Mask of Dragons (26 page)

“If we go back,” said Adalar, “we shall never find the Prophetess in time. She will locate the Mask of Marazadra and…use your sister for whatever dire purpose she plans.”

“What other choice do we have?” said Sigaldra. “We cannot overcome the Prophetess alone.” 

“No,” said Mazael. “No, I shall not go back. You all heard Riothamus’s vision. If we go back, I shall have no choice but to bring the army of the Grim Marches against Armalast. You all saw the strength of the city’s walls, and attacking Armalast would be a disaster. For that matter, Riothamus’s vision will come to pass. His foretelling of a spider devouring the world seems clearer now that we know the Prophetess intends to summon Marazadra. If we abandon the chase now, the Prophetess will likely reach her goal. No, I will not turn back.”

“Where you go, I go,” said Romaria. 

Sigaldra grimaced. “I will not turn back. My sister is all the family I have left. I will not abandon her to the Prophetess and her wretched goddess.” 

“Nor shall I,” said Adalar. “I promised you I would see this to the end, however it ends, and I shall.”

Sigaldra looked at him, and her harsh expression softened, if only for a brief moment. 

“I go where my lord goes,” said Timothy. 

“You speak of strange things I do not fully understand, but this is the best chance to free Skuldar of the Prophetess,” said Basjun. “I will continue on.”

Crouch barked, once, as if in approval. 

Earnachar snorted. “If I go back, the Guardian shall have me put to death. So I, too, must continue on. Besides, I owe the Prophetess a debt of pain, and Earnachar son of Balnachar always pays his debts!” 

Sigaldra’s lip twisted, but she said nothing. 

“Very well,” said Adalar. “We are all agreed that we must stop the Prophetess. How? We tried at Greatheart Keep and failed, and we failed again at Armalast.” 

“The next step,” said Mazael, “is to reach the Dragon’s Gate before the Prophetess, and lie in wait for her. She was resting at Armalast, and so had summoned that Crimson Hunter to watch over her. Now she will be traveling in haste to the Veiled Mountain, and these hills and mountains offer a thousand different places to set an ambush for her.”

“We couldn’t take her off guard before,” said Adalar. “And she knows that we will be coming for her. She has to realize that we escaped.” 

“She will,” said Mazael, “but she cannot guard herself every moment.” He felt a tight smile spread across his face. “She should never have come to the Grim Marches. We will not give her a moment of rest or peace until she is slain and Liane is returned to her sister.” 

“Thank you,” said Sigaldra. She took a deep breath. “It is folly, I know…but I feel heartened.”

“Every battle feels like folly in the moment before it starts,” said Mazael. “Basjun. Do you know the way to the Dragon’s Gate from here?” 

“Of course, sir,” said Basjun.

“Then lead on,” said Mazael. “I would like to reach the Veiled Mountain before the Prophetess and lie in wait for her.” He hesitated. “One more thing. Timothy. Thank you for your quick action in the citadel. Molly was right to insist that you accompany us. Without your fire, the Crimson Hunters would have slain us.” 

Timothy shrugged. “I did only my duty, my lord. I wish I could have been more effective against the Crimson Hunters, but they are creatures of fell power. I could not do much against them, but almost all creatures of the spirit world are vulnerable to fire.” 

“I don’t suppose,” said Sigaldra, “that you remembered where you had met the Prophetess before?”

“I fear not, my lady,” said Timothy. “Of necessity, my full attention was on the Crimson Hunters. But I am absolutely certain that the Prophetess was once a noblewoman of Travia. If you will forgive my bluntness, her whole manner drips with it. The confidence, the certainty…”

“The arrogance?” said Mazael.

“The utter certainty of her own righteousness?” said Sigaldra. 

“You have struck the proverbial nail upon the metaphorical head,” said Timothy. “Additionally, many noblewomen of Travia have red hair and green eyes. A legacy of ancient Aegonar raids, I understand.” 

Earnachar let out a nasty laugh. “The Aegonar had a taste for Travian women, was that it?” 

“Conquerors often take native women as wives, my lord headman,” said Timothy.

“Except for the Tervingi,” said Romaria. “The Marcher women are apparently too mouthy.”

“You weren’t from the Grim Marches,” said Mazael

Earnachar shrugged. “And the Tervingi came as supplicants after Lord Richard crushed us at Stone Tower. We were hardly conquerors.” 

Sigaldra blinked. “That is…”

“What?” said Earnachar.

