Mask of Swords

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Our men are camped outside the walls,” said Wesson. “If the enemy comes, we might not have time to bring them inside.”

  “They are all veterans to a man,” said Arnulf. “They can hold out until we can relieve them.”

  “I doubt anyone is attacking our men,” said Mazael. “No one in their right mind attacks thains and knights and armsmen when richer targets are at hand. Likely a group of raiders have struck one of the Jutai farms.”

  But which group of raiders, though? It was late afternoon, but the valgasts would not come out until full dark. The Skuldari, then? The mountains of Skuldar were far to the west, and Mazael doubted a group of Skuldari raiders had come this far without opposition. Had Earnachar grown bold enough to act openly?

  That sent a flicker of fury through him. If Earnachar was attacking Greatheart Keep and harassing the Jutai, he would regret it sorely.

  They reached the gate and climbed to the rampart. Talchar One-Eye stood there, grim in his mail, the red crystal of his left eye flashing in the setting sun.

  “What news, swordthain?” said Mazael.

  “Hrould,” said Talchar, his voice grim. “Raiders. And of a sort I have never seen before.”

  He pointed, and Mazael raised a hand to his eyes and squinted. Even with one eye, Talchar’s sight was keen.

  “I see…horsemen, my lord?” said Timothy. In the distance large bands of riders moved over the farms and fields of the Jutai, while the bondsmen who worked in those fields raced for the gate. “But their movements are peculiar.”

  “That is because,” said Romaria, “they are not riding horses.”

  Mazael saw that she was right. He made out the distant specks of the riders, but they ran with peculiar, jerky movements. The creatures seemed far more nimble than horses.

  “Spiders,” said Mazael. “They’re riding spiders.”

  “They are.” Adalar and Sigaldra hurried up to the rampart, and Adalar pointed over the battlements. “I fought those things before, west of here. I didn’t think the Skuldari would come so far east.”

  “Perhaps they invaded and we only now are seeing their scouts,” said Timothy.

  “No,” said Mazael. “They would have to cross the Northwater, and to come this far into the Grim Marches with such a large force…we would have heard rumor of it by now.”

  “Unless they had help,” said Sigaldra. “Unless someone invited them into the Grim Marches.”

  “The valgasts?” said Talchar with a grunt. “Seems peculiar that they would work with anyone. Mostly they just eat people.”

  “No,” said Sigaldra. “Earnachar. Perhaps he is allied with the Skuldari.”

  Her suspicion and hatred of Earnachar were unwavering, but she might not be wrong. Mazael had seen the valgasts, the Skuldari, the soliphages, and the peculiar heart-spiders all bound together in the worship of the goddess Marazadra. Perhaps Earnachar had indeed allied himself with this mysterious power.

  “Your folk are fleeing for the walls,” said Mazael. Dozens of Jutai farmers, hunters, and herders were running for the village gate. Smoke rose on the edge of the horizon as the spider riders set fires on the outer farms.

  “Aye,” said Sigaldra. “We’ve had enough trouble with bandits, valgasts, and Earnachar’s dogs that my people know to take shelter when the alarm horn sounds.” Her hands balled into fists at her side. “At least they cannot do too much damage. We haven’t yet put a crop into the ground, and all our seed is stored within the village. Though that will be small comfort to the men who lose their herds.” She looked at Mazael. “Will you withdraw your men within the walls? It will be crowded, but they can camp in the square and bed in the church. Best if they bring their supplies with them, too.”

  “Aye,” said Mazael, “but we’re going to ride out and deal with the Skuldari raiders.”

  She blinked. “You are?”

  “Adalar,” said Mazael. “You’ve fought these things before. Are horsemen or footmen better?”

  “Horsemen, likely,” said Adalar after a moment’s hesitation. “The spiders sit lower than a horseman, so they’re harder to hit from the saddle. The spiders themselves have no armor, though their mandibles are venomous and their legs can strike like swords. I fear they could quickly surround and overwhelm footmen.”

  “There’s more,” said Talchar, his good eye squinting. “Dust just over the horizon. A large band of men on foot, I deem, heading south for us.”

  “From Banner Hill,” said Sigaldra with a scowl.

