Mask of Dragons (12 page)

“See that?” murmured Romaria, pointing with the end of her hunting bow. A thick, tangled web stretched between two of the nearer pine trees. 

“Soliphages?” said Mazael.

“No,” said Romaria. “The giant spiders. The soliphages control them, like a lord with his hunting hounds. They use the spiders as hunters to bring prey to bear, or to set webs to trap their victims.” 

“A pleasant thought,” muttered Sigaldra, reining up her horse near Romaria. “The soliphages in the middle lands were terrible foes, but at least they were rare. I suspect they shall be more common here.” 

“They are,” said Romaria.

“Someone moves in the trees,” said Earnachar. “Skuldari warriors, I think, climbing the road to the pass.” 

Mazael nodded. “It’s time for the disguise. Timothy?” 

They moved their horses away from the main path through the Weaver’s Pass, sheltering behind some rocks. Timothy and Romaria both dropped from their saddles. The wizard produced several small vials from his saddlebags, mixing together some paste, while Romaria busied herself with her hair, winding it into a braid that encircled her head like a crown. It was an elegant look for her, but it also served the useful function of concealing the points of her Elderborn ears. Once she had finished, she pulled a ragged black cloak from her saddlebags, exchanging it for her green cloak. 

“Ready?” said Timothy, dipping a brush into one of the vials. 

“Yes,” said Romaria. “Make me hideous.”  

She closed her eyes, and Timothy lifted the little brush and started to paint her face. It only took a few moments, but when he had finished, he had painted the sigil of a blue spider across her features, its legs curling across her forehead and down along her cheeks and jaw. The Skuldari warriors painted their faces blue before going into battle, but according to Romaria, the priests and priestess of Marazadra painted the symbol of the spider upon their features. 

“How do I look?” said Romaria as Timothy stepped back. 

“Like you’re about to order our deaths for the glory of Marazadra,” said Mazael. “With luck, that shall fool any Skuldari we meet.” He looked at the others. “Let Romaria do the talking. She knows the Skuldari better than any of us.” 

“So if she is pretending to be a priestess of the spider,” said Earnachar, “then we shall masquerade as her bodyguards?” 

“Precisely,” said Mazael, and he led the way back to the path. Mazael and Adalar took the lead, Romaria behind them, and Timothy and Earnachar fell in behind her. Sigaldra took the rear, glaring at everything in sight. 

Mazael hoped she wouldn’t shoot Earnachar in the back.

“Sigaldra,” said Mazael. “Stay next to Romaria. If anyone asks, you are her…”

“Acolyte,” said Romaria. “The priestesses have acolytes.” 

“As you said, I shall let Lady Romaria do the talking,” said Sigaldra. 

“Just as well,” said Romaria. “An acolyte would not presume to speak before a priestess.”

They rode down the slope, the Weaver’s Vale yawning open before them. The familiar smell of pine trees came to Mazael’s nostrils, but with a musty, vaguely rotten scent. He realized it was the odor of the webs scattered throughout the pine forest, mingled with the smell of animals that had gotten caught in the webs and died.

Animals, and perhaps people.

The Skuldari warband came closer, about fifteen men, all of them with blue-painted faces, wearing leather armor, axes and swords and clubs in their hands. They planted themselves in the road, weapons ready. Mazael raised his hand, and the others stopped behind him. He walked his horse forward a few paces, dropping one hand to Talon’s hilt.

“Who are you to block our path?” he said. If it came to a fight, they had good chances. Mazael could ride down several, and Adalar, Earnachar, and Romaria were all good fighters, and Sigaldra was capable with a bow, while Timothy’s spells were potent. Mazael did not want to risk any of the Skuldari escaping to warn the others.

“What is your business?” said one of the Skuldari warriors. 

“My business?” snapped Romaria, her voice harsh. She spurred her horse forward, glaring down at the Skuldari warriors. “My business is the business of the great goddess, and you impede me?”

A few of the Skuldari warriors stepped back, while the leader shifted.

“Forgive us, mistress,” said the leader, “but the high king Basracus commanded us to stand guard upon this road.”

“What news of Basracus?” said Romaria. “I have a message for him from the field of battle. The men of Skuldar have won great victories against the faithless of the plains.” 

“He awaits the messenger of the goddess at Armalast, priestess,” said the leader.

“The outlander who called herself the Prophetess?” said Romaria. 

