Mask of Dragons (14 page)

Even so, she still had her bow. It would have been easy, so easy, to turn and shoot Earnachar as he slept. He would be dead by the time the others awoke. 

Of course, if she did that, she would lose her chance to save Liane. The Guardian had said that the five of them had to go to Armalast to stop whatever dark power the Prophetess wanted to unleash. Sigaldra did not care much about that, but she did care about rescuing Liane. So she would grit her teeth and swallow her hatred and work with Earnachar until the moment Liane was safe. 

Besides, if she tried to shoot Earnachar, Sigaldra was reasonably sure that she would awaken Romaria. The strange woman might have been able to turn into a wolf, but even in human form her senses were uncanny. For that matter, quarreling among themselves might draw the attention of the wandering spiders or perhaps a soliphage. That would make a bitter, grim end to her journey, if she failed to rescue Liane because her hatred got the better of her.

So Sigaldra sat alone in the gloom, a long way from home, and watched for enemies.

Though she supposed Greatheart Keep wasn’t home, not really. Her home had been in the middle lands, but the Malrags had destroyed most of it and Ragnachar and the Tervingi had destroyed the rest. All that remained of the Jutai people clustered around Greatheart Keep, and between Earnachar and the Skuldari, even that refuge was in danger. 

She glanced at where Adalar lay motionless next to the fire, his weapons ready at hand. He had fallen asleep with the speed of the veteran campaigner, though she knew he would awake again in an instant at the first sign of danger. Sleep eased some of the harshness from his features, made him look younger, almost vulnerable, and Sigaldra felt the sudden urge to touch his cheek, to feel the stubble beneath her fingers. 

At once she rebuked herself. She had no right to ask more of Adalar Greatheart than she already had. Sigaldra knew why he had accompanied her, why he had aided her against Earnachar and the Skuldari. He was a warrior who had outlived his war, a man who had seen so much death and so much destruction that it had poisoned his mind. He had been lost and without purpose, and suddenly his path had crossed Sigaldra’s just as her need had been dire…

She felt guilty that he had accompanied her, that he had followed her into Skuldar to what would likely be their deaths. Yet she had not turned him away. Sigaldra needed all the help she could find to rescue Liane, even the help of a loathsome scoundrel like Earnachar. 

Like Adalar, Sigaldra had lost everything. She had lost her home, had seen all her friends perish beneath the blades of the Malrags. She had lost her father and brothers to war, and so many of the Jutai in the long, terrible march to the Grim Marches. Liane was all the family Sigaldra had left, all that remained of her blood and her home. 

And Sigaldra had lost her.

She let out a long, shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut, her fingers clenched tight against the smooth wood of her bow. She would not cry! A shudder went through her shoulders as she fought to get herself back under control. 

Gods and ancestors, she would not let that preening fool Earnachar weep. 

What would Adalar think of her if he saw her sobbing like a child? 

At last Sigaldra let out a long, ragged breath, opening her stinging eyes. She glanced back at the others. Her little fit had not awakened any of them, which was just as well. Her embarrassment would have been acute if they had seen her. She was the last holdmistress of the Jutai, and she had to uphold the honor of her people. 

Which meant staying on guard. She could hardly uphold the honor of the Jutai if they were all slaughtered while she was having a crying fit. 

Sigaldra turned her attention back to the darkened forest, and saw Liane staring at her. 

The blood froze in her veins. 

Sigaldra jolted to her feet. Liane looked just as she remembered, with her pale eyes and long blond hair, her features so similar to their mother’s. She was only fifteen, but she was becoming a woman of stunning beauty, which likely explained why that lecher Earnachar had wanted to wed her. Liane wore the same clothes she had on the day she had been abducted, the same green dress. 

It was utterly impossible. Yet hope surged through Sigaldra. Perhaps Liane had escaped from the Prophetess’s grasp. Her younger sister had always been scatter-brained, but she hadn’t been stupid, and she had the Sight. Perhaps she had found a way to escape…

Sigaldra stepped forward, starting to speak, and then Liane sprinted into the trees. 

No! To have come this far, only to lose Liane at the final moment…

Sigaldra ran after her sister, following the flashes of green cloth as Liane ran. 

