Mask of Spells (Mask of the Demonsouled #3)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “And thank you, hrould Mazael,” said Sigaldra.

  “Eh?” said Mazael, looking up from his thoughts. He seemed to be brooding on something. “For what?”

  “You stepped into that spell,” said Sigaldra. “That bolt of purple fire the Spider Guard threw at us. It would have killed both Romaria and me.”

  Mazael snorted. “I couldn’t very well let some twisted old spider-monster murder my wife.” He smiled at Romaria, his gray eyes glinting like sword blades. “I’ve done far worse to people for threatening her.”

  “How sweet,” said Romaria, but she smiled back.

  “How did you survive that?” said Sigaldra. Now it was her turn to be puzzled. “That spell hit you full-on twice.”

  Mazael shrugged. “I can’t rightly say. I think it only clipped me. And I’m too old and mean to die.”

  Sigaldra snorted. “No question there.” But she did wonder. She had been traveling near Mazael Cravenlock for weeks, and she had come to notice many strange things about him. He had far greater stamina than she would have expected in a man his age, and he seemed able to shrug off blows and exertions that should have killed him. Perhaps that was only to be expected from a man who had defeated the runedead and forced the Tervingi and the Marcher folk to dwell in peace.

  Or perhaps he had some sort of magical ability he kept secret. Something the Guardian had given him, perhaps, or something that he had acquired during his travels as a young man. That might explain his unusual resilience, and it might also explain the terrifying rages that came over him in battle, rages that she could see he struggled to control.

  Still, she would not complain. If any two men in the world could help her rescue Liane, they would be Mazael Cravenlock and Adalar Greatheart.

  Though she seemed to have caught Mazael’s attention. The gray eyes had focused on her, and he was frowning.

  “What?” said Sigaldra. “Would you prefer that I not thank you when you save my life? I can be churlish and sour if you wish.”

  “I can only imagine what Earnachar would say to that,” said Mazael. “No. Your sister…”

  “Liane?” said Sigaldra. “What about her?”

  “I think she spoke to me in a dream before the Spider Guard attacked,” said Mazael. “Using her Sight.”

  Sigaldra blinked. “Is…that even possible? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “I have,” said Romaria in a quiet voice. Next to her Azurvaltoria continued toiling as she cast her spell. “During the Great Rising, before the final battle at Knightcastle. Using my Sight, I spoke to Lucan Mandragon across a great distance, and tried to convince him to turn from his path.” She shook her head. “I failed, obviously.”

  “But you needed the guidance and help of Riothamus to do it,” said Mazael.

  Romaria shrugged. “The Sight manifests in different ways in different people. Mine is not particularly powerful. Riothamus’s is stronger but less intuitive. Liane is young, and perhaps the ordeals of the past weeks have caused her own Sight to awaken to greater power.”

  “So why would she speak to you?” said Sigaldra. A flicker of hurt went through her. Why would Liane speak to Mazael instead of her sister? But Mazael’s next words put that pain to rest.

  “She had a message for you,” said Mazael.

  “What was it?” said Sigaldra.

  “She told you to sound the Horn of Doom and Fate when the moment came,” said Mazael.

  Sigaldra felt her frown deepen. Liane had told her the same thing at Veiled Mountain. In fact, she had all but shouted it as the Prophetess and Rigoric had fled the impending collapse of the cavern.

  “Why?” said Sigaldra.

  Mazael started to answer, but Azurvaltoria grunted and flung out her hands, fires crackling around her fingertips. A wave of heat rolled through Sigaldra, and for a moment she felt feverish, but the heat soon subsided.

  “There,” said Azurvaltoria, rolling her shoulders as if she was recovering from a heavy labor. “We should be impervious to the Sight for some time now, perhaps at least as long as a day. What were you talking about?”

  “The Horn of Doom and Fate,” said Mazael.

  “What about it?” said Azurvaltoria.

  “My sister used the Sight to speak to Mazael,” said Sigaldra, growing impatient. She wanted some answers. More to the point, she wanted her sister back. “She said I needed to sound the Horn of Doom and Fate when the time came.”

  “I see,” said Azurvaltoria, looking back and forth between Mazael and Sigaldra.

