Mask of Spells (Mask of the Demonsouled #3) Page 7

  “Who cares?” said Mazael, and Romaria laughed. “We should probably get back, though. If a soliphage shows up, they will need help.”

  “Aye,” said Romaria, sitting up and reaching for her clothes, her black braid bouncing against the pale skin of her back. “And I’d not wish to fight a valgast while naked.”

  Mazael snorted. “No.”

  He would have liked to lie with her a while longer, maybe fall asleep, but she was right. Falling asleep out here, away from the others, would be suicidal. In short order, they dressed and donned their armor, and Mazael led the way up the hillside to the camp. The magical fire still burned, throwing off heat and light, and Azurvaltoria sat atop her rock, gazing into the night. The dark eyes turned in their direction, and she smirked.

  “I let Adalar go to sleep,” said Azurvaltoria. “He needed the rest, and I do not think I will sleep.”

  “Kind of you,” Mazael said.

  “Did you enjoy yourselves?” said the dragon.

  “You like to watch, do you?” said Romaria without missing a beat.

  “I neither watched nor listened,” said Azurvaltoria. “It was not necessary. I could smell you. Humans sweat a great deal while mating. And human reproductive organs give off an unpleasant odor.” She smiled. “But neither of you are entirely human, are you?”

  “Since you already know the answer to that question,” said Mazael, “I assume you have a reason for asking it again?”

  “Your friends,” said Azurvaltoria. “They don’t know the truth, do they?”

  Romaria snorted and lifted her hair, showing the points of her ears. “They’re not blind.”

  “There are degrees of blindness,” said Azurvaltoria. “Your nature is obvious. Lord Mazael’s nature is…less obvious, but still obvious to those with eyes to see.”

  Mazael considered her for a moment, wondering what she wanted. Was this a threat? A warning? Maybe she was bored and was trying to pass the time.

  “You didn’t mention the Prophetess’s maethweisyr,” said Mazael.

  “The one the Prophetess took, charged with your blood,” said Azurvaltoria. “She must have gone to considerable lengths to claim it.”

  “She did,” said Mazael.

  “You noticed that I didn’t mention it,” said Azurvaltoria. She looked at the others, all of them asleep. “No need for them to know the truth, I think, if you haven’t told them. It would only alarm them to learn they are traveling with the last child of the Old Demon.”

  “So why does she need a maethweisyr charged with my blood?” said Mazael.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” said Azurvaltoria. “Power, of course. You’re the last child of the Old Demon, as far as I know, and the Old Demon himself was the son of one of the Great Demons of the outer darkness. That makes you, essentially, the grandson of a god.”

  “The Great Demon was not a god,” said Mazael.

  Azurvaltoria made a dismissive noise. “Then a creature with the power of a god. Some of that power now resides in your blood. The spell to bring back Marazadra is beyond mortal capacity. There must be a catalyst, a way to empower the spell. Hence your blood. The blood of the Demonsouled carries the necessary power.”

  “She’s a fool,” said Mazael. “My blood is dangerous.”

  “Oh?” said Azurvaltoria.

  “Lucan Mandragon,” said Mazael.

  “The Old Demon’s puppet, as I recall,” said Azurvaltoria.

  “He stole some of my blood and used it to empower his spells,” said Mazael. “That set him upon the path to destruction. The power corrupted him and made him vulnerable to the Old Demon’s influence.”

  “Your blood destroyed him,” said Azurvaltoria. “Yet the same blood flows through your veins and it hasn’t destroyed you. Why is that, I wonder?”

  Mazael shrugged. “I had better teachers as a child than Lucan did. His father taught him to wield power at whatever the price. Adalar’s father taught me that power without restraint is evil. Romaria held me back at the moment when it would have consumed me. After that…” He shrugged. “After that, I saw my father for what he was. It was easier to resist him then.”

  “Interesting,” said Azurvaltoria. “I’ve killed Demonsouled before.”

  “Have you?” said Mazael, his hand itching to grasp his sword hilt. Azurvaltoria had said she would help them, but if she changed her mind…even locked in human form, she had a great deal of power.

