Talbot went rigid with terror, but only felt a pressure, not the agony he’d expected. The steel plates riveted on the brigandine kept the poisonous fangs from penetrating his flesh on the first try, and the spider never got a second. Rather, it convulsed and slumped on top of him.
Tal clambered out from beneath the carcass and yanked the long sword free. Some members of the audience were still cheering and whooping, but more were now screaming in earnest. The noble peered about, trying to make out the totality of what was going on, and why none of his retainers had yet rushed to his aid. He was still struggling to sort out the chaos before him when he heard the door at the rear of the stage bang open, and something scratching and scrambling in the balconies above. He pivoted and came on guard.
Galvanized by the appearance of the spiders, Brom sprang from his chair, spun the head of his staff in a mystic pass, and began to recite an incantation that would launch darts of destructive force at the creatures. Then something, perhaps a sight half-glimpsed from the corner of his eye, perhaps simply an intuition honed in scores of battles, warned him that he was in danger. Abandoning his conjuration, he threw himself flat.
Crossbow bolts whizzed over his head and cracked into the walls. An instant later, a blast of cold swept over him, so bitter that he cried out, and his body clenched. Had it struck him squarely, it might have stopped his heart or frozen him solid, but the paling at the front of the box shielded him from the worst of it.
Shivering, wishing his foe had chosen to strike at him with any force other than cold, Brom fumbled a flake of turtle shell from one of his pockets, rattled off an incantation that would protect him from any more quarrels, then peeked over the rime-encrusted paling.
From that vantage point, he could see that the wizard in the crescent-shaped mask, a number of bravos, and more conjured servitors, giant spiders and the pot-bellied, long-armed creatures called ettercaps, had burst in through the front entrance. All the wizard’s minions were trying to work their way toward the stage and Talbot. Due to the press of the panicking crowd, the ruffians were finding it hard going, but the summoned creatures, clambering along the palings at the front of the middle and upper galleries, were covering the distance more rapidly. The Uskevren guards had taken out their crossbows and swords and were doing their best to slay the attackers, and a few other courageous members of the audience had elected to engage them as well, but the defenders were too few to hold back the tide. Brom wondered what had happened to the soldiers stationed outside the playhouse. Why hadn’t they intercepted the masked wizard and his accomplices before the villains ever made it past the gate, and why weren’t they charging in after them now?
Brom really had no time to puzzle over their absence, nor to hurl his magic against any of the spiders, ettercaps, or bravos, either, because the masked wizard had cast an enchantment of flight and risen above the crowd. His dark blue mantle fluttering about him, purple fire dancing on the black staff he held above his head, he was soaring directly toward Brom.
“I suspected I’d see you again,” the masked man said.
Assuming that the other wizard had once again armored himself against lesser spells, Brom hastily attempted one of the greater. Snatching out a handful of clear glass marbles, he raised them high and rattled off the proper incantation. The orbs exploded into powder, veils of shimmering ruby light coiled through the air, and then a corona of brighter radiance blazed around the masked man’s head.
Brom peered intently, trying to judge the effect. If the charm had worked, it had robbed the other wizard of the ability to cast spells by stripping away most of his intellect, and the change would likely manifest itself immediately, in a wail of anguish, perhaps, or a general appearance of confusion.
But the masked man simply kept gliding closer as gracefully as before. “You’re good,” he said in his mild, dry voice, “but I fancy I was better even before my death, and I’ve learned all manner of tricks in the years since. Allow me to demonstrate.”
Green and purple lightning crackled down the length of his staff.
Crouched on the roof of the Soargyl family’s box, Thazienne had been feeling smug till the trouble began. Her brothers, Erevis, and Brom had been idiots to think they could hold her prisoner and hog all the excitement of unknown enemies, attempted assassinations, and the ensuing battles for themselves. It had been simplicity itself to slip out the casement in her bedchamber and climb down the wall. Afterward, she’d hurried to the Kit, the inn where she kept a room, weapons, and an outfit of dark, oiled, closefitting leather, suited up for action, and then headed to the Wide Realms. The playhouse wall was considerably easier to scale than that of Stormweather Towers, and once she reached the roof, she had only to avoid rustling the snowy thatch while she found a perch on one of the solid rafters underneath. Tazi hunkered down, watched, and waited.