  “Why would she tell me that?” said Sigaldra. “The Horn would summon up an army of the dead bound to Marazadra, yes? Why would I do that?”

  “Actually,” said Azurvaltoria, “I am not at all sure what would happen if you sounded the Horn, save that it would likely be fatal.”

  “Will sounding the Horn kill the Prophetess?” said Sigaldra.

  “Alas, likely not,” said Azurvaltoria. “The Horn summons shades of the dead, remnants created in the spirit world by the passage of souls to the next life. Consequently, its power is most likely necromantic in nature. Celina du Almaine is a wizard and knows how to shield herself from the backlash of its power. You would have no such protection. Furthermore, she bears of the Talisman of Marazadra, and all the faithful of Marazadra are compelled to obey her. Even the dead ones. Were you to sound the Horn, I have no idea what would happen, but I do not recommend it.” She shrugged. “Save as a creative way to commit suicide.”

  “If the Prophetess is dead,” said Mazael, “it doesn’t matter what happens to the Horn. Let’s go. We have an ambush to plan.”

  ###

  As it turned out, Azurvaltoria chose an excellent path. The path was rocky and narrow and steep, but the boulders concealed them from view while the height permitted them to have a view of the causeway. So far, no one had emerged from the stairs on the terrace, save for the few wisps of greasy smoke still rising from the dead valgasts that Azurvaltoria had set aflame.

  Mazael considered their options as they climbed the steep slope, the massive stones of the Heart of the Spider drawing ever closer. He didn’t see anyone on the causeway leading to the ruined temple atop the mountain, and nor did he see anyone within the Heart of the Spider itself. From his dreams, he knew that eight separate fanes led into the central courtyard. Each of those fanes was huge, as large as the great cathedrals in the cities to the west, capable of holding thousands of people. There was no way that the Spider Guards and the valgasts and the Skuldari priests could guard each fane, especially since their roofs had collapsed and the rubble lay in untidy heaps, providing ample cover for anyone wishing to enter the Heart unseen.

  It was possible the valgasts, Skuldari priests, and Spider Guards had set watch over each of the fanes. It was also possible that they had failed to realize any threat could reach them here, and had congregated in the central courtyard around the altar hill to await the return of their goddess. If that had happened, Mazael and the others could enter one of the deserted fanes with ease and set an ambush for the Prophetess. The causeway led directly to the southern fane, and almost certainly the Prophetess would enter the Heart through that fane.

  Perhaps it would be better to snatch Liane away and flee, though the Prophetess and all her minions would pursue. If they returned to the Grim Marches, the army of the Tervingi and the Marcher lords would teach the valgasts and the Skuldari a sharp lesson. Mazael nonetheless thought it would better to kill the Prophetess and have done with it. The Skuldari and the valgasts and the motaylakars and the soliphages were all natural enemies, and only the Prophetess held them together. If she was killed, they would turn on each other in short order, and the threat to the Grim Marches would collapse.

  Of course, that was easier said than done. Mazael had tried to kill the Prophetess before, and she had escaped every single time. Of course, he had escaped her as well.

  But this time, he knew, only one of them would walk away from the Heart of the Spider.

&
nbsp; In the end, he could not make a proper plan, not until he had seen the layout of the ground inside the Heart of the Spider and taken disposition of the enemy forces. Perhaps that was just as well. A commander of men needed a resilient mind in combat, able to change and adapt as circumstances demanded. Rigid thinking would result in a swift and overpowering defeat.

  And Mazael remembered Basjun and Earnachar and Timothy and thought of ways he might cause chaos within the Heart of the Spider.

  They remained on watch as they climbed the path, watching for any sign of Spider Guards or of motaylakars flying overhead. Yet the side of the mountain remained clear of any foes, and as the sun started to sink beneath the peaks to the west, they reached the foot of the massive outer wall.

  It rose nearly a hundred feet above them, wrought from the same massive blocks of stone that had been used to build the outer wall of Armalast. Unlike the outer wall of Armalast, Mazael saw the carvings he remembered from his dreams, the reliefs showing spiders feasting upon humans.

  “The soliphages have wretched taste in artwork,” said Romaria.

  “They stole the style from the San-keth,” said Azurvaltoria. “This is the eastern fane, and the Prophetess will likely enter the Heart through the southern fane. How shall we proceed?”