  “Possibly,” said Mazael. “I have a hundred mounted men with me. Adalar has fifty. Will you ride with us?”

  Adalar hesitated, and Sigaldra looked at him. “Yes, we shall. A true knight would not turn away while innocent lives are in danger.” For some reason that seemed to surprise the holdmistress.

  “Good,” said Mazael. “We’ll drive off the spiders. Preferably we can take some prisoners. I would like to know why the Skuldari have come down from the mountains to raid the Grim Marches. Arnulf. Take our supplies and withdraw inside the walls. If the village comes under direct attack, help Sigaldra’s thains and militia defend the ramparts.”

  Sigaldra scowled. “You would bring Tervingi thains within my walls?”

  Arnulf grunted. “My men will not start trouble if yours do not.”

  Sigaldra let out a long, hissing breath, but gave a sharp nod. “Very well.”

  “Timothy,” said Mazael. “Stay here and use your spells to aid in the defense if necessary.” The wizard nodded, his black coat stirring in the wind. “Sigaldra. Keep the street behind the gate clear. We may need to return in a hurry if things go awry.”

  She nodded. “This is not my first siege, hrould.”

  “Let us hope this does not become a siege,” said Mazael. “Come.”

  ###

  Adalar adjusted his grip on his spear, turning his horse in a circle.

  There had not been time to don all his armor. He wore a chain mail hauberk, armored gauntlets and boots, and a steel helmet. His shield rested on his left arm, and the spear in his right hand. The hilt of his greatsword rose over his shoulder, and his war hammer hung from his saddle. Around him the knights and armsmen gathered, pulling on their armor in haste and climbing atop their mounts.

  Adalar looked at them, and then at the Jutai bowmen standing atop the wall.

  This was not his fight, he knew. He had no obligation to follow Mazael, and if he wanted, could ride back to Castle Dominus. Of course, if he was foolish enough to do that, the Skuldari raiders might surround his men and kill them all. Adalar could even argue that he had an obligation to ride back and report to Lord Gerald, lest the valgasts and their goddess threaten Knightreach.

  Instead Adalar braced his feet in his stirrups and prepared to ride.

  He was not sure why he had remained. Loyalty to Mazael, certainly. When the Lord of Castle Cravenlock gave a command, it was hard to refuse him. A knight had an obligation to defend the weak and the helpless. Sigaldra and her men were hardly helpless, but Adalar could not turn his back upon them. They had built something in the dead shell of Greatheart Keep, something that might one day grow and thrive.

  If the Skuldari did not wipe it out first.

  Perhaps Adalar could keep that from happening.

  His father would not have forsaken the Jutai. Maybe that was the only argument that mattered.

  Sir Aulus Hirtan, Mazael’s herald and standardbearer, sounded a note upon his horn. The armsmen and knights formed up, horses snorting and stamping at the earth. The horsemen started forward at a quick walk. A half-dozen plumes of smoke rose against the sky, and the wind carried the scent of burning wood and straw to Adalar’s nose. The Skuldari raiders were burning the barns they found. The Jutai had already been made homeless once before, and it seemed the Skuldari were attempting to do so again.

  That angered Adalar.

  The horsemen swept across the empty fields, and Adalar saw the first spider rider. The giant spider looked similar to th
e one he had slain in the western Grim Marches. A Skuldari raider sat atop the spider, a spear in hand and a quiver of javelins strapped to his back. He wore leather and chain mail, his ragged hair streaming around his head, his face painted with elaborate blue designs.

  The Skuldari warrior sneered and lashed at his reins, and the spider spun, racing towards a burning barn in the distance.

  “They’ll see us!” said Wesson. “We should stop that scout.”

  “No, don’t bother,” said Mazael. “They saw us coming. Aulus! Sound formation for a charge!”

  The herald blew out a sequence of blasts upon his horn, and the horsemen slowed, rearranging themselves into a line for a charge.

  The Skuldari spiders arrayed themselves far more quickly.

  Black shapes blurred around the smoldering barn, and dozens of the spiders raced towards the horsemen, Skuldari warriors upon their backs. A faint creaking, ticking noise came to Adalar’s ears, and he realized it was the noise of the spiders’ legs as they ran forward. Skuldari warriors sat upon the spiders, spears and javelins in hand.