“Liane!” she shouted. “Liane! Stop! What’s wrong? Liane!”

Part of her mind hoped her shouts would awaken the others. Another part of her mind screamed that this was a very bad idea, that dashing into the darkened, spider-haunted forests of Skuldar was tantamount to suicide. Yet she kept running. She stumbled into a clearing between two rocky hills and came to a stop. Pine trees jutted here and there from the slopes, mantled in webs. The air stank of dusty webs and rotting flesh, and Sigaldra looked around, half-fearing to see spiders lurking nearby. 

But she was alone with Liane. Her sister trembled and shivered, her eyes bloodshot from tears.

“Liane,” said Sigaldra, stepping towards her. “Come with me, quickly. This cannot be a safe place.”

“You left me,” whispered Liane. 

“What?” said Sigaldra. “No, no, the Prophetess took you. I tried to stop her, I…

“You promised our father that you would keep me safe,” whispered Liane, her body shaking as she started to sob. “You promised your brothers. You let them take me, you let them take me!”

“No!” said Sigaldra, hurrying towards her. “I tried to save you.” She reached for Liane. “I’ve come with the hrould to rescue you, to take you back home…”

Liane backed out of reach, her pale eyes full of rage and pain. “She hurt me, Sigaldra. She hurt me and cut me, and…and…”

“I’m sorry,” said Sigaldra. This time she caught her sister, her hands settling upon Liane’s shoulders. “But I’ve come for you now, I’ve…”

Her voice trailed off as a peculiar fact penetrated the burning guilt and regret that filled her mind.

Liane’s shoulders felt wrong. 

Sigaldra should have felt cloth and warmth beneath her fingers. Instead she felt something smooth and cold and hard, the chill radiating up her arms.

“Liane?” said Sigaldra. “What…”

Liane’s lip twisted with contempt, and she raised her right hand. 

Purple fire flared around her fingers, and everything went black. 

###

“Mazael!” 

Mazael opened his eyes. For a moment of disorientation he could not remember where he was, and wondered why his bed felt so damned hard and uneven. 

His mind snapped into focus, and he sat up, seizing Talon from where the sword rested next to him. 

The fire had died down to sullen coals, darkness shrouding the forest. Mazael looked back and forth, seeking enemies, but nothing seemed amiss. Romaria was on her feet, her Elderborn bow in hand, and the tethered horses stirred next to her. The others were waking up, rolling to their feet and raising weapons. Mazael looked around as he stood. 

“Where’s Sigaldra?” he said. 

“I don’t know,” said Adalar. 

“She seems to have wandered off,” said Earnachar.

Mazael frowned. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” said Romaria, pacing back and forth as she scowled at the ground. “I woke up to relieve her at watch, and she was gone.”

“The foolish girl ran off,” said Earnachar.

“She wouldn’t have,” said Adalar. “She’s angry, not stupid, and wandering around this place at night is a fine way to get…”

“She did walk off,” said Romaria, stopping at the edge of the coals’ glow. “This direction. Looks like she walked away, and then started running.” 

“Why would she do that?” said Adalar. “There’s only one thing that would make her run off like...”

“Liane,” said Mazael. “She saw her sister.” Could they have caught up to the Prophetess already? The Prophetess and Rigoric had a good head start, but perhaps they had diverted from the road to Armalast. Mazael could not believe that they had caught the Prophetess already, but if they had…

No. Something else was going on.

“Romaria,” said Mazael. 

She nodded, stepped forward, and blurred, becoming the great black wolf once again. Earnachar flinched and muttered something under his breath, but the wolf prowled forward, sniffing at the ground. Mazael followed, Talon ready in his right hand, and they followed the wolf into the darkened forest.

###

Sigaldra swam back to consciousness, step by painful step. 

The first thing she noticed was the stench. The musty smell of rotting meat filled her nostrils, along with the overpowering odor of rotting flesh. Her gorge threatened to rise, and it was just as well she had been too agitated to eat anything when they stopped to camp. The next thing she noticed was the damp chill against her entire body.

Her clothes were gone. 

In a panic she opened her eyes, trying to stand up.

Her eyes opened, but her arms and legs refused to move, and she felt herself start to sway back and forth, as if she was suspended in something.

