by Tim Pratt
Rodrick rose, Hrym in his hand. “What if it doesn’t work? What if Temple gets angry and kills us all?”
“Don’t point your friend at me, Rodrick.” Merihim leveled her finger at him. “Prinn is out there in the trees, watching, and if any harm comes to me … Well, you wouldn’t like what happens next, let me put it that way. Temple is an intelligent woman—a pragmatist, not an idealist. If she loses us, she hasn’t lost very much—a group of malcontents who would have caused her almost as many problems as we solved. If she loses Bannerman, her right hand? And Zumani, when she has such plans for him? This will work. Temple will let us go, and we’ll give her back her men. Of course, we’ll all have to leave Lastwall at great speed, and never return, but are any of us eager to spend more time here?”
Eldra touched Rodrick’s forearm, and he lowered Hrym until the sword was pointed at the ground. “It could work,” Eldra said. “It’s a bit more … brute force … than I’d like, but it’s not necessarily a bad plan.”
“I would estimate our chances of success at … slightly more than fifty percent,” the Specialist said. He sighed. “But I’m not confident that I have a complete grasp of all the variables. Temple in particular is quite hard to read.”
“We could be in the Bastion by this afternoon,” Merihim said. “We could be free of these cursed gems by nightfall. Are you with me, or do I have to unleash Prinn on you, and go on alone?”
“It’s worth a try,” Eldra said. “Though I intend to let Temple know this wasn’t my idea.”
Merihim shrugged. “I’m happy to take all the blame.”
The Specialist stroked his mustache, then nodded. “There’s no real alternative. We can’t very well knock you down and torture their location out of you, not with Prinn out there, ready to strike.”
Rodrick sheathed Hrym. “You’re supposed to be a good planner, Merihim. I hope your talents haven’t deserted you now. I’m in.”
“Where Rodrick goes, I go,” Hrym said. “But if this doesn’t work, I’ll freeze you until you turn blue.”
“Hmm,” the Specialist said. “I wonder if she’d turn more of a purple?”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out,” Merihim said.
* * *
They traveled quietly, Merihim leading the way. They never even caught a glimpse of Prinn until they reached the edge of Vellumis proper, when he appeared from an entirely unexpected direction. The Specialist, Eldra, and Rodrick could have tried to overpower Prinn and Merihim at that moment, but none of them made the effort. Rodrick was beginning to feel the faint stirrings of hope. Merihim’s plan was an ugly way to escape their situation … but it was an ugly situation. Maybe it would work.
They reached the Bastion in midafternoon, and were not welcomed warmly, presumably because Bannerman wasn’t with them. A heavily armed contingent of crusaders herded them into a courtyard, leveling polearms and crossbows at them, and a wizard wandered among the crusaders, muttering spells and touching each soldier in turn. Doubtless imbuing them with magical protection, probably against ice magic. Always a prudent move when Hrym was in the vicinity.
One of the crusaders strode forward, holding the strange scabbard Temple had used to neutralize Hrym. His voice was an unhappy growl: “The sword goes in here.”
“Are you all right with that, Hrym?”
“It’s no scabbard of gold, but it’s restful in its way. Hand me over. Just get me out again sometime soon, all right?”
Rodrick handed over the sword, and the crusader jammed Hrym into the scabbard, then tied the hilt to the sheath with leather cords. He handed the sheath to another soldier and it passed hand to hand until it vanished into the building, out of sight.
“The rest of you hand over your weapons, too.”
Eldra gave up her parasol with the hidden blade and assorted throwing knives, Merihim handed over her daggers—she’d never even stabbed anything as far as Rodrick knew; Prinn was really her weapon—and the Specialist gave up his satchel of explosives.
Prinn handed over a bow and clutch of arrows, but of course, he couldn’t really be disarmed short of dismemberment.
“Also the jewelry.”
Merihim rolled her eyes, but removed several bracelets and her earrings, handing them over. The wizard peered at her for a moment, probably looking for hidden magic, then nodded.
