imagine you're holding up a shield in front of you," Tarram blurted, "and looking over its curved top edge, in this moonlight, so you see a silvery curve. Yes? Hold that image in your mind, and open to the gauntlet. Ignore all its chaos, and hold that image."
Tantaerra did that. The magic tugged at her thoughts, at her very head, but she clung to the image of a silver arc. "Done," she gasped.
"Picture the silver turning glowing white," The Masked said swiftly, "and hold that new bright white light in your mind."
Luraumadar, his mask said excitedly, in a hiss the gauntlet let Tantaerra hear-the same hiss as the Whispering Blade. Luraumadar.
Tantaerra clung to that image, aware that the knuckles of the Fearsome Gauntlet were now glowing that same hue. Tarram reached out and closed his hand firmly around her leg.
Mahalagris stood up in his stirrups and hurled another spell. She could feel it rushing toward them, feel it looming up to crash over-
There was an eerie green flash of light, and the air shattered.
All around them it cracked, in a great blast that took the legs out from under every horse in the hard-galloping ring, hurling every last Telcanor out of his saddle.
Leaving Tantaerra, her partner, and their horses untouched amid a tight shroud of snarling air, as magic warred with magic-and then was gone, racing back to smash into the legs of the pursuing horses like a glowing green fist, bowling them over as it had the Telcanors.
Tantaerra looked at The Masked as he released his grip. The gauntlet had gone dark.
"We can only use that protection the once," Tarram told her, fighting to control his frightened horse. "It's done until tomorrow."
Tantaerra rolled her eyes. "Which means the next…"
He didn't even have time to nod before the next spell came.
Not at them, this time, but at the ground right in front of them, blasting it into the air in a geyser of lofted dirt and stones to carve out a huge pit floored with a heap of suddenly exposed boulders.
Their horses plunged helplessly into the earthen gulf, shrieking-and Tantaerra was flung through the air, Tarram cartwheeling along beside her.
He slammed into deep, loose earth with a grunt. She bounced off his shoulder, skidded on her behind a long way through crackling grass, fell into a roll, and came to a halt with dirt raining down on her head out of the night sky.
Fury choked her. "Gods-cursed wizards!" she spat. "Spells, spells, spells! Smash this corner of Golarion, then that one! Let's see how you like it!"
Ignoring the dweomercats, she lifted her arm toward the gleaming line of armored Molthuni soldiers now coming at her on foot and gave them lightning. A crackling line of searing blue-white sprang from one armored soldier to the next, sending them into spasmodic jerkings and stiff staggerings. Then the lightning was done, and armored warriors lay sprawled and fallen, with smoke curling up from their motionless bodies.
One horse and rider loomed untouched among the dweomercats. Mahalagris's new host grinned, eyes glowing blue, and raised the Whispering Blade.
Tantaerra faced him, panting. She could punch him with the gauntlet, but he'd probably be magically protected against its blows. If she concentrated on his hands and his mouth, just maybe …
He laughed coldly, and spurred his mount into a gallop. Right at her.
"Tarram?" Tantaerra called, not daring to try to sort through the gauntlet's powers with a charging warrior thundering at her.
There came no reply. Well, time to do what halflings did best.
Tantaerra ran, heading for horses that were down but struggling, dodging wildly kicking hooves. A horse could be shelter enough to keep the wizard from riding her down or easily slicing her apart as he galloped past.
He tried, with a brutal disregard for good horses, but a leaping, rolling, and ducking halfling was a far smaller target than a human, and he missed.
Why doesn't he just blast me? Oh, of course-the gauntlet. He wants it undamaged.
Tantaerra didn't stand still to ponder this or watch Mahalagris wheel around in a sweeping turn to come back at her. She rushed to the heap of exposed boulders, kicking at her partner as she ran past. "Up! Up, damn you, Armistrade! This is no time to-"
Then the wizard was on her again, the thunder of racing hooves almost deafening, the Whispering Blade lashing out.
Come kiss me, little one!
Its entreaties hissed past her ear as she ducked low behind a large boulder, just getting clear. Mahalagris wheeled his horse around hard, trying to deny her time to find better cover.
