Mask of Dragons (32 page)

The Prophetess let out a soft breath. “You lack faith, child. You shall see the splendor of the goddess revealed.” 

She turned back towards the shrine, gathering blue fire in her hands once more.

“Listen to me!” said Liane. “The spider will consume you! Can you not see it? Can…”

“Rigoric,” said the Prophetess. 

Rigoric stepped forward, reaching into his belt. He gripped Liane’s hair and gagged her with smooth, efficient moments. Mazael suspected this was not the first time Liane had tried to talk the Prophetess out of her course. Liane shouted into the gag for a moment, and then fell silent. 

The Prophetess cast her spell once more, and for an instant the rippling distortion between two of the pillars faded.

For the first time, Mazael looked upon the Mask of Marazadra.

It sat upon a stone altar in the center of the shrine. The Mask had been wrought of a peculiar steely metal, likely the same metal that had been used to make Rigoric’s Mask of the Champion. It looked a great deal like the stylized spiders painted upon the faces of the priestesses of Marazadra, with the same sleek body and legs, though the legs curved further back to grip the bearer’s face. It looked painful to wear, and Mazael suspected the claws at the end of the legs would sink into the bearer’s flesh.

Then the ward snapped back into existence as the Prophetess continued her spell. 

As it did, Mazael’s eyes fell on the stone table before him.

It held a pair of Dark Elderborn helmets and a trio of leaf-shaped silvery daggers. The weapons looked very familiar. In fact…

Mazael’s hand curled into a fist.

They were maethweisyrs. 

The Prophetess had used a maethweisyr to steal some of his blood, and now three of the damned things lay just within his reach. Could the daggers penetrate her warding spells to kill her? 

Something else caught his attention. A quiver of arrows lay next to the maethweisyrs, the quiver made from the same peculiar material as the daggers. Mazael came to a decision and reached for the table. Romaria’s eyes went wide, but he reached up, drew back the arrows in silence, and moved his mouth next to Romaria’s left ear.

“Back to the others,” he whispered. “I think this is our best chance.” 

She nodded, and they crept away from the tables, moving back down the aisle of armor. Mazael gripped the quiver of arrows in his left hand, half-expecting to feel dragon fire devouring his flesh at any moment, but so far Azurvaltoria had not responded to his theft.

There was an excellent chance that she was in this cavern, right now, concealed by some spell. He supposed it was likely that Mother Volaria was here as well. He didn’t know how the dragon and the sorceress would interfere in the coming fight. Perhaps both Volaria and Azurvaltoria would do nothing and watch the battle unfold for their own amusement. Or maybe they would take sides. If the Old Demon had indeed bound Azurvaltoria here, it was possible the dragon would do nothing until the Prophetess actually touched the Mask of Marazadra. If they could kill the Prophetess before she took the Mask, perhaps they could leave Veiled Mountain without confronting the dragon.

The others waited behind the cluster of stalagmites, weapons ready.

“Well?” hissed Sigaldra. “What did you find?”

“She’s there,” said Mazael. “The Prophetess and Rigoric both. No soliphages – it looks as if the salamanders finished them off. Liane is with Rigoric. Tied up, but I don’t she’s been hurt or maltreated.” 

Sigaldra nodded, her lips tight.

“What was the Prophetess doing?” said Adalar. “Just standing there?”

“There’s some kind of ward around the shrine holding the Mask,” said Mazael. “I think she was attempt to unravel it. I think…”

“Was she warded?” said Sigaldra, lifting her bow.

“I don’t know,” said Mazael.

“Yes,” said Romaria. “A powerful ward, too.” She offered the younger woman a faint smile. “I fear you taught her a greater measure of caution at Armalast.” 

“Your sword could hurt her, couldn’t it?” said Sigaldra.

“Probably,” said Mazael. “If I can get close enough, but Rigoric is keeping a close watch over her. If I am a half-second too slow, he will cut me down, or the Prophetess would call up another Crimson Hunter. Fortunately, we might have another way.” 

He held up the quiver and drew out an arrow. The entire arrow looked as if it had been crafted from silver, but it felt as light as a normal shaft. It also vibrated oddly beneath his fingers, almost as if he had just struck it against a stone, yet to his eyes it looked motionless. 

“There are powerful spells upon that arrow,” said Romaria, staring at it as if it were a poisonous serpent. 

“Extremely,” said Timothy, working a spell of his own. “I cannot ascertain their nature, but I suspect they are spells of wounding and killing. Ah…under no circumstances let the arrowhead touch your skin. I suspect the effects would be unpleasant.”

