Before the Mask

by Michael Williams

  "Then damn the garrison!" the old seneschal said. "Follow me!" Lurching into the bailey, he crossed open ground through flame and billowing smoke, Judyth close behind him.

  But the stable was burning, its doors kicked open by the panicked horses who had rushed away, whinnying and shrieking, into the churning smoke. Alone, Judyth and Robert stood in the middle of the bailey, the wooden booths and outbuildings collapsing around them, and the granite walls of Nidus crackling with unnatural heat.

  The dragon wheeled then, guided by the sure hand of Verminaard, and swooped for one last pass over the castle. Judyth gasped as Ember's glittering golden eyes fixed her in their gaze, and there, at the last of moments, she clutched the old man beside her as the dragon bellowed and the flames surged forth. Robert thought of the druidess and closed his eyes as the fire rained down and engulfed them like the Cataclysm come again.

  It will be as I promised, Lord Verminaard, the Voice soothed as dragon and dark cleric passed over the castle, bound for the Khalkist Mountains and the fertile lands to the west.

  Ember swooped low over the abandoned Solamnic camp. Then the great beast banked in the dark sky and rose, higher and higher, until the snow-covered peaks lay faint and white below him, and Verminaard rode alone amid the icy air and the indifferent stars.

  Alone, but for the Voice. For the Lady continued to beguile and coax and vow….

  I promise you a thousand castles-the last lights of the west

  dwindling, guttering, consumed by the spreading dark. Above them, you will fly on the back of the dragon, its broad shoulders thick and striated with powerful muscles, the low, forgotten song of its heart beneath you. And all around you, there will be more . . . black and blue and green and red, in sweeping brilliant colors, glittering like moonlight on the blood-black mountains, the sky darkened by the sweep of dark wings….

  And the path of their flight will cross over a desolate country, where only the dead walk, mouthing the names of dragons. And the men in the towers, surrounded and riddled by dragons, by the cries of the dying, the roar of the ravenous air, will await your unspeakable silence.

  And with the night wind at his back and Nidus a dim flame on the eastern horizon, Verminaard abandoned himself to the Voice. He knew that the goddess breathed through him and that now he would engender destruction far greater than that at Nidus.

  He would wear the mask forever-long after his face had healed. It would be his battle mask, he vowed, and it would protect him from mirrors, where his features would reflect as fair hair, pale eyes … the precise countenance of dead Aglaca. That was a face he wanted never to see again.

  But that was behind him, below him. He steered the dragon toward the horizon. Before him, in his imaginings, a great chaos of crushed and defenseless fortresses would be the work of his own hand and heart and will.

  And he would delight in the fierce, magnificent ruin.

  Epilogue

  L' Indasha lifted her eyes from the auguries of ice. She had lost the travelers in the shadows at the foot of the mountain, but she knew they would be here shortly. She did not need to augur their arrival.

  Nor was she eager to see either of them.

  For a brief moment on the night before, she had become troubled. In the ice, she had seen the dragon plummet, Robert and Judyth helpless in the bailey, miles from her spells and saving hand, but then she had remembered the pendant.

  She smiled now to think of the accident that had brought the jewel into Judyth's hands.

  "For protection against fire, Paladine said," she whispered.

  And my helper, the girl-"

  "Was wearing the pendant!" The voice behind her completed her sentence.

  L'Indasha stopped and whirled around. The old man stood there, his threadbare robes replaced by a new white gown, his white hair shining like Solinari beneath his floppy, soft hat.

  Beside him stood another man, a dark, powerfully built fellow dressed in forest green. He also wore a green cap, incongruously pinned with a paper butterfly.

  "My lord . . ." L'Indasha murmured. "And you, sir. I believe I remember you…."

  The old fellow with the soft hat, his silver triangle gleaming very brightly, grinned and raised a thin, gnarled hand in introduction of the man beside him.

  "There's not a druid alive who hasn't heard of my apprentice gardener, Mort. Came to me about twenty years ago from Nidus. Too many hornets' nests down there to suit him, and they never gave him enough of an allotment to do a proper job on his roses. Been taking pretty good care of my place here, don't you think?" The old man circled his arm over the verdant hillsides, where every sort of alpine plant flourished. "He does a fair job at wardings, too. Kept the fire away from these. Mort's Magic, I call it."

  L'Indasha smiled sadly. "I've missed you, Mort. And, of course, you are the unknown hand . . . that camp . . . and this hillside … all the signs laid out in the stones!"

  Mort smiled and nodded, then extended his hand to her.

  "Thank you for the gift, Lady."

  The druidess looked puzzled but smiled back. "Don't mystify my only druidess, Mort!" Paladine ordered with mock seriousness. "If you'll hasten down the trail and greet our guests when they arrive, I would speak with L'Indasha alone."

  The gardener bowed merrily and backed down the mountain trail, seating himself politely out of earshot.

  Paladine was left standing with the druidess. He looked upon her, and his eyes shone with love. "You must choose again, L'Indasha."

  The druidess knew what he meant and nodded. "It will be hard to lose Robert twice in the span of a day-once at Nidus, when I saw the fire engulf him, and now to know he will be here shortly, and that when he arrives I must bid him farewell forever."

  "Living things grow and change," Paladine said. "No matter the length of their lives-one day or all of them. Those who let go of one secret do so in faith of knowing others."

