Mask of Spells (Mask of the Demonsouled #3) Page 6
“Ah,” said Azurvaltoria. “That explains a great deal.”
“It doesn’t explain anything to me,” said Sigaldra. “Why did she take my sister?”
“The Mask of Marazadra is an egg,” said Azurvaltoria. “You can also think of it as a seed. A seed must be planted in something to bloom. Your sister will be the soil for Marazadra’s rebirth.”
Sigaldra scowled. “Then she wishes to…possess Liane?”
“In essence, yes,” said Azurvaltoria. “The Mask is the catalyst for her rebirth, and your sister will serve as her vessel. The Mask and your sister both shall be consumed, and Marazadra will rise in physical form once more.”
Sigaldra felt her hands curl into fists at her side. She had known all along that the Prophetess intended some dire fate for Liane. Certainly, nothing else the woman had done had been benevolent. Yet to hear beyond all doubt that the Prophetess intended to murder Liane to raise her precious goddess sent a wave of fury through her. For a moment she wanted to take up her bow and stalk into the night at once, to find and strangle that damned sorceress this very instant…
“We’ll find her,” said Adalar, his voice quiet. “We’ll find the Prophetess and get Liane back.”
“How can you be so sure?” said Sigaldra, bitter venom filling her.
“Because,” said Adalar with a shrug, “the dragon tried to kill us, and here we are.”
“I didn’t try to kill you,” said Azurvaltoria with some asperity. “Marazadra was not the only one to underestimate the Old Demon. I did as well and wound up bound to guard the Mask for the last three thousand years. She shrugged. “Not that’s been all boring. Some powerful people have tried hard to obtain the Mask.”
“Who you then killed,” said Adalar.
Azurvaltoria shrugged again. “They knew what they were doing. If they wanted to live, they should not have tried to take the Mask. If it makes you feel better, they were almost all mortal wizards with a long string of crimes and misdeeds to their names, so they deserved to die.” She smiled. “And they never defeated me and claimed the Mask.”
“Until the Prophetess did,” said Sigaldra, annoyed. That made the dragon’s smile vanish. “I didn’t expect that she could tap into the power of the Mask. I suppose I should have realized it sooner. She was the first priestess of Marazadra to reach the cavern housing the Mask itself.”
“So why does the Prophetess have to go to the Heart of the Spider and this mountain…” said Mazael.
“Mount Armyar,” said Azurvaltoria.
“It is some distance north of here, sir,” said Basjun, still not looking at the dragon. Her crack about “udders” must have landed home. Sigaldra supposed the dragon’s human form looked attractive enough if one overlooked the fact that her true form was an ancient scaled horror.
“Why does she have to go there?” said Mazael. “Why didn’t she use the Mask and summon Marazadra back the minute she escaped from the Veiled Mountain?”
“Because Marazadra can only be reborn in the place where the Old Demon destroyed her,” said Azurvaltoria.
“Which, I assume, is the Heart of the Spider,” said Mazael.
“You assume correctly,” said Azurvaltoria.
“Why, though?” said Mazael.
“Killing a goddess releases a tremendous amount of power,” said Azurvaltoria, “and that power is drawn back into the spirit world. What happens if you drop a lead weight onto an awning from a great height?”
“It tears a hole in the fabric,” said Timothy. “Do you mean to say that the Heart of the Spider is a…gate to the spirit world?”
“Very clever, wizard. A rift, more precisely,” said Azurvaltoria. “A gate implies stability. A rift is the product of damage. The Heart of the Spider is a rift to the spirit world, leading directly to where the power of Marazadra lies dormant within the spirit world.”
“Then those are all the components of the summoning spell,” said Timothy. “The Heart of the Spider to draw forth Marazadra’s power. The Mask to act as the spark to ignite the power. Lady Liane as the vessel for her rebirth.”
“That is the entirety of it,” said Azurvaltoria. She looked at Mazael and smiled, who did not smile back.
He knew she had omitted one component of the spell.
“So why,” said Sigaldra, “why did she make such an effort to take the Horn of Doom and Fate from Armalast?”