Mazael nodded. “I was hoping that. Let’s introduce the Prophetess to some unpleasant effects. Quivers.” Romaria and Sigaldra presented their quivers, and Mazael split the arrows between them. Each woman would have four Dark Elderborn arrows.

“Won’t the dragon take offense?” said Sigaldra, giving the arrows a doubtful look. 

“She hasn’t yet,” said Mazael. Sigaldra’s expression grew even more dubious. “Besides, she told us not to steal her treasure. She said nothing about making use of it. I fully intend to leave every single one of those arrows here in Veiled Mountain, preferably entombed within the flesh of the Prophetess and Rigoric.” 

“I suspect that is sophistry, my lord,” said Timothy. 

“Maybe,” said Mazael. “But this is a game. If the dragon wants to play a game with us, then by the gods we’ll play. And in a game the spirit of the rules does not matter, but only the letter. Timothy. Can you do anything about the Crimson Hunters?”

“I suspect I can banish one,” said Timothy, reaching into his coat and producing a wand carved from an oak branch. Mazael had seen him laboring over that wand at the camp, carving it with magical symbols. “I have had time to prepare, but I fear my spell will affect no more than one of the creatures.”

“That will have to do,” said Mazael. “We’ll attack the Prophetess unawares. Romaria, Sigaldra. Shoot her with the Dark Elderborn arrows. Timothy, keep your spells ready to deal with any Crimson Hunters. The rest of us will attack Rigoric. If you can get past him, try to strike at the Prophetess. Ready?”

The others nodded. Crouch kept quiet, his fur bristling, his fangs bared in silence. Basjun certainly knew how to train a hunting dog. If they lived through this, perhaps Mazael would hire him as Castle Cravenlock’s master of hounds.

They headed forward, dropping to a crouch behind the cluster of stalagmites, circling around it to the tables holding the Dark Elderborn helmets and maethweisyrs. Romaria and Sigaldra both set silver arrows to their bows.

The Prophetess and Rigoric came into sight again, the Prophetess casting another spell at the shrine. Mazael heard Sigaldra’s hiss of breath at the sight of her sister, but fortunately neither Rigoric nor the Prophetess noticed. Mazael eased forward, balancing Talon in his right hand. Once he got past the tables, he would have a clear path to Rigoric. 

Then the Prophetess shouted the final words of her spell, thrusting her hands. Blue fire swirled around her fingers, and with a crackling snarl the ward around the shrine snapped out of existence, revealing the Mask of Marazadra upon its altar. The Prophetess slumped at let out a long sigh, her green eyes glittering like the cold emeralds scattered around the cavern.

“At last,” said the Prophetess. “At last! Horn of the dead. Blood of the demon. Vessel of the spirit.” She gestured at the Mask. “And instrument of the goddess. Behold, my Champion! All that remains is to take the relics to the Heart of the Goddess, and our goddess shall rise once more to…”

Then, at that moment, Liane turned her head, and she saw Sigaldra. 

An electric jolt went through the girl’s slim frame, and her eyes went wide. She let out a shocked cry, muffled by the gag, and Rigoric whirled. The Prophetess turned as well, and a mixture of shock and rage went over her face as she saw her enemies. 

“Now!” shouted Mazael.

Chapter 17: The Mask of Marazadra

Sigaldra surged to her feet, drawing back her bowstring, the strange arrow vibrating against her fingers. 

Rigoric shoved Liane aside, and she fell to a sitting position, still screaming into the gag. Sigaldra wanted to tell her sister to run, but the hobble still bound Liane’s ankles. At best, Liane would have been able to manage an awkward shuffle, and that would be fatal in the midst of the battle. 

For this moment, the Prophetess held Sigaldra’s full attention.

The sorceress raised her hands, and gray mist swirled before her feet. It was the start of the summoning spell she had used to call the Crimson Hunters. Sigaldra saw the Prophetess’s face flash with triumph as she gestured, the mist spinning faster.

Sigaldra released her bowstring a half-second after Romaria did.

The Prophetess’s expression of gloating triumph turned to shock as Romaria’s silver arrow punched through the warding spells and sank into the Prophetess’s chest, followed an instant later by Sigaldra’s arrow plunging into her right shoulder. The Prophetess shrieked and stumbled towards the stairs leading to the Mask, and Sigaldra grabbed another silver arrow from her quiver. 