  "But I cannot let go," L'Indasha said. "My chance died with Aglaca on the battlements. Huma's kin will never unite, and the rune will never be sounded."

  Paladine nodded grimly. "And in the coming storm, keeping the rune safe will be even more dangerous."

  "And yet I choose to keep it," the druidess replied bravely.

  "You are absolutely certain?" Paladine asked softly. "A choice such as this is often … final."

  "I have chosen," L'Indasha insisted. "Only let me tell Robert. I hear him approaching."

  On the trail below them, Mort stood and bowed to Robert and Judyth, who ascended slowly, weary after the long day's walk.

  "Robert, my old friend!" Mort called out. "Do you remember me? It is very good to see you are well… and happy." Mort broke into a bigger smile.

  "I am both, you old ground-grubber." Robert lunged toward him in a rough embrace. "I never did find another chess partner, you know." They ascended together a little way, discussing excitedly the fall of Nidus, the years of Mort's absence, what they reckoned

  the future held for them.

  Her eyes brimming with tears, L'Indasha looked at Pal-adine. He returned her gaze serenely, lovingly.

  The druidess took a-deep breath. "Robert …" she began.

  The seneschal stopped on the path. His smile faded and his shoulders slumped a little, but he recovered quickly, gathering himself to a firm, military stance.

  "I have heard ill tidings in my time, Lady," he said to L'Indasha, his voice unwavering, "and I have lived through them all."

  "It's ill tidings to me as well, Robert," L'Indasha said. And she told him that she could not leave her post as guardian of the rune. For three thousand years, she had served Lord Paladine, the sole druidess in his vast command. In that time, she had hidden the rune well from the curious, the greedy, the malign, unto a moment arranged for a thousand years, when Huma's line would devolve unto two young men violently different, almost opposites. As the rune had two sides, so should its sounders.

  "But the moment has passed," she said. "Takhisis will grow in power, and ther
e will be war."

  "And we shall win," Robert proclaimed gallantly.

  "If the guardian keeps her post," Paladine added softly, "and her solitude."

  Robert nodded. "I'll rest here tonight," he said, "and then, tomorrow-"

  "Lord Paladine?" Judyth asked, and all eyes turned to her. They had forgotten she was here, so absorbed they were in the sadness of wars and departures. Judyth gasped when the god's eyes turned to her. She felt bathed in a love and peace beyond her understanding, and she knew that what she was about to ask was fitting and right.

  "Is there any rule that says this lady must be keeper of the rune?"

  "What are you asking, child?" Paladine whispered, and it was Judyth's turn to smile.

  "I came over these mountains to gather secrets," she said. "In doing so, I met Aglaca, so I know a little of what Robert must be feeling … of what the druidess must know."

  "And?" Paladine asked softly.

  "And I shall be glad to keep the rune, if Lady L'Indasha Yman would entrust to me its keeping."

  L'Indasha frowned. "But you're to be my helper…." It was Paladine's turn to speak. "Judyth, there is no rule. You may offer yourself, but your choice would be a binding one. Would you become the keeper of the secret of the blank rune? The keeper continues without age, without death, without the company of a spouse, so long as the rune holds power."

  The girl looked far off into the night. Paladine himself was asking her to be his servant. But not demanding it. It truly was her choice.

  "I choose…" she began, relishing the words, "I choose to become the keeper, my lord." And then she chuckled. "Because I want an adventure of my own choosing. And because you have asked me my" mind. How could I refuse your respect, your love?"

  "You could," the god said. "Many do. And you, L'Indasha? Your choice returns to you, if you will have it." "I choose Robert," the druidess said. "I choose to let go of the one secret in faith of knowing others."

  "You are absolutely certain?" Paladine asked softly. "You will be mortal again. You will die as others die."

  "And I will live as others live.", said L'Indasha. "Yes. I have chosen."

  Paladine laid his hands on them and spoke the words of forgetting to L'Indasha, of remembrance to Judyth, and the exchange was complete. Judyth wore the flower pendant with the blue-purple stone. Now it was truly hers- chosen with full knowledge.

  As Robert and the druidess made their way down the mountainside, L'Indasha stopped short and crowed with delight. "Look! My daylilies! They were all burned in the fire except this patch, and it was so small and I planted it so quickly-well, just look!"

  Before her spread an enormous clump of bright green fans, each one with several scapes rising into the night sky. Beside it lay the signs of warding. Logr and Yr. Water and Yew bow.

  Journey and Protection.

  "Mort. Of course," L'Indasha breathed. " 'Thank you for the gift,' he said. Bless him."

  Judyth heard the last of the druidess's laughter floating up on the mountain breeze. She turned to bid Paladine and Mort good-bye, but they were already gone. She started down the mountain herself and came quickly upon the clump of daylilies. One blossom remained open in the advancing night. In its center, behind a blue-purple eye area, a risted rune-staef, now visible to her in the vein-ing of the flower, spelled the blank rune's symbol. It was now her turn to guard this key to augury against enemy eyes-for a thousand years, if need be-until the coming storms were calmed.

  Sothonsien, the rune-staef read, in the old language: The True Face. Revealed Knowledge.

  Judyth thought of Aglaca, and then of a ruined face. She wept as she understood. The rune's reverse-its opposite-was Heregrima: The Mask.