“Surprisingly humble.”

Earnachar shrugged once more. “Is it humility to see the stark truth, or wisdom? Even mighty Tervingar knew his limits. Is Earnachar son of Balnachar any better than Tervingar? That was why I sought to marry your sister, not conquer Greatheart Keep. Why risk a trial of arms and when I could win everything without bloodshed?” Sigaldra scowled, and Earnachar kept talking. “And then the Prophetess came and meddled with everything.” 

“What is done is done,” said Mazael, before Sigaldra and Earnachar could resume their quarrel. “Speculating on what might have been is a waste of time. Let us lay a trap for the Prophetess, and put an end to this matter. Basjun! Show the way.”

###

Basjun had spent his life traveling with his father across Skuldar, and he had a detailed knowledge of the mountain country’s narrow paths and winding roads. At Mazael’s insistence, they pushed hard the rest of the day, climbing the hills and scrambling through the ravines. At last night fell, and Mazael relented, allowing the others to rest. Truth be told, he was exhausted himself, but he had reserves of strength and stamina the others did not, thanks to his Demonsouled blood. 

Nevertheless, a rest sounded pleasant. 

They stopped in the hollow of a rocky hill, the mountains towering over them on either side. A cold wind whistled down from the stony peaks, and of necessity they had to light a fire for warmth. Mazael volunteered to take the first watch, and the others collapsed around the fire, wrapped in their cloaks. 

He leaned against a rock, Talon hanging in his hand, his eyes roving over the hills, moving back and forth as he watched for any foes. Mazael would have preferred to sit, but then he would have fallen asleep, so he remained standing, his eyes moving back and forth.

They settled upon a black-cloaked figure, a black-cloaked figure who had not been there a moment earlier.

Mazael started forward, raising Talon. 

He was certain that the Prophetess had doubled back to find them. But then the figure raised thin hands to draw back a cowl, revealing a lined, ancient face with pale eyes and unusually white teeth.

He stopped, staring at the woman, who smiled at him.

“Volaria,” said Mazael. 

“Mazael Cravenlock,” said Mother Volaria. “It’s time for another little talk, I think.”

“We’ll wake the others,” said Mazael. In fact, he wanted to wake both Romaria and Timothy. Volaria had changed her appearance again, which meant she was either a shapeshifter or wielding spells of illusion. Perhaps Romaria’s Sight or Timothy’s spells could reveal which. Of course, their abilities had not worked upon Volaria outside of Danel’s house, and Mazael doubted the strange woman’s skills had lapsed since then. 

“Oh, do not worry,” said Volaria. “They’ll sleep right through this, the poor dears. Won’t they?” She turned to face them, yelling at the top of her lungs and rapping her cane against the stony ground, the echoes rolling off the hills. 

No one stirred.

“You see?” said Volaria, spreading her arms. 

“What did you do to them?” said Mazael.

She smiled, her white teeth flashing in the light of the fire. “Something polite. They do need their sleep. Not all of us have the stamina of the Old Demon, Mazael Cravenlock.” 

“That’s probably for the best,” said Mazael, watching the old woman. 

“Oh, I agree,” said Volaria. “The Old Demon had many children, and all of them had a great deal of stamina, which they used to make trouble. You killed…two of your siblings, was it?” 

“Three, if you must know,” said Mazael. An idea occurred to him. “Is that who you are? An ancient Demonsouled, one living in the Skuldari hills since time immemorial?” 

“Wrong on the first, but correct on the second,” said Volaria. She took a hobbling step towards him, leaning upon her cane. “I am, in fact, something quite alien to the Demonsouled. But I have lived here for a very long time.”

“Which is why all those legends have sprung up about Mother Volaria,” said Mazael, “the mysterious witch of the hills. Sometimes she curses, sometimes she blesses, but she is always inscrutable and powerful.”

The white teeth flashed in her lined face. “It is a woman’s prerogative to be inscrutable.” 

“I never found women to be very mysterious,” said Mazael. 

Volaria snorted. “Yes, and you landed in all manner of trouble thereby. Sometimes too much knowledge is a dangerous thing.” 

“Is it?” said Mazael. “Is that why you’re helping me?”

“Who said I am helping you?” said Volaria. 

“You warned me that the attack on the Prophetess was going to go bad,” said Mazael. 

Volaria snorted. “A child could have foreseen that.” She shrugged. “You took preparations to survive, and you did. Your reward is that you get to live to fight another day.” 

