The father blinked. “I … what do you mean?” he said.
“If this Huldra of yours really knew a prayer to reveal your true natures, would she warn you and give you a chance to flee?” the cyclops said. “It was a bluff to flush you out. To flush out the whole pack, perhaps. If so, it worked brilliantly, since your second idiot impulse was to howl for everyone to come running. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s checking to see who’s absent from each of your villages tonight.”
“But … that’s not fair!” said a fellow who was thin and narrowshouldered, for a Rashemi, with pale puckered scars on his right thigh. Jhesrhi wondered if they were the marks of the attack that had cursed him.
The cyclops sneered, exposing stained, jagged fangs. “Really, Faurmar?” he said. “That’s your opinion on the subject? How useful. Thank you.”
“What will become of us?” the werewolf mother asked. “What can we do?”
“Well,” the one-eyed giant said, “fortunately, it’s not like you weren’t about to move on anyway. The bravest among you already volunteered to help the durthans, and I always meant to enlist the rest of you whenever I found the patience to coax you. You’ll come below with me tonight, and I’ll find things for you to do.”
The girl let out a little whimpering cry.
The cyclops glowered at the mother and father. “Shut her up before I decide she’s too young and timid to be useful,” he said. “Trust me, you don’t want that.”
The female werewolf with the sad, drooping face squared her shoulders and said, “Don’t you threaten them. Don’t you threaten any of us. It’s your fault if we lose our kin and our homes. Because you cursed the first of us, didn’t you?”
“No,” the cyclops said, “of course not. There’s a lot of old, wild magic festering in these woods, and you simply ran afoul of some of it. If you ingrates will recall, I’m the benefactor who found you and taught you how to survive. No, to thrive, for thrive you certainly did. In fact, you gloried in your condition. But now, just because things have gotten a little difficult—largely because of your own stupidity—you refer to it as an affliction? Be careful lest you offend the Black-Blooded Pard and all the princes of the night.”
“All right,” the jowly woman said. “If I spoke foolishly, I’m sorry. But still, we never said we wanted to be part of some great scheme. If we did, we would have gone along with the dead witches like our packmates.”
“Maybe I’m the fool,” the cyclops said. “I assumed you’d all want lives of pleasure and ease. I thought you’d want to live openly and hunt humans whenever you felt like it. But if I was wrong, then drop to all fours and live out your days here in the wild as beasts and nothing more. Because, with your homes lost, I don’t see that you have a third choice.”
The werewolves exchanged looks. The sad-faced female said, “We’ll go with you, Choschax. But we’d better get the rewards you promise.”
Choschax leered. “I thought you might see reason,” he said. “And no one needs to look so hangdog about it, either. You’ll think back on this as one of the finest moments of your life. Now change, and we’ll be on our way.”
As the werewolves began to shapeshift, Jhesrhi reflected that she and her comrades had learned a little that was new, but nowhere near enough. Expecting that he would either want to shadow the enemy or attack and take prisoners, she looked to Aoth for a signal.
But he surprised her. With a patting motion, he indicated that she, Cera, and Vandar should hold their positions. Then he stood up and stepped out from behind the shadowtop. He recited a counterspell, slashing his hand through a zigzag figure, and the concealing enchantments she’d cast on him fell away with a gleam like water cascading down his body. And much as Jhesrhi trusted both Aoth’s judgment and his prowess, she winced to see him attempt such a daring ploy.
The cyclopes had their backs to him, so it was the werewolves who saw him first. The shaggy-browed father straightened back up into near-humanity to yell, “That’s one of them! He was with Huldra!” The other lycanthropes rushed to complete their transformations into wolves or wolf-people. They grunted and snarled in pain, and bones ground and cracked beneath their fur. The giants lurched around and came on guard.
“Easy!” said Aoth, keeping his spear in a vertical, nonthreatening position. “I only want to talk.”
“Hmm,” replied Choschax. He raised a hand, and his underlings held off attacking. Studying the intruder, he cocked his head one way and then the other, as if that would help his single eye see more clearly.
“Thayan?” he asked at last.