The guards behind nudged the Volunteers with the butts of their polearms, and they were directed to the meeting room where Bannerman’s true identity had been revealed, the one with the mural depicting a great moment in Lastwall’s history.
The guards didn’t withdraw, and entirely too many crossbows were pointed at them for Rodrick’s comfort. The far door opened and Temple shuffled in, her brow furrowed, her mouth set in a frown. She glanced at the guards, then waved her hand at them. “This is under control. You can go.”
The leader of the soldiers, the one who’d taken Hrym, said, “Underclerk, I don’t think—”
“They won’t hurt me,” she said. “If I die, they die. These crusaders aren’t authorized to hear what my Volunteers have to say anyway.” She crossed her arms and glared until the guards left the room.
Once she was alone with the Volunteers, Temple barked, “Report.”
“Bannerman and Zumani are alive,” Merihim said. “And they can stay that way, if you’ll make a few small concessions.”
Temple nodded. “Ah. I see. Extortion. Are you all in this together?”
Rodrick, Eldra, and the Specialist all took a step back. “We couldn’t stop her,” Eldra said.
“We had no idea she was doing this until she sprung the news on us,” Rodrick said.
“No,” the Specialist said. “We are not all in it together.”
Merihim glared at them. “Despite that craven display, my demands remain the same. If you want to see Bannerman and Zumani again, you’ll deactivate the gems and let us all go.”
“Oh, how generous,” Temple said. “Of course you want me to let the others go too—if I just freed you, Merihim, you know I’d send the rest of the Volunteers to collect you.” She shook her head. “I’m very disappointed. I thought we had an understanding. I even made you team leader.”
“You chose me because I show initiative and make plans.” The devilkin shrugged. “This is my initiative. This is my plan.”
“And if I don’t agree?”
“Bannerman and Zumani will starve to death.”
“If I torture you to get the information out of you?”
She snorted. “You tried that when I wouldn’t tell you why I was exploring the Whispering Tyrant’s ruins, and it didn’t work then. You might make me say something, but it would be a lie, and you’d waste time following up on my lies, and your friend would die.”
“I see,” Temple said. “You won’t change your mind?”
“When I’m holding an unbeatable hand? Of course not.”
“Very well. If you can’t be persuaded to give up this course of action … I’m afraid my answer is no. Tekritanin.”
Merihim gasped as Temple uttered the last word, but she didn’t have time to scream before her chest exploded in a pulse of red light and a spray of blood, meat, and bone fragments.
Rodrick stood, stunned. He looked down at his chest. Something from inside Merihim had splattered on him.
Prinn began to laugh. The sound began as a chuckle and grew to a roaring belly laugh, until he was doubled over, clutching his stomach, howling with mirth.
Temple and the Volunteers stared at him as he straightened, wiped tears from his eyes, and smiled. Then Prinn spoke, and his voice wasn’t the rasping nightmare Rodrick had imagined, but cool, deep, and almost mellifluous.
“You fools,” he said. “You’ve killed my captor. And now I am free.”
21
TOTENMASKE
“It’s nice to hear your voice, Prinn,” Temple said dryly. “I’m afraid you’re not entirely free, though. I still have a gem embedded in your chest.” She looked at Meri
him and sighed. “Foolish woman. I told her I wouldn’t lie to her, didn’t I? She should have known disobedience meant death. Losing Bannerman would be a terrible blow, but if I gave in to the demands of criminals like her, if I demonstrated that sort of weakness, everything I’ve built here would crumble.” She lifted her eyes to Prinn. “I assume you know where Bannerman and Zumani are hidden? You can save yourself if you confess their location now.”