“Yet you are still helping us,” said Mazael, “even if you refuse to admit it. Why?” 

The old woman was silent for a long moment, her robe stirring in the cold wind.

“The world is not perfect,” said Volaria.

“Are we stating the obvious now?” said Mazael.

“Don’t be smart to your elders, boy,” said Volaria. She made an impatient gesture with her free hand towards where Adalar and Sigaldra slept. “I’m sure the young knight and the brittle girl could give you a long speech about all that is wrong with this world, and they would speak truly. Yet it could be worse. Mankind rules itself, not dark powers. The Demonsouled and the San-keth do not rule here, at least not openly. And there are dark powers, Mazael Cravenlock, so many dark powers, all of whom want an empire. You know about the Demonsouled and the San-keth. The soliphages and their goddess, too, thanks the Prophetess, and others stir now that your father is dead and they are freed. I would rather the world continue on as it is now, rather than be ruled by Marazadra, or the princes of the deep places, or the Dark Elderborn, or the Trichirabi, or all the others that would make men as cattle.”

“Why?” said Mazael.

Volaria shrugged. “Why not? Perhaps I like freedom, and desire it even for creatures as stupid and shortsighted as mortal men. Perhaps I have a grudge against Marazadra. Perhaps I am simply bored, and this is how I choose to amuse myself.” 

“All right,” said Mazael. Whoever or whatever Volaria was, he would not scruple to turn away her help. “So amuse yourself some more. Are we on the right path?”

“You are,” said Volaria. “The Prophetess and her servants hasten to the Veiled Mountain. You might catch them, or you might not. Or you might arrive to find them slain by the dragon and its guardians.”

“The salamanders?” said Mazael. 

“And others,” said Volaria with a faint smile. “The dragon, you see, is quite old and irritable and irascible. The dragon is also fond of traps and puzzles and little games for anyone foolish enough to enter her caverns.”

“Wait,” said Mazael. “Her?” 

“Of course,” said Volaria. “Dragons were created male and female, just as mortal men were. Though humans do not, generally speaking, lay eggs. A key difference.” 

“This dragon,” said Mazael, thinking hard. “Will she simply kill the Prophetess?” 

“Possibly,” said Volaria. “It is also possible that the Prophetess will succeed and steal the Mask of Marazadra from the dragon’s hoard. For the Mask has been there a very long time, ever since your father left it there with the dragon…”

“Wait,” said Mazael. “The Old Demon left the Mask at the Veiled Mountain?”

“Haven’t I mentioned that?” said Volaria, her brow furrowing. “I’m sure I must have mentioned that.” 

“You did not,” said Mazael, voice flat.

“Oh, well. I do get forgetful sometimes,” said Volaria. “Suffice it to say that a very long time ago your father defeated Marazadra through trickery and lies, as he defeated most of his enemies. He couldn’t kill Marazadra, of course, but he could keep her out of his way. So he left the Mask with the dragon, knowing that the soliphages and the priestesses would try to steal away the instrument of their goddess’s return…”

“But they could not,” said Mazael. “Because of the dragon.”

“Precisely,” said Volaria. 

“So then we need do nothing,” said Mazael. “The dragon will kill the Prophetess, and that will be that.”

“Maybe,” said Volaria. “Though the dragon will also kill poor little Liane.” 

Mazael said nothing.

“And,” said Volaria, “it is entirely possible that the Prophetess will succeed. She is a madwoman, but she is nonetheless clever, and sees the dangers clearly. Furthermore, she has a source of power beyond that of most mortal wizards. Had she been a man, she would likely have conquered the world by now. Instead, she seeks to change the world rather than rule it.”

“The Mask of Marazadra,” said Mazael. “What is it?”

“Why, a mask,” said Volaria. “One thinks that would be obvious from the name.”

Mazael grunted. “The Mask of the Champion is as mask as well, but it is clearly not just a mask.”

Volaria stared at him for a moment, her robe stirring. 

“Think about wasps,” she said at last.

“Wasps?” said Mazael. “Marazadra is a spider, not a wasp.”

“Nevertheless,” said Volaria. “Think on that, and you shall have your answer.” 

Mazael opened his mouth to reply, but she vanished between heartbeats. He looked around, but he knew that was a waste of time. Mother Volaria had vanished yet again. 

Gods and devils, but what he wouldn’t give for a straight answer! No prophecies, no visions, no ancient legends, just a straight, direct answer, maybe even phrased as a simple yes or a simple no.