Aoth grinned. “What gave it away?” he replied.
“Where are your companions?” the cyclops asked.
“Back in the village performing the promised charade,” Aoth said. “I didn’t want you to jump to the conclusion that I was a threat and react accordingly, and plainly, the one of me is no match for the whole gang of you.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Choschax.
Aoth shrugged. “In that case, have the wolves sniff around,” he replied.
The cyclops sneered. “I believe I’ll do exactly that,” he said as he raised his hand and waved it in a go-forward gesture. With their transformations complete, sniffing audibly, the shapeshifters prowled out of the little clearing and into the trees.
Damn you, Aoth! Jhesrhi thought. Even up close, her magic might baffle a lupine’s eyes. But its nose? Its ears? Whispering, she rattled off words of power to reinforce her original spells, hoping they would be good enough.
Meanwhile, Aoth said, “Can we start talking while the wolves are making their check?”
“You can start by explaining yourself,” Choschax replied. “Did you follow them here to betray Huldra?”
“Huldra’s beyond betrayal,” Aoth replied. “She’s rotting in an unmarked grave several miles to the north.”
“Then the hathran who came to Yivel was an impostor,” said the cyclops.
“Right you are,” said Aoth. “Masked priestesses can be convenient.”
The cyclops hesitated as though unsure what to ask next. “Then … what’s your game?” he eventually asked.
“Oh, pretty much what it seemed,” replied Aoth. “To bluff the werewolves into revealing themselves. But just for a talk, not to kill them.”
Wandering back and forth, one of the two-legged werewolves came prowling straight at Cera. With the utmost care, fighting the urge to hurry, she eased herself out of the creature’s path.
The lycanthrope stopped in the same spot she’d just vacated, a single step away from the place where she was crouching now. It pivoted on the spot, sniffing, then dropped to all fours to put its nose right next to the ground. After that, it raised its head and cast about some more.
Whispering, Jhesrhi repeated the charm of concealment. Cera’s lips moved in silent prayer.
Jhesrhi wasn’t the target of the sunlady’s magic. But perhaps because she was so intent on the creature that was, she felt a bit of the effect even so. Time stretched. A single moment lasted twenty heartbeats.
The wolf-man apparently succumbed to the illusion completely. Seemingly convinced that it had searched for a sufficient time, it sprang to its clawed, gray-furred feet and stalked on.
Cera sighed a long sigh, and Jhesrhi felt some of the tension quiver out of her muscles. She looked around and saw that none of the other werewolves appeared on the verge of penetrating anybody’s veil of invisibility. Remaining vigilant, she tried to pick up the thread of Aoth’s and Choschax’s conversation.
“… is it, exactly?” asked Aoth.
The cyclops grinned. “You seem like a clever fellow,” he said. “What do you think it is?”
“I think some durthans survived the Witch War,” Aoth replied. “Now they’re reanimating their fallen sisters, and reaching out to their old allies among the ‘dark fey’ and such—like you—for another run at the hathrans and the lodges.”
“And what if they are?” Choschax asked.
>
“Then I offer my personal compliments, and those of Thay, on the harm you folk have done to the Wychlaran and their followers,” Aoth replied. “But I also have to say that your actions have not truly weakened them, and if that’s all you can manage, a second Witch War will end just like the first. But it doesn’t have to.”
The cyclops snorted. “How so?” he asked.
“You folk want to get rid of the old order, and so does Thay,” said Aoth. “Working separately, we’ve failed to accomplish that goal. But by joining forces, we can succeed.”
“But then what happens?” asked the cyclops. “The durthans intend to rule the humans of this land, and, the way I hear it, so does Szass Tam.”
“I admit,” said Aoth, “there was a time when he did. But he’s come to recognize that no expansion is possible while Thay’s enemies surround us on every side. But if Rashemen becomes an ally, it changes the strategic picture considerably. Working together, we could conquer Thesk and Aglarond, too, and divvy them up between us.”
Choschax grunted. “And you have the authority to speak on Szass Tam’s behalf and negotiate this grand alliance?” the cyclops asked.