It only took Talbot a few seconds to kill the first two spiders, but by then, all manner of interesting things were happening. Three more arachnids were making their way onto the stage, as were a pair of swordsmen. A veritable horde of bravos and conjured creatures had pushed in through the front gate. The wizard in the moon mask was flying through the air, heading straight toward the Uskevren family box where Brom was stationed.
Thazienne’s first impulse was to rush down onto the stage and fight alongside her hulking brother, but aspects of the situation unfolding below nagged at her. For one thing, as she could see from her elevated position, none of the soldiers positioned outside the playhouse was rushing toward it, which meant that Tal and his supporters were severely outnumbered. For another, since the enemy had evidently found a point of entry at the back of the tiring house, why had the majority of them come in through the gate at the opposite end of the playhouse, placing themselves considerably farther away from their quarry than necessary?
She could conceive of one explanation. The wizard in blue was a commander who planned for contingencies and did his best to control his opponents’ actions. The spiders and ruffians already onstage were no feint but a deadly serious threat. But suppose Talbot somehow disposed of them all before their fellows reached the stage. Then, with the bulk of his retainers having mysteriously failed to appear, and an overwhelming force charging toward him, he would see no option but to flee in the only logical direction: back toward that door at the rear of the theater. Where, Tazi suspected, an ambuscade awaited him.
If she was mistaken, if no one was lurking there, she would have wasted valuable time that she could have spent helping Tal fend off the attackers who had already reached him. If she was right, then someone had to clear away the trap and provide him a means of egress, or he’d never make it out of the playhouse alive.
Running lightly, trusting her thief’s agility to keep her feet on the sturdy beams beneath the flimsy thatch, she dashed to the rear of the Wide Realms and peered downward. As she’d anticipated, there was an open door there, and clustered around it, half a dozen ettercaps. Four clung higher up on the wall like ticks attached to the hide of some unfortunate host; the pair directly above the exit appeared to be clutching a net. The other two crouched on the ground on either side of the door, ready to attack Talbot the instant he plunged through.
Other than observing captured specimens in carnivals and menageries, Tazi had no firsthand experience with ettercaps, but it was her understanding that the brutes were adept at laying snares and catching unwary woodsmen unawares. That was probably why the masked wizard had selected them for this duty, but she was going to show them what sneaking and attacking by surprise were truly all about. She silently swung her legs over the edge of the roof, then hesitated.
What if everyone was right? What if she actually wasn’t well yet, nor ready for a fight to the death against superior numbers?
Scowling, she thrust the timorous thought away. She was recovered, curse it, and even if she wasn’t, it didn’t matter, not with Talbot’s life in jeopardy. She started down the wall.
In some ways, it was the most c
hallenging climb she’d ever attempted. She had to find her hand- and footholds in the dark, then transfer her weight in utter silence, lest the ettercaps hear her coming. Yet she also had to descend quickly, for if she took too much time, she might well engage the foe too late to do Talbot any good.
She held her body well away from the wall. Took care that no matter how she exerted herself, her breathing didn’t become audible. Meanwhile she could feel her heart pounding, and half feared that the ettercaps would hear it beating. Or else one of them would simply happen to glance upward, and all her efforts at stealth would be in vain.
None of them did. Compelled by the masked wizard’s power, they kept watching the door with a single-minded intensity, and at last Tazi reached a point just above the ettercap hanging highest on the wall.
The creature was suspended head down. A pity, that, for she would have preferred to kick it in its vaguely equine skull, right between the long, pointed ears with the tufts of bristles on the ends. But the base of its spine was in easy reach, and she stamped on it with all her might.