The leader frowned. Given how insular the Skuldari were, Mazael suspected the Prophetess may not have been all that popular among the commoners. “It is not for me to question the ways of the goddess.”

“It is not,” said Romaria. She drew herself up. “Clear my path!” The Skuldari warriors hastened off the road, pine needles crunching beneath their boots. “I ride for Armalast. The servants of the goddess have won great victories. The lords of the Grim Marches have been broken, and flee in disarray to their castles. One by one we shall overcome them all.” She beckoned to the other riders. “Come! We waste time!” 

They rode away in silence, keeping the horses at a quick trot. Mazael glanced over his shoulder, but the Skuldari warriors did not pursue. After a mile he slowed his horse to a walk.

“Timothy?” he said.

Timothy’s fingers clenched against the wire-wrapped crystal, his eyelids fluttering. “There is no one else nearby, my lord.”

Romaria threw back her head and laughed, and Mazael laughed with her. 

“Did you see their faces?” said Romaria. “If I had told them to walk back to Armalast while hopping upon one foot, they would have done it.”

“You were very convincing, my lady,” said Timothy.

“Why did you lie to them about the battles?” said Sigaldra. 

“Because a man needs accurate knowledge to make good decisions,” said Mazael. “Especially when he goes to war. Rely upon bad knowledge, and you make bad decisions.” 

He still didn’t have all the information he needed, the knowledge of the Prophetess’s plans and motives and goals. But he knew where she would be. She was going to Basracus, and the self-proclaimed Skuldari high king was Armalast. 

They rode deeper into the pine forest. 

###

The day began to fade, the sun dipping beneath the mountains to the west. 

Adalar and Earnachar had fallen back to watch the rear of their little column, and his eyes moved back and forth over the trees. Timothy’s spell could likely detect any approaching foes, but Adalar preferred to trust his own eyes. Magic was useful, but magic could fail. 

Besides, it also kept Sigaldra away from Earnachar. 

Her hatred of the man did not waver. Adalar could not blame her for that, considering the mess that Earnachar’s decisions had caused. Yet the Guardian had said that they needed Earnachar’s help, and after the displays of magic that the Guardian had worked against the runedead, his word was good enough for Adalar.

He knew that was not good enough for Sigaldra. She made sure to keep away from Earnachar, staying near Romaria or Timothy. In another woman, Adalar would have taken that as a sign of fear. In Sigaldra, it meant she was afraid she might lose her self-control and attack Earnachar. He had seen her standing outside of Earnachar’s tent, and if he had not distracted her…

“This reminds me a great deal of the middle lands,” announced Earnachar. 

“Does it?” said Adalar. 

The strange thing was that he could not bring himself to hate Earnachar. He didn’t particularly like the man, but he didn’t dislike Earnachar either. Adalar had spent his entire life around men like Earnachar son of Balnachar – venal, grasping, bold, and ambitious, but the same boldness that let Earnachar threaten the Jutai also let him face Malrags and runedead and soliphages without fear. 

Men like Earnachar, Adalar had learned, went exactly as far as their lords permitted and no further. In point of fact, Earnachar had left the Jutai alone as Mazael commanded. And then the Prophetess had come, and her heart spider had overridden Earnachar’s good sense. 

“Aye, Lord Adalar,” said Earnachar. “We faced soliphages there. Many of them dwelt in the Endless Forest to the east of the middle lands, though only the boldest thains of the Tervingi ever went there. During our long march to the Grim Marches, we faced soliphages in the ruins of the kingdoms in the shadow of the Great Mountain. They would follow the column and prey upon the sick and the unwary and the old.” He shook his head. “We had come to the Grim Marches to escape the terrors of the middle lands, the valgasts and the soliphages and the others, but it seems they followed us here nonetheless.” 

“Perhaps war is the natural state of man,” said Adalar. “I know most men think that peace is common and war is exceptional, but perhaps it is the other way around.”

“Indeed,” said Earnachar. “Indeed! Even in the songs of mighty Tervingar, he spent all his days in battle, from his youth to the sunset of his years. It is the lot of man to spend his days in strife and struggle. You are wise for a young man.”

“I do not know if I am wise or not,” said Adalar. “Though I doubt that I am.” 

Earnachar barked his harsh, braying laugh, and Sigaldra cast a cold glance at him. “That is what a wise man would say. Or so spoke the first Guardian who helped Tervingar bring our nation to freedom from the Imperium of the Dark Elderborn.” 

