Mistress Of Masks (Book 1) (13 page)

Fixed to the spot, Geveral stared at his fallen enemy, scarcely feeling the blasting wind and stinging hail raining down. The world had fallen oddly silent, the screams of the villagers and the howls of their attackers fading away until all that could be heard was the roar of the storm. The torches lining the platform had been extinguished, but through the gloom the winged forms of the Aviads could be seen rising like black shadows into the sky. They were leaving!

“Come on, boy,” said Orrick, grabbing him roughly by the shoulder and dragging him to his feet. “Let’s take shelter before this hail storm finishes what the birdmen began.”

“I don’t understand,” Geveral shouted into the wind. “They had us beaten. Why are they retreating?”

“Maybe they like the storm even less than we do,” yelled Eydis, appearing at Orrick’s side. “If the weather grounded them, they’d be as helpless as humans—probably not a feeling they like.”

As she spoke, a hailstone the size of a coin bounced painfully off Geveral’s shoulder. This was getting dangerous. He followed the others as they ran for the shelter of the covered pavilion, where other villagers gathered. Overhead, lightning and thunder split the skies over Treeveil.

All the village elders gathered for a meeting in the aftermath of the storm. The rising sun was just chasing the stars from the sky, the gloomy light of dawn revealing the damage the village had suffered.

Unable to face what awaited him at home, a dejected Geveral sat leaning against a row of barrels, within earshot of the open-air meeting. He wasn’t really trying to conceal himself, but neither was he trying
not
to eavesdrop on the council meeting. Thus, he couldn’t help but overhear when Mage Jauhar took the floor.

“It is those strangers from beyond the forest,” Mage Jauhar said, pacing before the assembled circle. “Treeveil has always been a peaceable village. Never before last night have we seen anything like the attack of those birdmen. Does anyone believe it is mere coincidence those evil creatures descended on us in the same day and hour of the strangers’ arrival? No, I tell you Mentor Kesava should never have invited the outsiders into Treeveil. They brought this tragedy to our door.”

Around the circle, elders were nodding and murmuring agreement.

Geveral did not realize he meant to speak until he found himself on his feet. “That is an unjust accusation, Mage Jauhar. Eydis Ironmonger and Orrick of Kroad came to Treeveil to trade with us, not to bring us harm.”

He swallowed, as every head swiveled toward him, and he felt the glare of many gazes.

“Young master Geveral, isn’t it?” asked Elder Sudaka, the chief among the village heads. The elder’s lined face was firm but not unkind. “This is a meeting of the elders, not a place for uninvited younglings. But since you are here, tell us about these strangers. You have spent time with them?”

“Enough to know they’re not villains,” Geveral answered. “Eydis, in particular, strikes me as a woman to be trusted. And she is a seer.”

Elder Sudaka looked startled at that last revelation but recovered quickly. “Seer or no seer,” he said, “this woman and her barbarian companion have much to answer for. Where are they now?”

“Trying to gather enough supplies to continue their journey,” said Geveral.

Mage Jauhar hissed angrily. “You see how it is with these foreigners? Last night they bring tragedy upon us, and this morning they abandon us to clean up the wreckage and bury the bodies they leave in their wake.”

“They’re anxious to carry on with an urgent mission,” Geveral defended. “I’m sure they would stay to help us if they could.”

“
Are
you sure, youngling?” asked Mage Jauhar. “Because the only thing I’m sure of is that last night our people lost loved ones and saw their homes set ablaze, all because Mentor Kesava was foolish enough to offer hospitality to a pair of outsiders who had no place in our midst.”

At mention of his mentor, Geveral felt the blood rush to his face in anger. But before he could respond, Elder Sudaka cut in. “Mage Jauhar, you will refrain from criticizing Mentor Kesava, considering the tragic sacrifice he made for all our sakes.”

Geveral’s fury ebbed as quickly as it had surged, and even Mage Jauhar looked suitably ashamed. Geveral had seen Mentor Kesava when they found him after the storm. Already an old man, in death the mentor appeared to have aged threefold, his skin so withered and his body so shrunken he looked more a mummy than a man. It was a sight Geveral knew he would be having nightmares about for some time to come.

“Mentor Kesava gave his life bravely,” Mage Jauhar admitted. “In his death, this village lost a good mage, and I lost a close friend. Carrying on as Treeveil’s sole remaining mage is a burden I dread having to bear. But Kesava knew the risk he took when he channeled so much power into creating that hail storm to drive away the birdmen. He was never very strong in weather manipulation, and the degree of magic he used would have drained almost anyone to a lifeless husk.”