Bone crunched; the ettercap screamed and fell from its perch. One of its fellows skittered around to orient on Tazi. Twisting, she kicked at that one, too, and the reinforced toe of her boot caught it in its red-eyed face, snapping the two tusks that protruded over its lower lip and jolting its head back. The brute tumbled to the ground.
Now that Thazienne no longer had the advantage of surprise, it would be foolish to continue trying to fight and hang on a vertical surface at the same time. She sprang away from the wall, landed well beyond the two ettercaps crouched on the ground, dropped, and rolled through a frigid snow drift.
The net flew through the air. She rolled again, and it clattered down beside her. As she scrambled up, the two ettercaps who’d thrown it hopped down from their perches, and then, screeching and chittering, all four of the uninjured ones shambled toward her.
She knew she mustn’t let them encircle her. She whipped out her long sword, dodged to the left, then sprang at her closest opponent.
The ettercap raked at her with the filthy claws at the ends of its elongated fingers. She ducked beneath the attack. The poison glands in its upper lip swelling, the creature lunged to bite her, and she met the threat with a cut that bisected its throat.
As the ettercap toppled, she spun away from it, meanwhile whirling her blade in a sweeping parry that, though executed blindly, knocked away the taloned hand of the conjured being that had sought to attack her from behind. Perhaps she’d startled it or stung its fingers, for it faltered. She feinted a head cut to addle it still further, then drove her blade into its chest.
The creature dropped. Pulling her weapon free, she peered about and saw that the two remaining ettercaps had succeeded in placing themselves on opposite sides of her and were warily moving in. They thought that when she turned to defend herself from one, the other would be able to rend her or sink its venomous canines into her from behind.
Their tactics might well prevail, if she permitted them to close in on her, press her, and generally control the tempo of the exchange. To forestall that, she bellowed and sprinted at the one crouched between her and the wall.
Its crimson eyes goggling in surprise at her precipitous action, the ettercap nonetheless managed to throw up one of its long, wiry arms to fend off her blade, but she dipped her point beneath the block and plunged it into the brute’s belly.
As she yanked the sword free, she heard the remaining ettercap charging up right behind her, and realized she didn’t even have time to whirl around to face it. Reversing her weapon and gripping the hilt with both hands, she thrust it backward under her arm, ducking simultaneously.
Just as she’d hoped, the ettercap’s raking hands, aimed high, lashed harmlessly over her head. Meanwhile, the long sword slammed into flesh.
She sidestepped clear, turned, raised her weapon for another stroke or parry, then saw it wasn’t necessary. The ettercap she’d just stabbed was collapsing, and the other five were sprawled motionless on the ground.
Tazi felt a swell of exultation as intense as any she’d ever known. She hadn’t been a fool to trust in her skills and prowess. She was finally her old self again.
But she knew she had no time to stand and revel in the knowledge. She dashed for the door.
A different sort of arachnid, black with brown stripes, leaped from one of the window stages, its bony-ridged legs extended like lances to stab its prey. Talbot leaped aside, and the sword spider crashed down beside him. He drove his blade into its thorax, and it shuddered, listed to one side, and fell.
As usual, while he’d been busy eliminating one threat, others were moving in on him. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a bravo skulking up on his flank. The tough was phenomenally ugly, as if, in punishment for some crime, he’d been magically transformed into something inhuman, and the spell to restore him had only barely done the job. Tal whirled to face him, and his King Imre wig picked that moment to slip down over his eyes.
Knowing that the ruffian would seize the instant of his blindness to attack, Tal parried by sheer instinct. His blade rang on that of his opponent’s, blocking his cut to the flank. The wig fell down to the floor, and Tal hacked at his adversary’s sword hand, half severing it. Keening, the ugly man dropped to his knees.
One of the round-bellied ettercaps charged Talbot, its thin arms with their long-fingered hands outstretched, only to plummet abruptly from sight when a trapdoor opened beneath its feet. An instant later, a flying chariot drawn by pink dragons dropped from on high, nearly braining a ruffian who had been in the process of aiming a crossbow at Tal. The startled bravo jumped, his finger pulled on the trigger, and the bolt flew wild.
