Adalar had seen those creatures before, and his blood ran cold with alarm.
They were huge, hulking spiders, each one nearly the size of a pair of full-grown oxen. Each creature moved with the dangerous grace of a hunting lion, their bodies armored in black chitin, their legs like the blades of massive swords. A large crimson blotch like a crude hourglass marked the gleaming obsidian-like chitin of their backs. The creatures were Crimson Hunters, servants of Marazadra from the spirit world, and Adalar had fought them before. At Greatheart Keep, they had covered the Prophetess’s escape with Liane. At Armalast, they had kept Adalar and the others from killing the Prophetess. At the caverns of the Veiled Mountain, one of the Crimson Hunters had chased Adalar and Sigaldra through Azurvaltoria’s treasury, and they had only barely escaped from the eldritch creature’s fury.
And now three of them faced off against Adalar and his friends, to say nothing of whatever powers Basracus possessed to use against his foes.
“Take them!” commanded the Prophetess.
She ran for the path leading further up the hill, Rigoric sprinting behind her, Liane floating in the grasp of her magic. Sigaldra shouted in rage and started after her sister, but the Crimson Hunters moved too fast. In a moment the giant spiders had blocked their path, and Basracus strode before them, lifting his black sword. A greenish, venomous looking haze shimmered to life around the weapon.
“I’ve been looking forward to this,” said Basracus. “I’ve heard so many tales about the great Mazael Cravenlock, and my warriors have been fearful of invading the Grim Marches for dread of your wrath. How they shall cheer when we march to war with your head atop my banner.”
“Come and get it, then,” said Mazael.
Adalar took a deep breath, readying himself for battle. He knew just how fast and deadly the Crimson Hunters were.
“I’ll take Basracus,” said Mazael. “Keep the Crimson Hunters off me. Timothy?”
Timothy nodded, reached into his coat, and produced a carved wand of old wood.
Basracus laughed in bloodlust, and the Crimson Hunters attacked, surging forward in a black blur.
The High King of Skuldar moved even faster, and Adalar fought for his life.
###
Azurvaltoria and Timothy both started spells, and Adalar, Basjun, and Earnachar charged at the Crimson Hunters, but Mazael could not spare any thought for them.
Basracus had come to kill him.
He blocked the High King’s first two swings, dodged under the third, and struck back before Basracus could line up a fourth. Talon slipped under Basracus’s guard and slashed a bloody line across his ribs. Basracus snarled and thrust his free hand, and a bolt of purple fire erupted from his fingers. It hit Mazael in the chest with battering force and threw him to the ground. Basracus leaped after him, drawing his sword over his head with both hands, and Mazael flung himself to the side. The High King fell to the earth like a thunderbolt, the glowing sword burying itself to the hilt in the ground. Mazael struck again, stabbing Talon into Basracus’s chest, but again the High King released a hand from his sword hilt.
Another burst of purple fire erupted from his fingers, and Mazael had to dodge as Basracus surged back to his feet, the sword a blur of dark metal and green light in his hand.
Mazael had a brief glimpse of the battle against the Crimson Hunters before Basracus closed again. Timothy cast a spell with a shout, his wand blazing with harsh blue light. A whirling ball of blue sparks erupted from the end of his wand, striking the Crimson Hunter on the left. The giant spider froze, cracks of gray light spreading across its carapace, and then it shattered in a spray of mist and gray light, vanishing as Timothy’s magic banished it back to the spirit world.
Azurvaltoria cast a spell, lifting her hands as fire burned up her forearms. Instead of throwing flames at the enemy, her spell caused light to leap from her fingers and encircle the weapons of her allies. The weapons of Adalar, Earnachar, and Basjun burst into harsh yellow-orange fire, and the arrowheads of Romaria and Sigaldra kindled as they lifted them to their bowstrings. Only magical weapons could harm the Crimson Hunters, and Azurvaltoria had just made sure every one of them had magical weapons.
Mazael hoped it was enough because he did not dare take his attention from Basracus.