  “Now!” Mazael’s voice boomed over the horsemen. “Sound the charge!”

  Aulus loosed a blast on his horn, and the horsemen spurred their horses forward, the ground trembling beneath their steel-shod hooves. Adalar rode in their midst, his spear ready. The spiders surged towards them, their mandibles clicking. He had ridden into battle any number of times, had been part of the great charges of mounted men at the battles of the Northwater and Knightcastle.

  He had not, however, charged a mass of giant spiders before.

  The Skuldari loosed an ululating battle cry, drew their arms back, and flung a volley of javelins. Adalar raised his shield over his head, and his arm vibrated with a shock of pain as a javelin struck the sturdy wood. Behind him one of Mazael’s armsmen screamed as a javelin sunk into his throat, the impact throwing him from the saddle.

  The spiders crashed into the horses.

  A terrible cacophony rose around him. One of the spiders sprang upon a knight’s horse, its mandibles sinking into the poor beast’s neck. An armsman drove his spear through a Skuldari warrior’s chest, flinging the man to the ground. Adalar, remembering his previous encounter with the spiders, aimed his spear not at the nearest Skuldari but at the warrior’s spider. The spear’s head plunged into the spider’s abdomen with a sound like thick leather tearing, and the spider went into a mad dance as Adalar ripped his weapon free. The Skuldari warrior lost his balance and fell, only to die as his own spider’s legs stabbed into his back.

  Adalar’s horse carried him through the melee, and he wheeled around, seeking new foes. The knights and armsmen struggled against the line of spiders, swords and spears rising and falling. Adalar charged his horse back at the battle, lowering his spear, and drove the weapon into the back of a Skuldari warrior. The man screamed, his back arching, and Adalar ripped the weapon free once more, its head gleaming with the warrior’s blood. The dying main’s spider reared up, and Adalar drove his spear into its head. Yellow slime burst from the wound, and the spider fell backwards, crushing the dying warrior and ripping the spear from Adalar’s hands.

  He raised his war hammer and kept fighting.

  ###

  Mazael’s spear shattered in his hand when he drove it through the ugly maw of one of the giant spiders. The creature thrashed, legs raking at the earth, and the warrior fell from its back. Mazael’s horse trampled the warrior and kept going. He snapped at the reins, slowing, and drew Talon from its scabbard at his side.

  The sigils of golden flame written upon the dark blade did not glow any brighter. The spiders were natural beasts, not creatures of dark magic. Still, that made them no less dangerous. The men and horses who had been wounded by the spiders’ pincers fell to the ground, twitching and foaming at the mouth.

  Mazael charged at the nearest spider. The Skuldari warrior upon the spider’s back started to turn, but Mazael swung Talon with all his strength. The blade tore through the man’s neck, his head rolling away in a fountain of blood. The spider reared up and started to attack, but Mazael’s horse was already past it. He wheeled around, slowing, as the spider leaped forward. Talon plunged into its head with a spray of yellow slime, and the spider rolled over and struck the ground with a dull thud.

  An arrow blurred past his face and struck another Skuldari warrior. The warrior fell backwards off his spider and went motionless, the spider veering away. Mazael risked a glance to the side and saw Romaria standing in her stirrups, her expression cool and focused as she loosed arrow after arrow.

  A dozen knights and armsmen had died in the first clash of the fighting, but three times as many of the spider riders had perished. Mazael suspected that the Skuldari were used to fighting from ambush and stealth in the rocky hills and cold mountains of their homeland. Fighting on the plains and facing a group of heavy horsemen was alien to them.

  Though he still didn’t know what to do about the unknown force just to the north. A larger band of Skuldari, perhaps? Were these spiders the scouts of an army? Greatheart Keep was well-fortified, but it could not hold off an entire army. If Mazael was wrong and the Skuldari had invaded the Grim Marches, he would need to call his vassals to arms…

  No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than another dozen spider riders came into view, racing across the empty field. Mazael cursed and turned his horse to meet them, blood dripping from Talon’s curved blade. The additional spiders would not decide the battle, but they would prolong it, and more of Mazael’s and Adalar’s men might fall to the spiders’ venom and the Skuldari warriors. He turned his horse, preparing to sound a charge at the new threat.

