by Ed Greenwood
"Who's that?" Telcanor snapped warily.
Karm's smile vanished. "Me. I can save you-but I've no interest in prolonging the lives of headstrong fools. Or the indecisive. So make your mind up. Now."
There came a thunder of booted feet from below. All eyes turned down the stair. A door had opened at the very bottom, and a handful of Telcanor house guards had come through it. Looking up the stair, they drew their swords.
Karm regarded them calmly, then glanced at Tantaerra and The Masked.
"Now, Lord Telcanor," he repeated.
Tantaerra stealthily raised her dagger to throw at Karm, but as the blade moved, she saw the air between it and the wizard start to glow and swirl. He was not unprotected against such attacks.
Karm gave her a coldly triumphant smile. "I've never much liked halflings," he announced, raising his hands to weave a spell.
Behind him, the monster on the wall gathered its tentacles under itself and launched itself at him.
Tantaerra sprang desperately aside. Karm's smile widened as he watched her.
He was still smiling when the monster hit him.
He staggered, tentacles flailing at him, tearing and rending. Karm got his spell off, his magical missiles gutting the falling beast even as his hands were dashed down by its descending bulk-but its tentacles were already wrapped around his body, and in its agony it tore him apart. One wrenched his head around sideways with a crack, others tore off hands or fingers still glowing blue-and then the great bulk came down on the wizard's body with a wet thud.
Tentacles lashed and quivered, then started to change.
Before their eyes, the tentacled monster shrank back into a broken-limbed, sprawled Orivin Voyvik.
The Nirmathi laughed weakly. "I guess this was what Mahalagris really wanted all along."
Tantaerra advanced on him, her dagger ready, but the Nirmathi gave her a crooked smile. "I'm no harm to you, little heroine," he gasped, through bubbling blood. "I'm dying. If you haven't noticed." He shuddered, blood running freely from his nose and mouth now. "Dying with honor, at least."
"Oh?" she asked warily, as The Masked, dagger drawn, came to stand protectively beside her.
"I betrayed my country by taking Karm's pay," Voyvik gasped. "I thought I could bring him to our side. Get him to use the gauntlet to end the war. But it doesn't matter now. I've cleaned up my mess. I can die a true Nirmathi."
"You can," The Masked agreed firmly.
Voyvik managed a bloody smile. "Nirmathas forever!" he shouted.
And died.
Tantaerra looked at his staring eyes and the blood still running from his slack mouth. Shivering, she shook her head and turned away-only to catch sight of Karm's face. The wizard's eyes were still moving, though his twitching lips made no sound. He was still alive!
Well, she could do something about that. Her dagger flashed down, again and again.
The Masked let out a startled shout behind her-half astonished, half delighted. Tantaerra looked up, wiping gore from her eyes.
Tarram Armistrade was holding out his mask, his nightmare of a face clear for all to see. The mask was crumbling, little glows flaring and fading all over it, darkening as the mask itself darkened.
"Look!" he cried delightedly, waving it at Tantaerra. "Karm must have bound this to himself, somehow! It's dying with him!"
The mask crumbled away into dust, and the man who'd worn it for so long threw back his head and roared out incoherent exultation.
Happily, Tantaerra collapsed, falling into waiting oblivion.
∗ ∗ ∗
Tarram hastened out the front door of Telcanor House with Tantaerra in his arms, and hastily peered up and down the street. Telcanor's guards had been too stunned to react as he'd barreled through them, but that wouldn't last for long. And with all the noise he'd made destroying parts of Lord Telcanor's mansion, he could hardly dare hope that no one else in Braganza had-
Oh, they'd heard, all right. What looked like most of the garrison of Braganza was hastening down the street right now, lanterns swinging in their haste. Some of them had been roused in such a hurry that they'd forgotten the spears they loved so much.
Tarram drew back against the wall and looked around for cover. Some of the rubble had fallen clear across the street, and there was a huge heap of it flanking the door, where part of the front wall of the grand house had collapsed outward. Builders, these days …
He ducked behind it, stretched himself out on the ground with the unconscious halfling in his arms, and played dead.
From under his arm, peering out beneath his eyelids, he could see the mountainous armored form of Onstal Zreem hastening along the street, at the head of what seemed like a small army of Braganzan soldiers.
Zreem peered up at the devastation, shook his head, strode up to the open front door-and was almost bowled over by a wild-eyed Telcanor house guard who came sprinting out of the ruined mansion.
"What's happened here?" the giant bodyguard demanded sharply, catching hold of the panting and terrified Telcanor and halting him effortlessly in mid-run.
"We're …all doomed!" the guard panted. "Tentacled thing! Everyone dead! Halfling and man in a mask-magic-hurled down half the mansion!"