Liane, in her final words to Sigaldra in the collapsing caverns of the Veiled Mountain, had told Sigaldra to sound the Horn of Doom and Fate when the time came. Of course, since the Prophetess currently carried the Horn, that seemed unlikely. For that matter, Sigaldra didn’t know what the Horn was supposed to do. The Prophetess had bullied Basracus out of the Horn, and Basracus had been reluctant to hand it over. On the other hand, Basracus had finally surrendered the Horn…which meant he was afraid to use it.
“Marazadra is a goddess,” said Azurvaltoria. “A goddess needs followers. The Horn of Doom and Fate, when sounded, calls up the shadows of the dead and binds them to the bearer of the horn. I suspect the Prophetess will use it to summon up the shades of dead Skuldari. When Marazadra rises in power, she’ll have quite the army – the Skuldari under Basracus, the soliphages, the valgasts, and tens of thousands of bound shades.”
“She will invade the Grim Marches,” said Mazael.
“Obviously,” said Azurvaltoria. “And the High Plain, and Knightreach, and Mastaria, and every other land her armies can reach. The goddess wants to rule the world. The empire of the spider, they’ll likely call it.”
“Not unless we kill the Prophetess and rescue Liane first,” said Mazael, “which we’ll do by getting to Mount Armyar before they do.” He looked at Basjun. “Do you know the way to Mount Armyar?”
“I do, sir,” said Basjun, “but I’m afraid that will do you no good. There is no safe way to reach the ruins at the top of the mountain. The slopes near the summit are simply too steep, and the sole path is guarded by many soliphages.”
“Oh, you can’t climb the mountain without getting killed,” said Azurvaltoria. “The only way for you to reach the Heart of the Spider is to pass through the tunnels of the underworld. One of them leads to the peak of the mountain and the temple where Marazadra was defeated.”
Mazael frowned. “I thought you said that the chief city of the valgasts was beneath Mount Armyar.”
Azurvaltoria smiled. “Oh, good, you were paying attention. Yes. Tchroth is the chief city of the valgasts, or one of their chief cities, a place sacred to Marazadra and therefore to them. It guards the cavern that climbs to the peak of the mountain.”
“Which means,” said Mazael, “to get to the Heart of the Spider, we’ll have to pass through Tchroth.”
“Then we have to catch the Prophetess before she enters the underworld,” said Sigaldra. “An entire city of valgasts…how many thousands of them would we have to fight?”
“Tens of thousands,” said Azurvaltoria.
“We would need an army,” said Adalar. “We would need the entire host of the Grim Marches and the Tervingi, and perhaps the hosts of Knightreach and Greycoast as well.”
“Actually, you don’t,” said Azurvaltoria. “Outsiders often come to Tchroth. The valgasts trade and conduct commerce like everyone else. A place called the Shadow Market in Tchroth permits outlanders to buy and sell, assuming they are strong enough to keep from getting captured and sold into slavery. The valgasts have needs that can only be met by commerce, just like humans, and they offer in trade an array of exotic weapons and poisons and magical lore.”
Adalar frowned. “Who would be mad enough to go there?”
She smiled at him. “You tell me, Lord Adalar. You were the one who followed a woman into a dragon’s lair in pursuit of a sorceress.”
Sigaldra felt a tinge of color in her cheeks. If Earnachar said anything, she might well hit him. Fortunately, the headman of Banner Hill remained silent. Perhaps a prudent fear of the dragon’s magic had stilled his tongue.
Sigaldra frowned. “The Guardian said that we had to go alone to pursue the Prophetess.”
“We did,” said Mazael, “but I doubt the Guardian foresaw that we would have to sneak through a valgast army to do it. Or that we would wind up going to the Veiled Mountain.”
“The foretelling of the Sight is never completely accurate,” said Romaria, “and I think that we have moved beyond what Riothamus foresaw. Had we taken the host of the Grim Marches against the walls of Armalast, we would have been slain. But we are past Armalast now, and must make a new decision.”
“Yes,” said Mazael. “This is what we’ll do.”
###
Mazael looked at his companions, considering the best course of action.