The High King was as fast and strong as the Spider Guards they had fought earlier. Unlike the Spider Guards, the armor growing from his flesh did not seem to pain him, and Basracus appeared in full control of his mind. Perhaps the Prophetess had improved upon the talismans her predecessors had created, and hoped to create a new, stronger generation of Spider Guards. Worse, the talisman on his chest also granted him the ability to cast spells, and Mazael constantly had to avoid blasts of dark magic. None of the blasts were strong enough to kill him, and his Demonsouled blood soon healed the harm they inflicted.
Yet if he made a single mistake, he was dead.
Their blades locked together, black steel rasping against dragon talon, golden symbols flaring on the blade of his sword.
“How?” snarled Basracus. “How do you stand against my strength? The power of Marazadra has made me invincible!”
“Maybe,” said Mazael, “your warriors are right to fear the Grim Marches.”
Basracus sneered and started to say something, but Mazael drove his head forward. The chitinous armor that encased the High King was strong and tough, but none of it protected his head, probably to keep from asphyxiating him. Mazael’s forehead hit Basracus in the face, and a bolt of pain exploded through his head. Of course, to judge from the crunching sound that Basracus’s nose made, the High King of Skuldar had just experienced far worse pain.
Basracus stumbled back with a howl of fury, and Mazael went on the attack.
As he did a flare of fire illuminated the hillside. Mazael glimpsed a lance of blazing fire shoot from Azurvaltoria’s hands, engulfing one of the Crimson Hunters. The spirit creature shuddered, legs stabbing at the ground. Romaria and Sigaldra loosed arrow after arrow, and Azurvaltoria’s magic transformed the arrows into blazing comets. The arrows punched into the second Crimson Hunter battling against Adalar and Earnachar and Basjun. Basjun’s heavy axe came down, severing one of the Crimson Hunter’s legs, and the creature stumbled, letting Adalar plunge his talchweisyr into its side. They were doing better than Mazael had hoped. Azurvaltoria might not have full access to her magic, but what she possessed she wielded with potent effect.
Then Basracus came at Mazael, and he could spare no attention for the others.
The High King of Skuldar went into a furious, wild attack, his black sword blurring like a bee circling a flower. He threw punches with his left hand, trying to rake Mazael with the razor spines jutting from his forearm. Mazael retreated, drawing closer to the edge of the ledge, Talon whirling in his hands as he blocked the attacks. Basracus was inhumanly fast and strong, and he used that inhuman strength to full effect.
But Basracus was still a Spider Guard. A new kind of Spider Guard, perhaps, but still a Spider Guard, and Mazael wondered if the Prophetess had thought to raise new defenses around the talisman.
Given how much she obviously despised Basracus, maybe not.
Mazael let Basracus drive him back step by step. Once he reached the edge of the terrace, it would be child’s play for Basracus to send him tumbling to the courtyard below. Mazael would probably survive the fall, but he would break so many bones that it would be easy for Basracus to finish him off before his Demonsouled blood healed the injury.
The triumph spread across Basracus’s face.
“Perish!” said Basracus. “Die and know the power of the High King!”
His sword hammered down, ripping Talon from Mazael’s grasp.
Basracus howled in victory and raised his sword over his head. “Die and…”
Mazael surged forward, slamming into the High King with all his strength and speed. Basracus’s arms had been over his head, preparing to bring the sword down, and he lost his balance and landed on his b
ack, Mazael atop him.
Basracus started to scramble back to his feet, but not before Mazael grabbed the metallic spider on his chest with both hands and wrenched it back, ripping the fangs from the High King’s flesh.
Basracus’s eyes popped open wide, and he screamed in pain, his arms flailing at Mazael. The metal spider writhed in Mazael’s grasp. It felt as hard as steel, but it moved like a living thing, which was a damned peculiar sensation. Mazael wrenched again, pulling with all his strength, and he ripped the talisman free from Basracus’s chest in a spray of blood, the legs gleaming and crimson. Basracus choked and started to thrash like a man in the grips of a seizure, and Mazael saw a gaping crater in the center of his chest where the spider’s fangs had been buried.
The power of Marazadra carried a price.
Mazael threw aside the twitching talisman, picked up Talon, and put Basracus out of his misery.