  “Romaria,” said Mazael. “Scout ahead, please. Can you move through the fane without drawing attention?”

  She smiled at him. “Drunk with a blindfold tied around my head.”

  Had they been alone, he would have responded with a raunchy joke. “Take a look around and let us know what you find. We’ll wait here.”

  Romaria nodded and took two steps forward, her body blurring and melting into the form of the great black wolf. She loped ahead with silent speed, darting through the tall archway into the fane, and vanished from sight.

  “I am envious,” said Azurvaltoria. “She can change shape when I cannot.”

  “She paid a steep price for it, though,” said Adalar.

  “Oh?” said Azurvaltoria.

  “She died,” said Adalar. Mazael remembered the flash of fire in the Old Demon’s hand.

  “At least she can wear her true form,” said Azurvaltoria with some annoyance.

  “That’s the difference,” said Mazael. “Her human form is her true form, as is her wolf form. They’re both her true form. Unless one of your parents was human, this isn’t your true form.”

  Azurvaltoria sniffed. “A human parent? What a scandalous thing to suggest, Mazael Cravenlock.”

  “Look,” said Sigaldra.

  Mazael turned. Far below, he could still see the terrace with the circle of shrine stones. A dark mass rose from the stairwell. A large group of valgast warriors had emerged from Tchroth. They began to march in good order from the terrace, hastening up the causeway towards the southern fane of the Heart of the Spider.

  “Hell,” said Mazael. “Looks like the Prophetess finally found the way past your fire.”

  “Indeed she did,” said Azurvaltoria. She shrugged. “We knew it was only a matter of time until she broke the spell. Fortunately, we are still ahead of her.”

  “It’s not much time to prepare an ambush,” said Adalar.

  “No, it isn’t,” said Mazael. “But we would have to improvise anyway. Your father always said that no plan of battle ever survives the first crossing of the swords with the enemy.”

  “He did,” said Adalar.

  “My father said that, too,” said Sigaldra. “Though he said that plans of battle never survived the first crossing of axes with the foe.”

  Adalar frowned. “Why axes?”

  Sigaldra shrugged. “He preferred the axe. So did all my brothers, ere the Malrags cut them down.” She sighed. “I would have used the axe in battle, though I am not strong enough. Hence, the bow.”

  “Not strong enough?” said Adalar. “I’ve seen you use the sword.”

  “The axe has to be driven through steel and flesh,” said Sigaldra. “Otherwise it just bounces off. I might as well use a club. Easier to use a bow. Requires less raw strength, but it’s just as deadly.” Her blue eyes turned towards Mazael. “Though I’ll never be as good an archer as Romaria.”

  “She has some natural advantages,” said Mazael, looking towards the archway of the ruined fane. He wondered if he should go in after her, and how much longer he should wait before he did. “She paid for them, though. I don’t think you would want to pay the price she did.”

  “No,” said Sigaldra, shuddering a little. “You’re both enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “I’m sorry?” said Mazael.

  “You and Romaria both,” said Sigaldra. “You…like to fight. The way other men do not.”

  Azurvaltoria raised her dark eyebrows, looking back and forth between Mazael and Sigaldra. The dragon looked amused, damn her.

  “Romaria isn’t a man,” said Mazael.

  “That’s not what I meant,” said Sigaldra.

  “I know,” said Mazael. He shrugged. “Aye, I like to fight. Maybe more than I should.”

  “Why?” said Sigaldra.

  He knew perfectly well why.

  “Because,” said Mazael, “all men have their strengths, and fighting is mine. So I decided to use it to bring order and peace to the Grim Marches. That’s why I’m here, is it not? The Jutai are sworn to me, and the Prophetess stole your sister, subverted one of my vassals, and roused the Skuldari and the soliphages and the valgasts to make war upon my people. So they’re going to pay for it. I’m going to kill the Prophetess and smash her plans in ruin, and if the Skuldari and the valgasts persist, I’m going to inflict such a defeat upon them that they won’t dare to leave their mountains and their caves for a thousand years. If I like to fight, I’m going to try to do something useful with it.”

  Sigaldra blinked. Her eyes had gotten a little wide during his speech, and she managed to nod. He supposed some of his anger must have drifted into his voice as he spoke.