“I have seen many wars,” said Adalar. “Lord Mitor’s rebellion, the Dominiars, the runedead, the Aegonar, and now the Skuldari.” 

He watched Sigaldra as she kept her horse alongside Romaria's. 

“Ah,” said Earnachar. “I see. Well, even the wisest of men can fall prey to the folly of the flesh.”

Adalar looked at him. “What does that mean?” 

“You were a valiant foeman at Greatheart Keep,” said Earnachar, “and without your efforts, I suspect we would have taken the town and handed it over to the Prophetess. So I will give you some counsel. Stay away from Sigaldra of the Jutai.”

Adalar frowned. “It is not your concern, sir, with whom I spend my time.”

“It is not,” said Earnachar, “but it is your concern, and she is dangerous.”

“The Jutai are not a threat to anyone,” said Adalar. 

“No,” said Earnachar. “But they are doomed nonetheless. Even if I ignored them, they are doomed. Barely two thousands of them remain. The Malrags and Ragnachar slew the rest. Those that remain are old women and cripples. They shall either die out, or they shall be conquered and enslaved. If they went off into a corner somewhere to die quietly, that would be one thing, but instead they hold rich lands.”

Adalar started to understand why Sigaldra detested the Tervingi headman so much. “They deserve to die because they are weak? Is that it?”

Earnachar shrugged. “Do they deserve to die because they are weak? No. Will they die because they are weak? Yes. You know as well I as do that the world cares nothing for justice, only strength. That is why I wished to wed Liane, or wed her to one of my thains. That way Greatheart Keep could pass into my hands gradually, and as the Jutai died out or their women wed Tervingi men, they would pass away peacefully, like an old man dying in his bed. In a few generations the land would be entirely Tervingi, and the Jutai only a tale remembered by the loresingers.” He gave an irritated shake of his head. “Then the Prophetess ruined everything with her heart spider, damn her.” 

“So if you don’t want to destroy the Jutai, then simply leave them alone,” said Adalar. “You might have come to the Grim Marches to leave behind the dangers of the middle lands, but the gods know there are plenty of dangers here. Wage war against one of them.” 

“Easily said, and easily done,” said Earnachar. “But what happens when I am dead? What happens when the hrould Mazael dies and a man with less restrain takes his place? Who will restrain the Tervingi then? The Jutai will be slaughtered. Not married off, not permitted to die off quietly, but slaughtered. Such a dire fate could have been avoided if only Sigaldra had seen sense and married her sister to me.” 

“It is not for a man to decree the passage of events after his death,” said Adalar. “He must use well the span he has been given, and leave the rest in the hands of the gods.”

Earnachar grunted. “Maybe. That has the sound of a proverb.”

“My father often said it,” said Adalar. 

“Was he a warrior as you are?”

“He was a better warrior than I am,” said Adalar. “A better knight and man.” He frowned. “I do wonder one thing.”

“Ask, then.”

Adalar did not like the question, but he asked it anyway. “Why did you try to marry Liane? Why not Sigaldra? Surely she would be more suitable.”

Earnachar barked his braying laugh again. “Her? Truly, Lord Adalar?”

Sigaldra shot another suspicious look in Earnachar’s direction. It was probably just as well that she could not hear their conversation. 

For some reason the laugh irritated Adalar. “Why not? Surely she is not so unpleasant to look upon.”

“She is quite pleasant to look upon,” said Earnachar, “though somewhat bonier than a woman ought to be. Ha! You are so solemn I forget how young you still are, Lord Adalar. Young men are easily turned by a pretty face.” 

“What do you mean?” said Adalar.

“When you’re older, you’ll understand,” said Earnachar. “A wife is for breeding children and tending your household, so the best qualities in a wife are wide hips for birthing, a strong back for work, and a kindly heart. A pretty face and a shapely body are pleasant, but less important in the long term.”

“Sir, I urge you to speak your point,” said Adalar. 

“Sigaldra is pretty and shapely,” said Earnachar, “and tragic, too. The young maiden who lost her family, fighting to defend what is left of her nation. Yet she has lost too much, and her heart has turned to ice and hatred. To save her sister, she’ll kill us all, if she must. Do not delude yourself, my young lord. To save her sister, she would kill you without hesitation, or let you die if necessary. She would kill us all. And if we cannot save Liane, she will kill us all out of spite.”