The talisman continued to writhe and thrash, and Mazael hit it three times with Talon, cutting the thing in half. At last both pieces went still, becoming inert metal once more.
He caught his breath and hurried forward, intending to aid the others, but to his surprise, the fight was over. Only one Crimson Hunter still remained on its legs, and it was on fire, gray light leaking from a dozen gaping wounds. As Mazael ran forward, Adalar plunged his burning talchweisyr down, spearing the Crimson Hunter through the head.
The creature shuddered, dissolved into gray mist, and vanished into nothingness.
Mazael looked at the others. Everyone was still on their feet, though Basjun and Adalar and Earnachar all seemed to have taken some wounds.
“Sir,” said Basjun, stunned. “You just killed the High King.”
“You just killed three Crimson Hunters,” said Mazael. “That’s more impressive by far.”
Adalar shrugged, wincing a little. “It wasn’t easy…but Azurvaltoria’s magic made it easier. I don’t think the creatures are used to fighting that many mortals with magical weapons. We overwhelmed them before they could react.”
“Good work,” said Mazael. Azurvaltoria gave him a mocking little bow, flourishing the skirts of her coat.
“We have to hurry,” said Sigaldra, her voice tight. “She took my sister. She will start the spell at…”
The ground shuddered, and from the top of the hill came a sudden howling noise and a flash of purple light. Bolts of purple lightning burst from the crest of the hill, throwing harsh shadows across the shrine stones.
“It begins,” said Azurvaltoria.
“She’s working a spell of tremendous power,” said Romaria, gazing at the hilltop.
“The Prophetess is damned well not going to finish it,” said Mazael. “Run!”
Chapter 17: Blood and Shadows
Sigaldra ran after the others as they climbed the path. A cold wind seemed to howl down from the top of the hill, tugging at her clothes and her hair. She felt a peculiar, unpleasant tingling sensation as if she had spilled something poisonous upon her skin.
If she could feel the great spell stirring in the air, she could only imagine how Romaria and Timothy and Azurvaltoria felt.
Or, for that matter, how her poor sister felt.
One more turn around the slope, and they reached the top of the hill, and Sigaldra beheld the true Heart of the Spider.
The hill’s top was mostly flat. A ring of twenty enormous shrine stones, twice as tall as the ones Sigaldra had seen earlier, encircled the top of the hill. Sigils of purple fire blazed on their sides, pulsing with a steady rhythm like a heartbeat. In the exact center of the ring stood a massive altar of rough black stone. Above the altar towered a vast sheet of rippling gray mist. Looking at the mist gave Sigaldra a headache, and the air around it rippled and twisted. Purple light and dark shadow danced within the mist, and silent bolts of purple lightning erupted from it, lashing at the sky like glowing whips.
Liane lay upon the altar, her wrists and ankles tied to its corners, a gag in her mouth, her eyes wide with fear. Rigoric stood before the altar, the point of his sword resting on the ground, both hands grasping the hilt. The Prophetess waited behind the altar, the pale skin of her face and chest and hands stark against her black armor, the Mask of Marazadra in one hand and a crimson maethweisyr in the other. Sigaldra sensed the power around the sorceress, a charge in the air like lightning.
Even as Sigaldra watched, the Prophetess raised the Mask and placed it upon Liane’s face.
“No!” said Sigaldra, raising her bow and sending an arrow at the Prophetess. The shaft sped across the ring of shrine stones and shattered a half-inch from the Prophetess’s chest, broken by her rebuilt warding spells. The Prophetess’s gaze snapped up from Liane, and her green eyes narrowed.
“Of course,” she said. “Basracus was useless in the end. I ought to have known.”
Mazael strode forward, Talon in his right fist, and Sigaldra and the others followed him. She set another arrow to her bow. The time for talking was over. Either Sigaldra would rescue her sister, or she would die here.
“Marazadra!” screamed the Prophetess, raising the maethweisyr over her head. “Hear your emissary!”
A low rumble went through the ground as if something massive had shifted beneath the hill.
“Your resurrection is imminent!” said the Prophetess. “Your enemies seek to hinder your rebirth! Aid your emissary!”