Aoth grinned. “Abyss, no,” he said. “I’m what I appear to be. An agent charged with the task of investigating accounts of strange occurrences in Rashemen. But I at least have the authority to begin such a negotiation. If I report that the durthans have returned and are willing to discuss an alliance, you’ll have a tharchion, zulkir, or someone similar sneaking north for a parley soon enough. So my question is this: Who can tell me whether such an envoy would be welcome? No offense, but I doubt it’s you.”
“No,” Choschax said, stepping closer, “it isn’t. But I can take you to them, and I—” He thrust his axe into Aoth’s face.
The cyclops struck with the blunt top surface of the blade, and it clanked into the rim of the war mage’s open-faced helmet. Otherwise, the blow likely would have dashed Aoth’s brains out instead of simply knocking him down to sprawl motionless in the snow.
Jhesrhi had believed the conversation was going well, and so Choschax’s sudden violence caught her by surprise, too. Fortunately, she’d experienced enough battles to shake off surprise quickly. She sprang up, stepped out into the open, discarded her veil of concealment with a word, and cloaked herself in fire to deter her foes from coming close to her.
Nor did they. But Choschax and two of the other cyclopes stared at her, and pain stabbed into her eyes and through her chest. She fell down with her heart pounding out a spastic, stuttering beat. It felt like it was tearing itself apart.
She struggled to recite a charm of protection, but it wasn’t easy when she couldn’t catch her breath. A cyclops warrior sneered as though to mock her desperate efforts.
Suddenly Jet plunged earthward in a rain of broken twigs. The branches overhead were thick enough that he’d no doubt scraped and battered himself in his precipitous descent, but maybe he felt desperate, too.
The griffon slammed down on top of the cyclops who’d sneered at Jhesrhi. As big and as strong as the giant was, Jet’s momentum smashed him to the ground, although it didn’t finish him. The cyclops strained to drag himself out from underneath his assailant and to shift his grip on his spear until he could use it to stab at close quarters. Meanwhile, Jet raked at him in an effort to tear away armor and reach the flesh beneath. His claws rasped metal.
Pure startled reflexes made the other cyclopes scramble away from the beast that had plummeted among them. But they soon poised their weapons to threaten him. Snarling werewolves came slinking to surround and menace him as well.
With the cyclopes’ gazes diverted elsewhere, Jhesrhi managed to suck in a breath and wheeze her incantation. Her heartbeat steadied, and the juddering pain subsided. Using her staff for support, she heaved herself to her feet. Swaying, she regarded the circle of foes who, by the looks of it, were only a moment away from swarming Jet and overwhelming him.
She couldn’t hit them all without striking the familiar as well, so she settled for extending her blazing hand and snapping a word of command. Darts of red light leaped from her fingertips and stabbed into the broad backs of Choschax and another cyclops. The brutes cried out and staggered.
At that same moment, Vandar charged out of the darkness. With his face twisted in a snarl that made him look as feral as any of the wolf-men, he cut at a cyclops’s neck. The giant jumped back and raised his shield just in time to keep the blade from opening his throat. Metal clanked on metal.
Cera chanted and swung her mace over her head. A circle of golden light flared into existence beneath her feet, and lines shot out from it through the snow, so that she appeared to be standing atop a shining symbol of the sun. The rays reached far enough to stab under some of the werewolves and Jet, too. The lycanthropes jerked, yelped, and snarled. The griffon struck at a shapeshifter and nipped off a forearm.
For a heartbeat or two, the enemy floundered in confusion, and Jhesrhi thought the fight might already be as good as won. But then Choschax bellowed, “Parothor, the sun priestess! Wolves, the griffon and the berserker! I’ll kill the wizard!” And his underlings, cyclopes and lycanthropes alike, oriented on the targets he’d chosen for them.
Choschax’s crimson gaze jabbed at Jhesrhi once again. To her relief, it wasn’t as devastating that time. It didn’t have the power of three other cyclopes’ eyes reinforcing it, she’d warded herself, and she knew better than to meet it squarely. But even so, it rocked her backward and made her head throb.