  “I guarded the Veiled Mountain and the Mask of Marazadra for three thousand years,” said Azurvaltoria. “Often wizards and other madmen came to claim the power of the Mask for themselves. Some of them were Demonsouled. Some were clever enough to realize what the Old Demon really was and sought to claim the Mask to use it against him.” She shrugged. “I killed them, of course, though I didn’t wish it.”

  “Why?” said Mazael. “Why didn’t you want to kill them?”

  “Because I hated the Old Demon,” said Azurvaltoria.

  “We’ve all got that in common, then,” said Romaria.

  “I hated him before either of you were born,” said Azurvaltoria. “When I was young, I was foolish enough and vain enough to challenge him, and he bound me to guard the Mask of Marazadra for thousands of years. Not that it has been boring, mind you. But I wanted my freedom, and I hoped that one of you would kill him. None of you did, of course…and then you came along and killed your father. When you wandered into Skuldar in pursuit of the Prophetess, naturally I was curious.”

  “What did you think?” said Mazael.

  “You remind me of him a great deal,” said Azurvaltoria. Mazael’s mouth twisted, but she kept speaking. “The same wrath. The same cunning, though less experienced. And the same charisma. All he had to do was crook his finger, and a woman would give herself to him. It explains how he fathered so many Demonsouled, does it not? I was surprised that you had not bedded the angry barbarian girl, or that the Prophetess was not one of your spurned former lovers.”

  “I’m married,” said Mazael. “I’m not going to betray Romaria.”

  His wife smiled and squeezed his hand.

  “Indeed,” said Azurvaltoria.

  “Was that why you helped me?” said Mazael. “Because you did help me. Subtly, of course, and within the bounds the Old Demon put upon you. But you did help me.”

  “I confess you are not quite like anyone I have ever met,” said Azurvaltoria. “Neither of you are.” She pointed at Romaria. “You should have become a beast years ago, yet here you are.” The black eyes turned back to Mazael. “And you…I have killed many Demonsouled. Most of them wanted to fight and kill the Old Demon so they could take his place. You fought and killed him, but you refused to take his place. You could have conquered the world, but instead here you are, refusing to take any lovers save your wife and helping one of your weaker vassals rescue her sister.”

  “You make me sound kinder than I really am,” said Mazael.

  “Kindness is useless without strength,” said Azurvaltoria. “I think the world needs someone like you. You are the Demonsouled who killed the Old Demon. All kinds of nasty things lurked in the shadows from fear of your father, but now he’s dead. And now that he’s dead, they’re going to wake up and try to take their piece of the world. Marazadra is just the first. So that is why I’m helping you. You’re a thunderbolt, Mazael Cravenlock, and I’m pointing you at my enemies.”

  “You’re a dragon,” said Mazael. “Aren’t you one of those dark powers that seek dominion over the world?”

  “Hardly,” said Azurvaltoria with a disdainful sniff. “We dragons are vastly more powerful than you humans, of course, but even we can be killed. The high lords of Old Dracaryl enslaved and destroyed many of my kind, and built their necromantic empire upon the backs of my kindred. Then the Old Demon destroyed the high lords as well. Do you think I want a world ruled by a creature like Marazadra? No.”

  “Then what do you want?” said Mazael.

  “To wander,” said Azurvaltoria. “I have
been here for so long I have forgotten what the world looks like beyond the mountains of Skuldar. I wish to see the ocean again, and the forests of the middle lands, and the vast plains of the eastern realms. I desire to disguise myself as a human and to walk the streets of your towns and cities. Many of my race do, you know, for though humans are weak and foul-smelling they are nonetheless fascinating. And I wish to find another of my kind and mate and bear children. I should have done so long ago, but I have been bound here, and none of my kind has come to Skuldar.”

  Romaria shook her head. “And you were making fun of us for…mating.”

  “That is because humans look ridiculous when they mate,” said Azurvaltoria. “But we wander from the point. I wish for freedom, Mazael Cravenlock, and freedom in a world that isn’t ruled by a creature like the Old Demon or Marazadra or one of the Archons of the Dark Elderborn. This is my chance for freedom, to destroy the Mask, to be rid of it, and be free at last. That, if you must know, is why I am going to help you.”