He tore free of Zreem's grip and fled out into the night, right past the astonished soldiers.
"Well, now," Zreem growled, waving an imperious hand for the soldiers to follow him as he stepped inside. They did, all sixty-some of them.
Halfway through that procession of clanking men and swinging lanterns, Tantaerra came to and quietly slapped her way free of Tarram's grasp. "We need to get back inside!"
"What?!" The Masked whispered incredulously.
"I have to see what happens," she whispered back.
Tarram stared back at her. Then his horror of a face twisted in a grin. "We could join those soldiers as a rearguard."
"Yes!" she agreed, and they did, keeping to the shadows behind the tail end of the procession. The bodyguard led the way warily, calling for Lord Telcanor from time to time and finding the occasional bewildered servant. It took some time of crossing grand chambers and shattered ones, dim in the waning moonlight, but eventually they came upon a few house guards standing on a body-strewn stair comforting the terrified Lord Telcanor, who sat huddled on a step, staring at the darkness with terrified eyes.
"Zreem?" he asked, almost disbelievingly.
The bodyguard looked down at the humbled man on the steps. "Well, Lord," he said rather disapprovingly, "you give me the night off, and I return to find your house in some disrepair. You might have told me you were contemplating redecorating."
He turned to look at the soldiers behind him-and his eyes immediately locked on Tantaerra and The Masked, staring straight through the concealing shadows. "I see your Lord Investigators have returned as well," he added dryly. "I hope you gave them a suitable welcome."
Lord Telcanor covered his face with his hands and collapsed into sobs.
∗ ∗ ∗
It was a bright and breezy day, and the unmarred guest bedchamber high in the Telcanor manor looked grand.
Onstal Zreem had firmly closed the door and ordered the soldiers outside to take themselves out of earshot.
Then he'd turned back to the man with the ruined face and the halfling with one hand, and ordered them to tell him everything.
Tantaerra could tell he knew he'd get far from that, but in the end, he seemed satisfied with what he'd heard.
She held up the rings they'd taken from the Shattered Tomb, hoping they'd be payment enough for a priest of Braganza to restore her missing hand.
Zreem gave the gems a wry smile. "These are pretty finger adornments, not magic. Nor are the stones worth more than the cost of a few good meals."
Wordlessly Tarram handed the giant a few blackened pieces of the gauntlet he'd found, but Zreem handed them right back.
"Very little magic left there," he said. "You didn't take very good care of it."
He peered a
t Tantaerra's exposed stump and rubbed his chin. "Not much magic-but maybe enough. Get the pieces you've got reforged, and resized in the doing, and it might make a handsome replacement, jointed and mated to your tendons so it can hold things at your bidding. It'll be expensive; I hope you've saved your coins."
"We-" Tarram blurted out, then ran out of words.
The man-mountain of a bodyguard favored him with a calm, cold gaze, and waited.
Tarram chose his words carefully. "We slew a dangerous monster, we killed Mahalagris and his traitorous apprentice … we saved this city."
"Did you?" Zreem asked coldly.
The silence that followed was long and tense. The bodyguard broke it almost gently. "Don't push, Tarram Armistrade. In case you haven't noticed, the powerful push back."
Tarram opened his mouth to reply, then slumped down dejectedly, not knowing what to say.
"However," Zreem continued, "what I told you about spells that would kill you if you abandoned your mission, back when you rode out of Braganza? An utter lie. And with Tartesper gone, there's no one left to twist it into truth."
"Why are you telling us this?" Tantaerra demanded. "You're Telcanor's bodyguard!"
To her surprise, the big man smiled.
"Am I?" he asked. "Then I suppose I'd best go find his body."
With that he turned and left the room, leaving Tarram and Tantaerra staring astonished at the closed door.
∗ ∗ ∗
Tantaerra held her new metal hand up to the light. It would take a while to learn to control it, and her forearm ached with the unaccustomed weight and effort, but …she had a hand again!
She waggled her fingers. They clattered, just a little. She'd have to steal some oil.
Or, no, they could buy some, now. The smith and priests who'd crafted it had taken most of their reward money, but they still had a bit left over.
Laden with food, Tarram couldn't see her waggling her fingers.
Poor Tarram. With Mahalagris and Karm both dead, the curse might well be broken, but the damage it had done remained. She'd wanted to try getting his face healed by the priests, but there had only been enough money to fix one of their disfigurements, and he'd insisted that she be first. After all, he said, they could earn-or steal-the rest of the money they needed faster with four hands than three.