  Surprise caught his throat.

  A man ran in the midst of the spiders.

  He was huge, over seven feet tall, his mail hauberk large enough to serve as a tent for a smaller man. A pair of sword hilts rose over his armored shoulders, and more weapons waited at his belt. A strange mask completely covered his face, save for his eyes. The mask looked as miniature sword blades had been layered over the man’s features. The effect was grotesque and unsettling.

  This must be Rigoric, the masked orcragar Sigaldra had seen with Earnachar and the Prophetess.

  Rigoric ran at Mazael.

  Mazael wheeled his horse around and kicked the beast to a charge, his shield coming up, Talon drawn back for a swing. Around him the spider riders fell back, retreating to join their advancing comrades. Rigoric kept charging, and Mazael rode for him.

  Rigoric leaped into the air.

  He hurtled forward like a stone flung from a catapult, covering a dozen yards in an instant, his swords blurring from their sheaths.

  The orcragars had been stronger and faster than normal men, but not that much stronger.

  The sight was astonishing, but Mazael had been in too many fights to freeze. His shield snapped up, and both of Rigoric’s swords smashed into it with terrific force. The shield shattered, and the force of the impact threw him backwards out of the saddle.

  He hit the ground hard, his armor rattling, but kept his grip upon Talon. His horse neighed in fear and shied away from Rigoric. The orcragar stalked forward, a heavy Tervingi broadsword in either hand. He raised the weapons, preparing to bring them down upon Mazael’s skull.

  An arrow slammed into Rigoric’s arm. The orcragar rocked a bit, glanced in Romaria’s direction, and then surged forward, stabbing the swords for Mazael.

  Yet the distraction gave Mazael the time he needed to regain his feet, and he brought Talon around in a slash for Rigoric’s head. The orcragar retreated in silence, wielding his heavy broadswords as if they were no heavier than a pair of daggers. As he fell back, he yanked Romaria’s arrow from his arm, and the wound shrank alarming speed.

  The orcragars had been able to heal themselves, but not that quickly.

  Romaria loosed another arrow at him, and Rigoric swept his swords before him and spun, the shaft blurring past him. He recovered his balance and came at Mazael, swo
rds flying. Mazael retreated, Talon in both hands as he parried and dodged, steel clanging against the dragon’s claw. One of Rigoric’s swords slipped past Mazael’s guard and jabbed into his side. The scales of his armor turned aside the blow, but the man hit hard. Pain flooded through Mazael’s chest, and he knew from the texture of the pain that he had broken a rib. His Demonsouled blood would heal it in short order, but the distraction might slow him long enough for Rigoric to take off his head.

  His Demonsouled blood couldn’t heal that.

  Mazael had to end this fight, now.

  He caught both of Rigoric’s swords on his blade, shoved, and sent the bigger man stumbling back. Mazael whipped Talon around, low and fast, and tore a gash across Rigoric’s lower right leg. The orcragar stumbled without even so much as a grunt of pain. Perhaps the mask made him unable to speak. Mazael attacked again, his thrust forcing Rigoric to retreat, all the orcragar’s weight going down upon his wounded leg. Superhuman healing or not, the gash upon his leg still had not healed, and Rigoric’s leg twitched from the movement. Again the orcragar stumbled, and Mazael drove Talon forward with all his Demonsouled strength and momentum behind it. The blade punched through Rigoric’s chain mail and sank into his chest. The orcragar tottered backwards, and Mazael ripped his sword free and stabbed again.

  Still Rigoric was silent.

  The orcragar’s legs flexed, and he jumped backwards, tearing free of Talon’s bloody blade. Rigoric landed in a crouch and straightened up, swords hanging at his side. Already the massive wounds Mazael had carved into his chest were vanishing.

  His mask was rippling, moving. Some of the blades upon its sides lengthened, sprouting from the mask like metal roots. The metal filaments sank into Rigoric’s neck and shoulder, throbbing like veins. His wounds shrank faster, and in an instant they had vanished entirely. He seemed fresh and rested, ready for battle.

  “Well,” said Mazael. “That’s a neat trick.”