Prinn chuckled, still full of dark delight. “You have no idea what you’ve done. How amusing. Of course I know where the crusader and the poet are being held, but why would I tell you? I have no interest in them.” He looked at the broken body of the devilkin on the floor and guffawed. “Merihim. She laid a compulsion on me, forced me to serve her. Helping with her petty tricks and treacheries. Furthering her mad dream of finding artifacts from the Whispering Tyrant’s realm and using them to take over some small corner of this filthy world. I had no choice to obey her whims … but now I am my own master again.”
“Except, as Temple pointed out, for the gem,” Rodrick said. “Listen, Temple, if Prinn won’t tell you, the rest of us can lead you to the spot in the forest where we camped. Bannerman and Zumani can’t be too far from there, and with a contingent of crusaders to comb the forest we can locate them, I’m sure.”
“There will be no rescue,” Prinn said. “You will all die. The only reason you aren’t dead already is because it will amuse me to watch all your hopes crumble.”
“Ah,” Rodrick said. “How disappointing. I thought we were becoming friends.”
“Are you ready to die, Temple?” Prinn’s voice was low and self-satisfied. “To die knowing you brought this doom upon yourself? To die knowing that I will ruin your country, that I will destroy Lastwall from the inside, and only because it pleases me to do so? That the Bastion of Justice will become the rot at the center of your nation, under my command?”
Temple sighed. “This is tiresome, Prinn.”
The pale man took a bow, then straightened up—and the skin on his face began to melt and run like bacon fat heated in a pan. Rodrick wondered if Prinn was suffering some strange attack from Temple, except she looked alarmed, too, as did Eldra. The Specialist just leaned forward, eyes wide, mouth open, taking it all in.
Globs of flesh dripped off Prinn’s face and spattered on the floor, revealing a layer of festering, moldy-looking green skin underneath. Prinn’s head began to bulge, as if inflating, and his mouth grew wider, and wider, and wider, until his maw was vaster than a shark’s, and seemed to take up most of his head. The teeth in that huge mouth were the gray of tombstones, all triangular and sharp, and his breath was like low tide, exhalations of rot and death. Prinn’s fingers lengthened and twisted into claws, and he tore open his shirt—and started to claw a hole in his own chest.
“He’s trying to dig out the gem!” Eldra shouted.
Prinn laughed—the laugh was the same as before, though the mouth it emerged from was now altogether monstrous—and ripped great hunks of green flesh from his body, flinging them toward the Volunteers, who scattered to avoid the filth. Prinn prised open his ribs and began digging in the vicinity of his own heart … assuming he even had one in his true form.
Tampering with the gem was supposed to set it off, but apparently Temple wasn’t willing to count on that. She took a breath and shouted, “Ceratioidi!”
Rodrick averted his eyes, expecting an explosion of negative energy to rip off the monster’s fingers and blow apart his chest, but after the burst of red light there was only Prinn’s ongoing laughter and Temple’s moan of dismay. Rodrick looked back … and Prinn’s chest was closed up again, healed. The gem nestled in his monstrous green palm. He turned over his hand and the gem fell, tinkling when it hit the floor.
“Ah,” the Specialist said softly. “Just as I thought.”
“Kill it!” Temple shouted, taking a step back as Prinn advanced on her.
“You took our weapons,” the Specialist said, almost apologetically.
She looked at the door, and looked about to run for it, but the monster reached out with one long, thin arm and caressed her face with his talons. She screamed, and her cheeks hollowed out, as if Prinn were stealing her flesh. She sagged to the floor, if not unconscious then at least weakened, and Prinn crouched over her, chuckling to himself and continuing to caress her face.
Rodrick picked up a chair and charged forward, intending to smash the monster over the head, but Prinn lashed out at him, one long arm slamming into Rodrick’s chest with inhuman force, sending him sprawling and gasping to the floor. Prinn returned his attention to Temple, cooing and stroking. Eldra was trying to edge around toward the door, but hesitantly, clearly afraid to pass by the monster Prinn had become. The Specialist was, strangely enough, ignoring the creature entirely, and creeping slowly toward Merihim’s corpse.