"There remains," he was saying, "the prudent matter of getting out of Braganza before the Bailiff can have all his guards find us and flay us alive, or whatever is customarily done to people who falsely claim to be investigators working for the General Lords."
"I'm sure you'll think of something," Tantaerra replied happily. "Then we can-"
She stopped abruptly.
A familiar looming armored figure was blocking their way, leaning casually against the frame of the doorway they'd been heading for, massive arms folded across an even larger chest.
"One task remains," Onstal Zreem told them calmly. "There's something I need from you."
Tantaerra felt her stomach drop. She'd known it was too good to be true-the reward, the exoneration. All from this Zreem. Neither she nor Tarram had seen Lord Telcanor since the staircase.
"Of course there is," she spat. "You damned Braganzans and your games. Have you come to conscript us for Telcanor again?"
"No," Zreem said simply. "For Imperial Governor Teldas himself."
"Hah!" Tantaerra scoffed-then stopped as she saw his expression. Slowly, she asked, "Who are you?"
"The Imperial Governor has lately grown irritated with Braganza's wastefulness," he said. "Telcanors, Mereirs, Lord Ravnagask's ceaseless building. As such, he's taken the prudent step of quietly placing people of his own in positions of influence."
Tantaerra's mouth dropped open. "You're a Lord Investigator. A real one."
"Yes," Zreem said. "And you can be as well."
"Both of us?" Tarram interrupted sharply.
"Both of you," Zreem confirmed. "As a team. Reporting to the General Lords, and fairly well paid to travel Molthune and search for foreign spies and disloyal Molthuni."
Tarram and Tantaerra gaped at him, then at each other.
"I should point out," Zreem continued, almost to himself, "that both the Telcanors and the Mereirs still want you dead. And Lord Ravnagask is likely to be looking for a politically convenient scapegoat for the recent troubles. Naturally, anyone truly working for the Imperial Governor would be beyond their reach."
Tarram eyed the mountainous bodyguard. "I'm curious: why does your master-your true master, I mean-allow all this? Why did you let us reach Braganza with the gauntlet?"
Zreem's smile widened. "Ambitious men become a nuisance if they go too long untested. And every ruler has his critics, but the ruler of Braganza needs testing every bit as much as the most ambitious men who dwell in his city. It would not do to leave a city so close to Nirmathas in the hands of someone …inadequate."
"He lets them all kill each other to keep them from challenging his authority?" Tantaerra asked. "And to see if Lord Ravnagask is any good at his job?"
"I see," Tarram replied slowly. He looked at Tantaerra. "Well? What do you think?"
"Becoming a Lord Investigator?"
"Yes."
"What do you think?"
"I believe I'd enjoy it very much. If we're together."
Tantaerra's smile was slow in coming, but dazzling when it arrived.
"Then, Tarram Armistrade," she announced, "I believe I feel the same way."
∗ ∗ ∗
It was another clear, dry night, of a steady breeze and bright moonlight.
Tantaerra looked back, but Braganza was lost behind the hills, a good day's ride west of them now, on good, formerly Telcanor horses.
She and Tarram had eaten dinner and banked their fire, and were about to bed down. First watch was his.
She raised the dregs of her last mug of broth to him. "All hail Tarram Armistrade, newly ordained investigator for the General Lords."
He gave her back the same toast, and they drained their mugs in unison.
Tantaerra reached for her blanket, then stopped and turned back to her partner. He was wearing a new mask.
"Tarram," she asked quietly, "won't you take your mask off?"
He looked at her. "Would you go naked if I asked you to?"
She blinked. "Yes. Yes, I would." She started to pull off her jerkin.
He put out a hand to stop her, shaking his head.
"It was a metaphor! I was asking about your limits, not making a request."
She looked at him, then murmured, "Unhand me, you fool." Then she unscrewed her metal hand and held up her stump, thrusting it challengingly into his face.
He regarded her silently, then pointed at his mask in a silent question.
"Please," she whispered.
He reached up and took it off. Eyes steady, she took a good long look at his ruined face.
Then carefully, deliberately, she caught hold of his hand, drew him down to her height, and kissed him.
When at last their lips parted, he was the first to speak. "Tantaerra-"
She thrust her empty mug into his hands, then spun away and returned to her bedroll. "You have first watch," she reminded him. "Good night, friend."
"Good night, little one," The Masked replied fondly.
"Little one?" she snapped.
He chuckled. "Little one," he proclaimed, pointing at her, then pointed at himself. "Faceless one."
She snorted. "Good night, jester. Or rather, Lord Investigator!"
"At least until we're safely across the border," he agreed, and they laughed together.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-b76534-cf2e-f047-6196-5380-2a58-eade45
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 11.10.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.36, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Ed Greenwood
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