Though he had already made up his mind while Azurvaltoria had spoken. They needed help, and Romaria was right. They had moved beyond the range of Riothamus’s vision. The Guardian had seen the future, but Mazael and the others had changed that future. That meant they faced new dangers, and they needed to take new actions.
Specifically, they needed help, and Mazael needed to send someone to summon Molly and Riothamus.
He couldn’t go himself. He was the only one who could match Rigoric in combat, and his Demonsouled blood let him recover from injury in a way that the others could not. His first impulse was to send Romaria. She knew the way, and she could cover the ground quickly. Yet she was the best scout among them, and without her help, they might not survive the trip to Tchroth. His next thought was to send Timothy, but they needed his spells to find the Prophetess. Sigaldra, then? Sigaldra would not turn aside from her quest to find her sister, and if Mazael sent Earnachar, Molly might well conclude that Earnachar had betrayed Mazael and kill the Tervingi headman on the spot, which might touch off a civil war in the Grim Marches.
His daughter was sometimes impulsive like that. He couldn’t blame Molly. She had gotten it from him.
Another thought occurred to him, the beginnings of an idea.
“Azurvaltoria,” said Mazael. “We took a maethweisyr from your hoard.”
She scowled. “Did you, now.”
“You weren’t using it,” said Mazael.
“That’s no excuse,” said Azurvaltoria.
“Perhaps you’ll forgive us when I tell you our plan for it,” said Mazael. “I threw it at the Prophetess, and it absorbed some of her blood.”
Azurvaltoria blinked, and then smiled. “Ah. Clever. I should have expected that from you. She can’t run now. Any wizard with a modicum of the proper skill could use the thing to follow her to the ends of the earth.”
“Do you have that modicum of skill?” said Mazael.
She looked affronted. “Of course.”
“And you would be willing to use it?” said Mazael.
“Certainly,” said Azurvaltoria.
“Good,” said Mazael. He looked at Timothy. “I need you to go back to Weaver’s Pass and tell Molly and Riothamus to send help to Mount Armyar. I would go myself, or I would send Romaria, but I think we are both needed here. Molly knows who you are, and she trusts your judgment and word. If you give her a message from me, she will listen.”
Timothy inclined his head. “I shall do as you say, my lord.”
Adalar frowned. “You’re not sending him alone?”
“Of course not,” said Mazael. “Earnachar, you’ll go with him. Make sure Timothy arrives alive at the camp in Weaver’s Pass. Basjun, I do not have the right to command you, but I would like you to go with Timothy and Earnachar. You know the terrain, and more importantly, you know how to find Mount Armyar. You can guide my daughter and her retainers there.”
“Crouch and I shall be glad to serve, sir,” said Basjun. He scratched behind the ears of the ugly dog. “It will be a heavy blow against the priests of Marazadra if we defeat the Prophetess.”
“Ah…what if they do not believe us?” said Earnachar. “Lady Molly is not fond of me, and…”
“You’re afraid she’ll kill you on sight?” said Sigaldra with a little smile.
Earnachar muttered something under his breath and then kept speaking. “I can hardly deliver the hrould’s message if I am killed before I even speak it.”
“An excellent argument,” said Mazael. He reached into a pouch at his belt and drew out his signet ring, a heavy gold band adorned with a stone carved into the sigil of the House of Cravenlock. “Take this and present it to them. They will believe you. From what I understand, it is difficult to lie to the Guardian of the Tervingi anyway.”
“Truly,” said Earnachar with a grimace.
“Basjun, can you find the way from here?” said Mazael.
“Of course, sir,” said Basjun, still scratching behind Crouch’s ears. The ugly dog let out an agreeing woof. “There is a trail a few miles west of here that should take us to the eastern end of Weaver’s Vale. I would worry about encountering the valgasts, but since they were all searching for…uh, Lady Azurvaltoria…”
“Lady Azurvaltoria?” the dragon said with a smile. She sat up a little straighter, her shoulders back. Gods, but was she flirting with the poor boy? “How polite.”
“Ah…thank you,” said Basjun, tearing his gaze away from her. “Since the valgasts were looking for Lady Azurvaltoria, I fear you will have more trouble with them than we shall.”