Rodrick hauled himself upright, and got a good look at Temple’s face. He shuddered. Under Prinn’s touch, Temple’s flesh moved like clay, easily shaped, and where her mouth had been, he left just a smooth patch of skin: no lips, no teeth, and no way to speak. Her eyelids fluttered, and she made a voiceless moan.
Prinn rose, leaving Temple on the floor, still alive, but sweating, shivering, and convulsing. The monster turned to face his former compatriots, and when he saw the Specialist moving toward Merihim, he snarled and stomped toward him, making the old man scuttle backward. Prinn stood between the three of them and Merihim’s corpse, his baleful head swinging back and forth as he regarded them … and then his features transformed again, his mouth shrinking, his skin changing color, his face returning to that of a human’s.
But not the human he had been. Now the monster looked exactly like Temple, though dressed in the rags of Prinn’s old clothes. “That’s better,” Prinn said in Temple’s voice. “It’s been ages since I wore the face of someone in authority. I love having power. It’s so much fun to abuse. Merihim knew I loved the pleasures of the flesh, and so she denied me all of them, made me eat raw vegetables and sleep on a stone floor.” Prinn turned and spat on Merihim’s corpse. “That all changes now.” He—she—it cracked its knuckles and smiled at them. “What are you three still doing here? This is your chance to escape. Your captor is in no position to hold you … and I have no interest in running a nursery for you mewling infants.”
“But—the gems—” Eldra said.
Prinn cocked its head. “My gem didn’t cause me any trouble. But if you don’t have my talents…” It gave an awful smile, the sort of gloating grin that Temple would never have turned on them, because Temple didn’t bother to gloat. “I suppose you should run along and enjoy your last night of life before your gems kill you in the morning. Temple said some magic words to keep you from dying every day, but I don’t have any interest in keeping up that tradition, if I even knew the words. Or I could kill you now…”
Eldra plucked at Rodrick’s sleeve, and he turned to see the Specialist already disappearing through the door. Eldra went after him, and Rodrick reluctantly followed, casting a last glance at Prinn, and Merihim’s dead body, and the still-twitching Temple.
All he could think was: Hrym. Hrym was in the Bastion, somewhere, and Rodrick couldn’t leave him with that monster.
Out in the hallway, Eldra was following the Specialist, who seemed to be going somewhere with purpose. They went down a few deserted corridors until they reached an ironbound door. The Specialist reached into his boot, drew out two slender pieces of metal, and began working on the lock, popping it open in less than a minute and throwing the door wide. He went into the room and emerged with his pack. Eldra darted in after him and came back with her traveling gear, too, and her parasol.
Rodrick hurried in, looking around for Hrym … but though Rodrick’s pack was there, his sword wasn’t. “Hrym’s not here!”
Eldra patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, Rodrick. We should get away.”
“But—without Hrym—how can we fight that thing? How can we save Temple? How can we s
ave ourselves?”
“We can’t,” the Specialist said. “Let’s go. We have problems to discuss.”
Rodrick considered that something of an understatement, but he was too numb with horror and fear to think of anything else to do, so he followed.
* * *
Even a city like Vellumis, home to noble crusaders, had taverns, and the Specialist found the darkest, dimmest, most disreputable one available, less than a mile from the Bastion. They took a table in the far corner and hunched over their drinks. This was Rodrick’s first time with access to liquor since he couldn’t remember when, and he couldn’t even enjoy it. His thoughts ran along two tracks, incessantly, over and over.
One: He had to rescue Hrym.
Two: It didn’t matter if he rescued Hrym, because he was going to die horribly in the morning, his chest burst open by an evil gem.
Eldra sat beside him with a goblet of wine, and the Specialist sat across from them, calmly sipping ale. “You know things,” she said. “That … monster. Do you know what it is?”
The Specialist nodded. “Oh, yes. It’s called a totenmaske. I’ve read about them, but had never seen one before—at least, not in its true form. I suppose I might have seen dozens of them, disguised as their victims, and never realized it.”