Heart pounding, Tantaerra didn't try. She had to do this just right, or …
A lashing hoof almost drove her chin up through the crown of her head, but she flung herself sideways and it laid open her ear instead. Rebounding bruisingly off a rock she'd just inadvertently hurled herself against, Tantaerra sprinted up a rising stair of boulders and launched herself from the highest one in a desperate leap.
Thank the General Lords for putting so many bad riders on horseback, giving Molthuni saddles such high backs. She caught hold of the one Mahalagris was sitting in and swarmed up him.
Mahalagris worked a swift magic that wove a halo of spitting sparks around her daggers and buckles and all else metal, leaving her hand numbed and spasming.
To keep from falling off, she wrapped herself around the wizard's neck and shoulders from behind, entwining her legs around his shoulder, watching the Whispering Blade rising to slice at her.
He doesn't care what happens to this body he's using. It won't let go in pain, or go wild if I blind it, or-
We meet at last, the Whispering Blade greeted her triumphantly, as its edge came at her face.
Tantaerra grabbed hold of the wizard's dark hair and kicked off from his shoulder hard, wrenching his head around and forcing his sword to slash wildly wide.
She clung to it for a battering instant, banging against his chest-gods, did all cavalry reek this much? — as Mahalagris glared down at her.
Tantaerra glared right back up at him. She was close enough to spit and blind him, if it hadn't been straight uphill and likely to end up all over her. Her fingers, clutching the fistful of hair desperately, brushed his cheek.
A black wave of cold, fell fury fell on her, invading her mind, seeking to crush and overwhelm her.
Tantaerra clung to the one thing that held fast, a wan and glimmering light in the roaring, swirling, fang-ridden darkness trying to devour her. The Fearsome Gauntlet.
She was seeing things. Fleeting memories from the mind of Mahalagris, scenes so horrible that Tantaerra shrieked.
Then it was all gone, so abruptly that she was lost in a daze, vaguely aware of the moon hurtling past.
No, she was flying through the air past the moon, or…or …
She landed hard, crashing through tall grass like a stone, and rolled out of sheer habit. The gauntlet was still with her, still glowing, and she was vaguely aware of dull thuds, ragged repeated blows.
When she could stand again, on legs that t
hreatened to melt out from under her, she saw Tarram Armistrade swinging a broken lance like a blacksmith's hammer, battering the wizard's head and shoulders, and thrusting the splintered end of the lance-it no longer had its pointed head-at Mahalagris's face whenever he could.
In the distance, the horse Mahalagris had been riding was galloping off like the wind, tossing its head and bleating like a scared lamb.
The Whispering Blade was lying in the trampled grass not far away. Mahalagris reached out an arm toward it.
Despite the blows The Masked was raining down, the sword quivered and slid haltingly toward the wizard, a little at a time.
Tantaerra ran toward it, unsteadily, almost falling twice. If she could stand on it, perhaps her weight could stop it moving.
Or perhaps, just perhaps, the magical sword was what could kill a wizard who was already dead, if she carved him with it …
The lance broke, and Mahalagris laughed in triumph and started to clamber to his feet. The Masked punched him hard in the face-and the wizard punched him back.
Then they were clawing and punching and grappling, Mahalagris managing to snatch the mask off Tarram's face-and Tarram toppling them both to keep from being smashed in the face with his own mask. They rolled on the ground, punching and kicking.
The Whispering Blade rose from the ground, hilt first, as if to fly …and then fell back again, bouncing like any dropped sword.
Tantaerra pounced on it, and the blade and the gage she was wearing both flashed with bright and sudden magical light.
"Oh, great," she gasped. "Now what?"
∗ ∗ ∗
Neither Mahalagris nor the body he'd taken over had taken part in many vicious alley fights, Tarram realized. The wizard wasn't trying to gouge out his eyes, and didn't know what a good handle a man's nostrils gave a ruthless foe.
Or perhaps the wizard just didn't care what happened to his borrowed body, so long as it brought fresh victims within touching distance. His mind was flooding into Tarram's, dark and terrible, exulting …
Tarram had managed to roll atop the wizard's other arm, pinning it, so the mask was trapped under him, too. Yet he could cling to its steadying magic as the mind of Mahalagris tore at his, raging in his head, seeking to sear away everything that was Tarram Armistrade.