  “Very well,” said Mazael. “The gods know I’m not in any position to turn away help. And, truth be told, your knowledge might be more useful than your power.”

  “Though you’ll make use of that, of course,” said Azurvaltoria.

  “As I said,” said Mazael, “I won’t turn away help when it is offered.”

  “Wise of you,” said Azurvaltoria. “First, we have to do something about your smell.”

  Mazael snorted. “I haven’t had a bath in a while, yes. I suppose I could bathe in one of the streams, but there’s no soap at hand.”

  “I don’t think,” said Romaria, “she’s talking about that.”

  “No,” said Azurvaltoria. “The smell of your blood, rather.” Her nostrils flared. “I can smell it, even in the limited and weak form of a human. The blood of the Old Demon courses through your veins, and I can smell its power, its taint. Nor am I the only one.”

  “The valgasts,” said Romaria.

  “At the village of Gray Pillar in the Grim Marches,” said Mazael, “when this all began. A valgast wizard there recognized me as a child of the Old Demon.”

  “What did you do then?” said Azurvaltoria.

  “I killed him.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Azurvaltoria.

  “He was trying to kill me, to be fair,” said Mazael.

  Azurvaltoria shook her head. “That is not the point. Any valgast will be able to smell the power in your blood.”

  Mazael frowned. “So they will recognize me as Demonsouled the minute they see me…well, the minute they smell me?”

  “The common warriors and the thralls would not,” said Azurvaltoria. “They would recognize you as powerful and dangerous, but they wouldn’t realize what you really are. Their priests, though, are schooled in the lore of their people, and they would recognize you.” She shrugged. “For that matter, they would recognize me. My blood still smells like the blood of a dragon, even while trapped in human form.”

  “It does,” said Romaria.

  Azurvaltoria smiled. “And you, my dear, smell of the Elderborn when you should not. So if we are to enter Tchroth and the Shadow Market and survive, we shall have to do something about that.”

  “What do you propose?” said Mazael. “I imagine a bath would be insufficient.”

  “You would both benefit from a bath, especially after what you just did,” said Azurvaltoria. “But that would not conceal us from the valgasts. I propose a spell, therefore. A minor warding spell. I shall cast it over us every night when we stop to camp. Timothy would recognize it for what it is, but since he is going back to the Grim Marches, that will not prove a problem. We shall simply tell the others it is a ward against detection, which is true enough. I imagine you would prefer not to share the real reason with them.”

  “No,” said Mazael. He didn’t trust Azurvaltoria, not after the game she had played with them during their journey to the Veiled Mountain, but on the other hand, she had given him no reason to fear treachery. And they faced a common foe in the Prophetess and the spirit of Marazadra. Whatever Azurvaltoria thought of Mazael, whether or not her description of him was what she truly thought or a bizarre attempt at flattery, the dragon hated the Prophetess and desired revenge. More, she desired her freedom by destroying the Mask of Marazadra. Perhaps Mazael could not trust the dragon locked in human form…but he could trust to her hatred.

  Common enemies, Richard Mandragon had once told Mazael, made for a safer alliance than friendship or bonds of blood. The old lord had ruled the Grim Marches with an iron hand for nearly twenty years, so he had been right about that.

  On the other hand, his teachings had twisted his son Lucan, so perhaps Mazael ought to take them with a grain of salt.

  He felt Azurvaltoria’s dark eyes on his face and had the disturbing idea that she knew exactly what he was thinking.

  “All right,” said Mazael.

  Azurvaltoria rose to her feet, wincing a little. She still hadn’t recovered from the long battle with the valgasts, or from the Prophetess’s attack upon her. Fire flashed around her fingers as she began to gesture, tracing intricate patterns in the air. Her lips moved in silent words, and then she made a pushing gesture. The fire flashed brighter and vanished, and a cold chill rolled through Mazael. He scowled and shook his head, while Romaria flinched.

  “I forgot,” said Azurvaltoria, rolling her shoulders. “That spell has a kick to it.”

  “Clearly,” said Mazael. “Did it work?”

  Azurvaltoria stepped closer and sniffed the air. “Yes. I cannot smell the taint in your blood, nor your Elderborn ancestry.”