Again the rumble went through the hill, and Sigaldra heard the grinding sound of boulders breaking loose from the slopes to crash into the courtyard below. A ripple went through the ground, and Sigaldra stumbled, grabbing at Adalar’s arm to keep from falling.
The ground exploded at the foot of a dozen of the shrine stones, and dark shapes erupted from the earth, accompanied by a peculiar odor like a mix of dust and rotting meat. At first, Sigaldra thought that some massive beast had awakened within the hill and had reached out to rip them apart.
Then she saw the soliphages hauling themselves from the ground.
They were dead, and they had been dead for some time. Or, rather, the soliphages were undead. Their carapaces had turned a glistening black, and green fire burned in their eyes. They moved with stiff, jerking motions, placing themselves between Sigaldra and the altar.
“Servants of the goddess!” shouted the Prophetess. “Defend her return! Defend her emissary! Strike down her foes.”
Rigoric strode forward, sword ready, and the undead things followed him. Behind him the Prophetess began another spell, chanting in the Skuldari language as she gestured with the maethweisyr, the purple fire within the mist pulsing in time to her words as the spirit of Marazadra answered her call.
“Undead soliphages,” said Azurvaltoria, spreading her fingers. “They won’t be as agile as the living ones.” Fire burned around her hands. “But they’ll be stronger and tougher, and they can all use magic.”
“Even in death, the messengers of the goddess are deadly,” said Basjun. Next to him Crouch bared his teeth in a furious snarl, his fur rising in angry spikes.
“They won’t be enough to stop us,” said Mazael, and he ran forward. Adalar and Earnachar sprinted after him, while Timothy and Azurvaltoria started spells, and Romaria and Sigaldra loosed arrows.
###
Adalar chopped the talchweisyr into one of the spider limbs of the nearest undead soliphage, lopping off the leg at the base. His Dark Elderborn sword did not absorb any of the magic of the undead, which was just as well. Having the sword grant him some of the abilities of a living soliphage had been unsettling enough, even if it had saved his life and Sigaldra’s life. He did not want to touch the filthy necromancy binding the undead soliphages.
The creature punched at him, the blow catching Adalar in the left shoulder. Pain exploded through him, and for a moment he feared the blow had dislocated his shoulder. Yet despite the pain, he could still use his left arm, and he grabbed his sword’s hilt with both hands and swung, taking off another of the soliphage’s legs. The undead thing staggered. Unlike a living soliphag
e, the undead creature did not show any sign of pain, but it still needed legs to keep its balance.
Adalar split its skull, the silver blade cracking through the black chitin of its carapace. The green fire in its eyes sputtered and went out, and the undead thing slumped motionless to the stony ground.
Before he even had his sword free, another soliphage came at him, green fire burning around its clawed hands, and Adalar had to retreat.
A brilliant gout of fire erupted across the hilltop, igniting two of the undead soliphages in crackling flames. Azurvaltoria stood wrapped in the midst of her power, casting spell after spell in a whirlwind of fiery destruction. Three of the undead soliphages, one of them currently on fire, brought their magic to bear against her, ghostly green fire struggling against the fury of her flames. Timothy cast a spell of his own. A pool of gray mist swirled at his feet, and three translucent wolf-creatures with spines and tentacles jumped from the pool, charging into the battle. Adalar doubted they would last long against the undead soliphages, but at least they might prove a useful distraction.
Right now he needed all the help he could get.
The undead soliphage came at him, driving him back, and Adalar could not find his rhythm against the creature. Again and again, he had to parry, and while the talchweisyr bit into the creature’s legs and arms, he could not land a telling blow. Death seemed to harden the soliphages’ carapaces.
He parried a heavy blow from the soliphage’s arm, the talchweisyr sinking into the limb. Adalar wrenched the sword free and whipped the blade around, taking off the soliphage’s right arm at the elbow. The creature stumbled, but before Adalar could follow up with another strike, one of the soliphage’s spider limbs struck him in the chest. The breath blasted out of his lungs in a rush, and Adalar fell, the talchweisyr bouncing from his grasp. He tried to get his breath back, but he had taken too many blows to the chest, and he could not get any air into his lungs.
Mask of Spells (Mask of the Demonsouled #3) Page 25