She was in a cave, a dim blue glow coming from somewhere, the rough rock walls of the chamber covered in layers of webs. Dozens of grayish-black lumps hung in the web, and with a surge of sick horror Sigaldra realized that they were desiccated corpses. 

Some of their mouths hung open as if they had died screaming. 

Sigaldra tried to turn her head, and found that she could do so only with great effort. Strands of something wet and sticky clung to her neck, tangled in her hair. She looked down at herself and saw that she hung suspended in a web of pale cords stretched between the two walls of the cave, her arms and legs splayed. More webbing wrapped around her limbs and torso, holding in her place. 

She was trapped, as helpless as a sheep trussed up and awaiting the butcher’s knife. She started to struggle, trying to pull free of the web, but the sticky cords held her fast. Panic flooded through her, and Sigaldra thrashed and heaved, trying to break loose. All she accomplished was to make the web bounce back and forth a little, and soon vertigo filled her. After a moment she heard a whimpering, keening sound of pure terror, and realized that it was coming from her.

“You woke up sooner than I thought,” said Liane. 

She stepped into Sigaldra’s field of vision, her hair glinting in the gloomy blue light. Yet there was an expression of gloating, sinister malice that Sigaldra had never seen upon Liane’s face before.

“Liane?” said Sigaldra. “Please, help me down, before…”

“Oh, dear,” said Liane, putting a hand to her cheek in mock sympathy. “You really think I’m…Liane, is it? Who is that, I wonder? Your mother? The females often cry out to their mothers or their mates in the final moment.”

“You’re my sister,” said Sigaldra. 

“Interesting,” said Liane. “The sister, you say? That is new. It is hard to predict what effect the spell will produce.” 

Sigaldra stared at Liane, a fresh wave of dread going through her. A spell? Did that mean the girl standing before her was actually a wizard, wrapped in a spell of illusion? 

Or was “Liane” something worse?

“Who…who are you?” said Sigaldra.

“You humans,” said Liane with exasperation. “So dull and stupid. How did you ever come to dominate this world? You are fit for prey and nothing more.” She giggled, a reedy, unsteady sound. “Once the goddess awakens, things shall change.” 

“I demand that you tell me who you are!” said Sigaldra.

“Why bother?” said Liane. “I shall show you, instead.”

She gestured with her left hand, purple fire flaring around her fingers. 

Liane vanished, and a soliphage appeared in her place.

The creature looked much the same as the ones that Sigaldra had seen at Greatheart Keep. It was taller and thinner than a human, and it looked female. The soliphages at Greatheart Keep had been crimson, but chitin of deep blue encased this soliphage, marbled here and there with swirling black streaks. Jagged claws jutted from the creature’s fingers, and four more legs rose from its side, knobbed and armored. The creature’s face was eerily beautiful, and eight eyes burned with a peculiar white light.

A wave of sheer revulsion went through Sigaldra, and she screamed before she could stop herself. Facing a soliphage during battle was bad enough. Hanging here naked and helpless was much worse. She desperately tried to fight the panic that welled through her, but it was a losing battle.

“It has been a long time,” rasped the soliphage, “since I’ve had a meal so young. Usually I get the old and the sick who come into the woods to die. Humans taste better, fresher, when they’re younger. I would put you to sleep and feed upon you when I am hungry…but, no, some pleasures shouldn’t be deferred.” The soliphage moved closer, and one of its distended legs came up, sliding along Sigaldra’s side. The feel of the cold chitin set a violent shudder through her, which made the web sway again, increasing her vertigo. 

This time Sigaldra could not stop herself from screaming.

###

Adalar ran after Mazael and the others, his greatsword in hand. Timothy jogged next to him, holding the wire-wrapped crystal in one hand, gesturing with the other. Around them stood rocky hills, dotted with pine trees, and the smell of the webbing and dead meat grew stronger with every step. 

Suddenly the wolf came to a stop, and blurred back into the shape of Romaria.

“There,” said Romaria in a quiet voice, raising her bow. Adalar wondered how she managed to take her clothes and weapons when she transformed, and decided that he really didn’t want to know. “She went this way, into that cave in the base of the hill.”

“Why would she do that?” said Mazael.

“There was a soliphage with her,” said Romaria. “I’m sure of it. I can smell its stink everywhere.”