Talbot grinned. Evidently, Lommy and his brother Otter, who generally operated the Wide Realms’s array of mechanical tricks and effects, had made their way to the controls beneath the stage and in the hut above and were trying to use them to help Talbot. Other members of the troupe were striving to do the same by flinging missiles and abuse from the relative safety of the wings.
Uskevren warriors were still fighting doggedly here and there about the theater, and Brom was still keeping the masked wizard busy. Their duel stained the walls with flashes of colored light, even as it filled the air with cracklings, hissings, thrummings, waves of heat and cold, and foul odors.
Meanwhile, Tal was battling as well as he ever had in his life; Master Ferrick, his teacher, would have been proud. Yet he suspected that none of it, not his own skill nor the valor and ingenuity of his supporters, would matter in the end. The enemy’s superior numbers would soon carry the day, for, strong as he was, even he couldn’t keep fighting this furiously for much longer, with never an instant’s respite to catch his breath. Already he was panting, and could feel fatigue building in his muscles.
If only he could bolt through the door at the rear of the stage! It looked to be his only hope of survival, and he wouldn’t be abandoning his allies, because all his would-be slayers would pursue him. But those same enemies were pressing him so hard that it was impossible to break away.
Retreating before another ettercap’s advance, he heard a rattling overhead, looked up, and saw a falling star. The tasloi operating the hoists and windlasses had doubtless dropped the piece of stage dressing in hopes of hitting one of his assailants, but unfortunately, his timing was off.
Tal tried to dodge, but was too slow. Though only made of painted plywood, the star still struck him square and hard and dashed him to the floor.
He tried to drag himself out from underneath it, but his limbs barely stirred. Through blurry eyes, he watched his foes, human and otherwise, rushing in at him, and understood in a murky way that he was stunned, helpless, and in consequence about to die.
Then a primal, indomitable other roared up from the depths of his mind. He flung the star off and leaped to his feet. The moon wasn’t full, he wasn’t sprouting fur or fangs, but for this one moment, the wolf had nonetheless emerged to preserve
the life the two of them shared.
The nearest bravos quailed before his feral grimace, or perhaps the growl rumbling in his throat. The summoned creatures kept coming. Tal decapitated a green spider, gutted an ettercap, and stormed into the midst of his foes.
Somewhere deep inside himself, the rational, human Talbot cried out in protest, for in its berserk fury, the wolf was taking the wrong tack. If he rushed in among them, he might wreak havoc for a moment, but then his foes would assail him from all sides and overwhelm him. Alas, his bestial alter ego refused to heed him.
Talbot drove his long sword through the torso of a one-eyed tough armed with a battle-axe, killed a spider at the instant it shimmered from a translucent, ghostly condition into solidity, then, suddenly, he glimpsed another blade flashing alongside his own.
Startled, he glanced to see who his new ally was. Tazi, clad in a suit of dark leather he’d never seen her wear before, had darted out of nowhere to help him, and somehow, her unexpected appearance banished the wolf. He was himself once more.
His sister’s sudden assault had likewise caught the enemy by surprise. Together with the wolf’s devastating onslaught, it served to scatter them and drive them back.
It was the opportunity Talbot had been waiting for. “Come on!” he gasped, and he and Thazienne dashed for the exit at the back of the stage.
As the enemy lunged after them, a painted backdrop depicting a castle by the sea crashed down between the hunted and the hunters, delaying the latter for a precious moment. Tal heard his fellow players cheer.
The Uskevren’s box had been reduced to a sad condition. Portions of the paneling and seats had been variously charred, shattered, warped, and covered in frost. Brom was sure he didn’t look in any better shape. He was bruised, bloody, and blistered, and his good mocado doublet, purchased shortly after Lord Uskevren hired him and the first truly genteel article of clothing he’d ever owned, hung in tatters about his lanky frame.
The Shattered Mask Page 18