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Mazael sprinted forward, bringing Talon back to strike. 

Rigoric charged in a blur, and Mazael ducked, the Champion’s huge greatsword whistling over the top of his head. He straightened up and attacked, his blade connecting with Rigoric’s torso, but the black armor deflected Talon’s edge. Rigoric recovered his balance, raising his weapon for an overhead blow, but Adalar struck, and the Champion had to step back, dropping his sword down to defend. Earnachar sprinted to Mazael’s right, bellowing a Tervingi battle hymn, while Basjun went left, his axe in his hands. 

The Mask of the Champion gave Rigoric inhuman strength and speed, but even that strength and speed would only go so far against four foes at once, and Rigoric fell back, whipping his greatsword in wide arcs to keep them at bay. He charged forward, sweeping his blade around, and Mazael fell back, trying to keep ahead of the massive blade. Yet as Rigoric tried to press his advantage, Adalar and Earnachar and Basjun closed around him. 

Mazael attacked once again, and this time Talon slipped through the Champion’s guard, drawing a shallow cut across his neck. At once steel threads erupted from the bloody cut, but Rigoric stumbled for a moment. Earnachar wheeled and smashed his mace into Rigoric’s hip. The weapon deflected off the black armor, and as Rigoric stumbled again, Mazael attacked, Talon biting into the joints of the armor upon Rigoric’s left arm. The Champion drove at Mazael, accepting hits from Adalar and Basjun in exchange for momentum. Mazael had no choice but to throw himself to the side, rolling as he avoided the sweep of Rigoric’s greatsword. Mazael scrambled back to his feet, and Rigoric whirled, putting his back towards the shrine as he retreated, sword held out before him.

And as he did, gray mist swirled behind him, and three Crimson Hunters shimmered into existence, sleek and black and deadly.

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The Prophetess collapsed against the stairs leading to the shrine and the altar, clawing at the arrows jutting from her torso, and Sigaldra lined up her second shot.

And as she released, the pool of gray mist rippled and three Crimson Hunters seemed to spring from the mist, like lions leaping from their dens. Sigaldra’s arrow slammed into the nearest Crimson Hunter, and the impact rocked the giant spider back, the arrow tearing a huge glowing wound through its abdomen. Romaria’s arrow, aimed at the Prophetess, plunged into its head. The Crimson Hunter rippled, and then exploded in a spray of gray mist and pale light, like a plume of smoke blown apart on the wind. 

Sigaldra sidestepped, trying to get a clear shot at the Prophetess, but the bulk of the Crimson Hunters blocked her. 

One of the huge spiders charged at her, while the other wheeled, rushing towards Adalar and Mazael and the others. Sigaldra stepped back, trying to find the Prophetess, but the Crimson Hunter filled her vision, drawing nearer with terrific speed, the tapping of its legs sounding like a rain of knives against the stone floor. 

Belatedly Sigaldra realized she should have been taking aim at the Crimson Hunter. She shifted her bow and released another silver arrow. It slammed into the Crimson Hunter, missing its head and tearing through its abdomen. The sleek black spider reeled from the impact, but the creature kept coming.

And Sigaldra realized that she was about to die.

The Crimson Hunter’s pincers yawned to bite off her head, and Romaria slammed into her.

Sigaldra hit the ground and rolled, and Romaria came to one knee, raising her bow and releasing in a single smooth motion. Yet, for once, Romaria’s uncanny Elderborn skill failed. The arrow plunged into the Crimson Hunter’s abdomen, ripping another glowing wound, but it missed the creature’s head.

The Crimson Hunter turned to face them, and Sigaldra heard the Prophetess’s pain-filled voice start another spell. 

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Adalar dodged, the tip of Rigoric’s greatsword brushing his chain mail. Even the glancing impact of the Champion’s sword was enough to stagger him, and he struggled to keep his balance. Rigoric’s next blow should have split him in half, but Mazael attacked with a flurry of swings, forcing Rigoric back on the defensive. The Champion fell back, trying to reach the Prophetess. Adalar struck again and again, and Rigoric had no choice but to block Adalar’s attacks or dodge them. As Rigoric focused upon Adalar, that gave the others the chance to land blows. The Champion’s fine black armor now bore a dozen dents and scratches from Earnachar’s mace and Basjun’s axe, and Talon blurred in Mazael’s hand, landing hits through the gaps in Rigoric’s armor. The four of them might prove enough to finally overwhelm the Champion’s defenses, even as the Prophetess staggered beneath the silver arrows…