“And if we encounter any Skuldari?” said Earnachar.
“I will disguise myself as a priest of Marazadra once more,” said Timothy. He tapped the end of the valgast staff against the ground. “Should they require persuasion, I believe the staff can provide a convincing demonstration.”
“Good,” said Mazael.
“Should we leave tonight, hrould?” said Earnachar.
Mazael considered. Sigaldra, he knew, would want to set off for the entrance to the underworld at the other end of the valley at once. But they had just endured a hard day of fighting, and he did not want Basjun and Earnachar and Timothy to have to find their way over the treacherous hills in the dark.
“No,” said Mazael. “No, it’s well past dark, and at this point, a few more hours shouldn’t make a difference. We’ll rest here, and continue on our way at dawn.”
Chapter 5: Child of the Old Demon
They made camp atop the hill.
There was no wood to burn for a fire, but thanks to Azurvaltoria’s magic, that was not a problem. She waved a hand and increased the strength of the fire she had conjured earlier, setting the flame to grow brighter and larger. Mazael had to admit that the heat felt nice in the chill of the Skuldari mountains.
“Won’t that draw valgasts?” said Sigaldra. “The flame must be visible for miles.”
“Probably,” said Azurvaltoria, her teeth glinting white in the glow of the flames. It reminded Mazael of the rows of dagger-like fangs in the dragon’s jaw. “But the valgasts have suffered a very bad day, haven’t they? So many warriors and priests have fallen who might have instead participated in the glorious conquest to come. They won’t bother us again, not unless they get help.” She sighed and rubbed one of her knees. “You ought to worry more about the Skuldari warriors or the soliphages stumbling across you.”
“A good point,” said Adalar. “I will keep the first watch.”
“Thank you,” said Earnachar. Mazael noted Sigaldra’s blink of surprise. Earnachar never thanked anyone. “It has been a long day, and I am going to sleep.”
“As am I,” said Timothy. “Wake me for the second watch.”
One by one the others lay down near Azurvaltoria’s fire, wrapping themselves in their cloaks. Romaria, however, stood and stretched, and Mazael felt her eyes resting on him.
“I’m going to take a look around,” said Romaria. “Best to make sure nothing is creeping up on us in the darkness.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Mazael. “If something is creeping around in th
e darkness, better not to fight it alone.”
Adalar nodded, stretching his shoulders, and Azurvaltoria regarded them with black, glittering eyes.
Romaria started down the side of the hill, and Mazael followed her, hand resting on Talon’s hilt. A few moments later they were alone in the gloom at the base of the rocky hill. A stream bubbled its way through the center of the narrow valley, and the cool wind whistled and moaned past, but other than that Mazael heard nothing at all.
“Anything?” said Mazael.
Romaria walked a few paces to a boulder and leaned her bow against it, and then turned to face him.
“Nothing at all,” she said. “We’re alone.”
“Good,” said Mazael, and he stepped forward, grabbed her hips, pulled her close, and kissed her long and hard. She responded at once, pressing herself against him, her arms coiling around his back despite his armor. A moment later they had each other out of their clothes and armor, and a moment after that they were on the ground, using Romaria’s cloak as a blanket. The Demonsouled blood gave Mazael greater strength and speed at the cost of rage…and increased appetites of the flesh.
Fortunately, Romaria was most receptive.
She had told him that the Elderborn half of her soul, charged with earth magic, was drawn to strength, was attracted to raw power. Whenever they went into battle together, at the first opportunity afterward they sprang upon each other with a will. It was fortunate they were married. Without her, Mazael would have succumbed to his Demonsouled blood, and the Old Demon would have devoured him. Without him, Romaria would have been dominated by the Elderborn half of her soul, losing her rational mind as she transformed into a beast.
The thought flickered across Mazael’s mind, and then he didn’t think of anything at all as Romaria’s arms pressed against his back and her legs wrapped around him.
Later they lay side by side, the sweat cooling on their fevered skin.
“That,” said Mazael, “is the only thing better than battle.”
“Mmm,” said Romaria, a satisfied little sound. She stretched next to him, her body sliding against his. “Do you think the others know why we left?”