She was still off balance when Choschax produced a javelin that seemed to simply appear in his hand, and threw it. She jerked up her staff and gasped a word of command. A disk of red light blinked into existence between them. The javelin banged into the shield and fell to the ground.
Choschax charged. His lumbering strides ate up the distance, and his axe was upraised. Jhesrhi realized that her corona of flame hadn’t dissuaded him from fighting at close quarters. Maybe he thought that with his long arms, leathery hide, and gauntlets, he could strike her down and come away with nothing worse than blistered hands.
She spoke to the wind, and it blasted into Choschax’s face, slowing his progress to a stagger. In other circumstances, she might have asked the spirits of the air to whisk her beyond his reach, but the terrain was too clustered for flying. She didn’t want to bang into a tree or entangle herself in branches.
The cyclops drove into striking distance. The malice in his eye was like a pounding hammer, and his arm shifted as he aimed his black axe at her head.
She asked the wind to stop shoving him, and it did. As he pitched forward off balance, she stepped forward and to the side. She was close enough for her fire to sear much of his body, but she saw no reason to leave it at that. The end of her staff burst into flame, and she jabbed it at his eye. He flinched. She missed her mark but charred his jaw, cheek, and ear.
Choschax screamed and reeled sideways. She hurled a fan-shaped burst of yellow fire at his feet. If it burned them, so much the better, but her real objective was to melt the snowdrift he’d stumbled into. As soon that happened, she rattled off a rhyme, pointed her staff, and hurled a blast of pure cold.
The meltwater froze into ice around Choschax’s boots. He backed up another step, and his legs flew out from under him. He hit the ground with a crash of battered armor.
Jhesrhi grinned because she knew she had him. She spoke the first word of a spell intended to burn his flesh to ash, when suddenly a grip clamped shut on her ankle. It wrenched her leg out from under her, and she fell down, too.
A lycanthrope in true wolf guise had attacked her. Her halo of fire was burning away its fur and the skin beneath, but it was still snapping and gnawing in a frenzy. It left off gnawing at her war boot to lunge for her throat.
Jhesrhi jerked her staff across her body, and the brass rod caught the werewolf at the base of its neck. The shapeshifter strained to reach her with its slavering jaws, and she struggled to hold them away. The beast’s pa
ws pummeled her torso. Its raking nails tore her robes.
Her arms were hitched backward as the werewolf’s strength overcame her own an inch at a time. The gnashing, foaming jaws and the glaring eyes behind them lurched closer. The creature’s burns were ghastly, but it didn’t even seem to feel them, or anything but the need to make its kill.
Jhesrhi struggled to simultaneously hold the werewolf back and recite an incantation with the precise cadence required. On the final word, a portion of her mantle of fire streamed into her attacker’s gaping jaws. The lycanthrope screamed once and collapsed, burned from the inside out. Some of its ashy substance crumbled instantly, and more dropped away from the central mass as, in death, it reverted to human shape.
Enough of the charred form remained intact to show that Jhesrhi had just killed the daughter, the child werewolf. With a gasp of revulsion, she rolled the flaking corpse off her chest.
Choschax loomed over her, his glare pinning her in place like a butterfly in some sage’s display case. He raised his axe.
Snarling, Jhesrhi broke free of her paralysis but knew she only had time for the simplest of spells. She jerked her staff into line and channeled pure force, pure will, through the end of it.
The power shot out as a ball of solid light. It smashed Choschax in the mouth and shattered into shards that vanished before they could tumble all the way to the ground. The cyclops fell and lay motionless.
Sometimes, Jhesrhi thought, the simplest magic did the trick. Although it helped if you’d already kicked the enemy around for a while.
As Aoth had taught her, she glanced about, making sure no new threat was about to strike at her. She clambered to her feet. Choschax was still breathing, but a final burst of flame would remedy that. She steadied her breathing and raised her staff.
“No!” Cera called. Jhesrhi turned to see the priestess hurrying toward her. She appeared disheveled but unharmed, which presumably meant she’d disposed of the cyclops that Choschax had ordered to kill her.
The Masked Witches Page 9