  “What do we smell like now?” said Romaria, curious.

  “Sweat, mostly,” said Azurvaltoria.

  “I knew that,” said Romaria. “But you can’t smell our blood?”

  “No,” said Azurvaltoria. “Nor can the valgasts. They will think it odd, but not odd enough to do anything about it. If all goes well, that shall allow us to ambush the Prophetess long before she reaches the Heart of the Spider.”

  “Perhaps,” said Mazael.

  He doubted it would be as simple as that.

  ###

  Mazael took his turn at watching over the camp and then slept the rest of the night.

  The next morning the others awakened, and Timothy, Earnachar, and Basjun prepared for their journey to the east and the waiting army of the Grim Marches.

  “Remember,” said Mazael. “Travel fast and quiet. Avoid the Skuldari if at all possible, and stay away from Armalast and the main road through Weaver’s Vale. Get to Lady Molly and the Guardian as fast as you can, and tell them to meet us at Mount Armyar.”

  Mazael knew that he was stating the obvious. Yet Earnachar, Basjun, and Timothy nodded as if he had said something profound. All three men knew their business. Yet Mazael had found time and time again that sometimes it was a lord’s task to state the obvious to his men.

  “It shall be done,” said Earnachar. “Earnachar son of Balnachar shall go to the Grim Marches and return with aid, and we shall bring destruction down upon the head of the false Travian whore who calls herself the Prophetess.”

  From the corner of his eye, Mazael saw Sigaldra’s lip twitch. A few weeks ago she would have mocked Earnachar’s bombastic pronouncement, or at least rolled her eyes. She would never like Earnachar, but battling through Armalast and the caverns of the Veiled Mountain had softened her disdain for the man. Perhaps that was a good sign. Perhaps if they succeeded and returned to the Grim Marches, the remnants of the Jutai could live in peace alongside the Tervingi.

  “If you do encounter any Skuldari or priests of Marazadra,” said Azurvaltoria, “I suggest you impersonate a priest and command them to clear from your path. That staff of yours should prove useful, wizard. The valgasts did a reasonable job of enchanting it, and if you burn a few Skuldari warriors alive, the rest should let you pass.”

  Timothy nodded, his face cautious as he watched the dragon. “I shall keep that in mind, my la
dy.”

  “What if we encounter any soliphages?” said Basjun. He took care not to look at Azurvaltoria. Her taunt about “udders” had clearly struck home. If they lived through this, perhaps Danel could find his son a pretty wife of his own.

  “Kill it as quickly as you can,” said Mazael, “and continue on your way.”

  Earnachar grunted. “Sound counsel.”

  “Go,” said Mazael. “I hope to see you all soon at Mount Armyar.”

  Mazael knew he might well be sending them to their deaths. The High King Basracus was at Armalast, and he was mobilizing the host of the Skuldari to send them to war against the world. If one of those Skuldari warbands came across Timothy, Basjun, and Earnachar, they might kill them. On the other hand, Basracus might pull his host back to Mount Armyar until the Prophetess had summoned Marazadra, and Mazael and the others with him were about walk right into them. So he was in at least as must danger as they were, which was a peculiar sort of comfort. A lord could state the obvious, but a lord should never send men into a danger he was not willing to face himself.

  “My lord,” said Timothy. “Good journey to you.”

  “May your sword run with the blood of our foes,” said Earnachar.

  “Sir,” said Basjun, and Crouch barked his approval, turning to follow his master as they headed down the path leading through the stony hills to the southeast.

  Mazael turned and saw Romaria, Azurvaltoria, Sigaldra, and Adalar waiting for him.

  “Well,” said Mazael, “shall we pay the valgasts a visit?”

  “This way, then,” said Azurvaltoria with a smirk, her black eyes flashing like polished stones.

  They started on the path that climbed higher into the mountains, deeper into Skuldar and towards Mount Armyar and the Heart of the Spider.

  Chapter 6: The Rusted Knight

  Mazael had expected Azurvaltoria to lead them to the end of the valley where she had been captured, to the entrance to the underworld where the valgasts had retreated after the fight. Instead, she led them to the northwest, circling between the rocky hills and down into a broader, deeper valley.