  “So we’re going to get your sister back,” said Mazael, “and make the Prophetess regret it.”

  “Thank you,” said Sigaldra, her voice a little hoarse.

  “We wandered rather afield,” said Adalar, “as to why you wished to use an axe.”

  Sigaldra blinked, and then smiled at him. “To honor my father, of course.”

  “I understand that,” said Adalar, tapping the scabbard slung over his back. It was too large for his talchweisyr, but he had adjusted the scabbard to hold the shorter blade. “That was why I carried a greatsword. To honor the memory of my father, who was a better knight than I was.”

  “A noble gesture,” said Sigaldra.

  Adalar shrugged. “That, and it was a supremely useful weapon against spearmen. Their longer reach means little when you lop off the heads of their weapons. And I could break through shields with it. The enemy always looked so surprised when I did.”

  “I imagine they did,” said Sigaldra. “I always wondered why you did not fight with a shield.”

  “There are times when it slows you down,” said Mazael, who for years had fought with a longsword in his right hand and a Mastarian war hammer in his left. “Of course, the trick is not to get hit in the first place. Which isn’t always possible. You need…”

  He fell silent as a black wolf loped from the entrance to the fane. It came to a stop before him and blurred back into the form of Romaria.

  “Find anything interesting?” said Mazael.

  “I went to the other end of the fane and back,” said Romaria. “As far as I can tell, it’s deserted. It absolutely stinks of soliphages and those Spider Guards, though. At the other end is another archway that opens into this big round courtyard, just like you described. There are already quite a few soliphages, Spider Guards, and Skuldari priests in the courtyard, looking at that rift on the hill.”

  “How many?” said Mazael.

  “About a hundred and fifty, all told,” said Romaria. “Only a dozen of those Spider Guards.” She looked at Azurvaltoria. “You m
ight have indeed killed almost all of them.”

  “Alas, that’s still not the same as all of them,” said Azurvaltoria. “Were I clothed in my true form, I could burn them to cinders from the air. In human form, I can only access a small portion of my powers. A dozen Spider Guards together would make for a formidable challenge.”

  “How can we fight our way through so many?” said Sigaldra.

  “We might not have to,” said Romaria. “Not yet, anyway. They’re all gathered around the altar hill. I think they’re casting…preparatory spells, readying the way for the Prophetess to summon Marazadra back. The Skuldari clerics and the soliphages are working the spells together.”

  “The Prophetess must have sent them ahead to do the preparations,” said Mazael.

  “Most likely,” said Romaria. “The Spider Guards are standing watch, but they seem more interested in the spells than remaining vigilant. I don’t think they’ve realized that we’re here. There are a lot of shrine stones and lots of heaped rubble in the central courtyard. If we’re careful, we can conceal ourselves and set up an ambush for the Prophetess.”

  “Very well,” said Mazael.

  Sigaldra was not reassured. “How can we fight so many?”

  “We can’t,” said Mazael. “So we’ll have Azurvaltoria hit the Prophetess with as much fire as she can muster. While she’s distracted, we’ll grab your sister and hopefully the Mask and run as fast as we can. And if the Prophetess is distracted by fighting off Azurvaltoria’s fire, maybe one of us can land a killing blow.”

  “Or I can just shoot her through her lying throat,” said Sigaldra.

  “That works,” said Mazael. “Romaria, lead the way.”

  She nodded, adjusted her Elderborn bow, and set off into the fane. Mazael followed her, Talon ready in his fist, Azurvaltoria and Sigaldra behind him, while Adalar brought up the back.

  They crossed the archway and entered the ruined fane.

  At the height of its glory, it must have been an intimidating structure. Even as it lay half in ruins, it still had a dark grandeur. Once a double row of massive pillars, each as thick as an elderly oak tree, had supported the ceiling high overhead. Now the roof had fallen into shattered rubble, and half the columns had toppled to the floor, creating a maze of wreckage. Romaria had been right. It would not be difficult to pass unseen through the piles of broken stone. Mazael wondered what had destroyed the Heart of the Spider. His father had tricked and defeated Marazadra here, banishing her spirit from the mortal realm. Had the backlash of power shattered the huge temple?