“Which makes his sacrifice all the more courageous,” Elder Sudaka intervened. “But Kesava’s death is not the subject of this meeting. What we have to decide is what to do about this Eydis Ironmonger and her barbarian companion.”

“They defended us last night,” Geveral put in quickly. “If not for their efforts, many more villagers would have died, including myself.”

“Or possibly,” said Mage Jauhar, “many fewer would have died had the strangers not trespassed into our forest at all, bringing their Aviad friends along behind them.”

“The birdmen are no friends of theirs—” Geveral protested.

Mage Jauhar intervened. “Whether the Aviads are friends or foes to the strangers is yet to be determined. All we can be certain of is that the timing of last night’s attack was suspicious. I move that we look into the matter and ascertain what, if any, association the foreigners have with the birdmen and whether they had knowledge or part in the tragedy that befell our village.”

When Geveral would have argued, the elder signaled him to be silent. “If these strangers are innocent of wrongdoing, they will have nothing to fear by such an inquiry,” he said. “But questioned they will be. Innocent Drycaenians died last night, and their loved ones have a right to know why.”

The council of elders put it to an immediate vote, and when the outcome came, it was unanimous. Eydis and Orrick were to be placed under arrest and kept under guard of the Watchers of the Wood until a trial could be held.

“I know you hear me,” Orrick called, pushing his face against the bars over the window. “This is your last chance to release us from this splinter box you call a prison, before I reach down your throat and rip out your entrails.”

“Save your breath, Orrick,” Eydis advised, stirring in the bed of straw in the corner. “The guard knows you won’t rip out entrails you can’t reach.”

Orrick scowled in the face of her infuriating calmness. She had spent the last hours of the afternoon napping while he paced the confines of the narrow hut the Watchers had pitched them into, looking for a means of escape.

“I’ve spent enough time behind prison bars,” he grumbled, watching out the window as the lone Watcher guarding them made his rounds. “They can’t keep us in here forever, and as soon as that door cracks open, I’ll have my hands around the throat of that guard. And then—”

“Yes, yes, the entrails,” Eydis murmured, stifling a yawn. “Maybe instead of raging at the guard, you could put this time to better use by getting a little sleep. We’ll need our wits about us if we’re to reason with these Drycaenians and gain our release.”

Orrick stalked around the room, which was so small he could cross from one end to the other in a dozen paces. Apparently in this village they rarely had cause to lock anyone up over prolonged periods. The hut they called a roundhouse would have made a more suitable storage shed than a holding cell. In fact, it had every appearance of having been hastily converted from just such a previous use. For someone who had recently escaped the Morta den ‘Cairn, the most notorious prison in the rangelands, breaking out of this place should present small difficulty.

He took a run at the door, slamming his shoulder over and over into the wood. But it was surprisingly sturdy and didn’t give way under his onslaught.

“Stop doing that,” Eydis sighed. “You’re only going to hurt yourself. I’m telling you, the only way we will leave this cell is by means of diplomacy. When we’re brought before the village heads we’ll have the opportunity to present our case.”

Orrick glowered. “You can have your diplomacy. I’d rather crack a few skulls.”

She shook her head as if to say he was a fool and changed the subject. “I had another vision while I was resting. At least, I think it was a vision. I haven’t been experiencing them long enough to be certain when I’m only dreaming and when I’m being given a true glimpse of the future. But this was vivid, like the vision I had in Silverwood Grove.” She sounded troubled.

He wasn’t getting anywhere with the door anyway, so Orrick sank to the floor beside her. He asked, “And did this vision show how long we’re to be kept locked up here, while Arik the One-Eyed probably moves farther from my grasp with each passing day?”

She looked at him narrowly. “Finding the man you seek is not our primary quest, barbarian,” she reminded. “Preventing the fall of the Asincourt seclusionary is our first concern. Remember that.”

How could he forget with her reminding him of it every step of the journey? But arguing with the woman only made her more intractable. He was learning that already. So all he said was, “What exactly did your vision reveal?”

“Only that we must not leave Treeveil without persuading the Drycaenian, Geveral, to accompany us to the baselands.”

“The youngling?” he asked, forehead creasing. “Of what use is he to us? He’s certainly no warrior. We saw that last night when the Aviads attacked. He couldn’t defend himself, let alone anyone else.”

He might have added that Eydis, on the other hand, had surprised him with how well she handled herself. He wouldn’t have taken the skinny redhead for much of a scrapper, but last night, even with only a fire poker for a weapon, she had fought like a cornered cat. A cat battling birdmen. He smirked at the thought, before recalling their present situation was much less amusing.

“I am determined in this, Kroadian,” she was telling him now. “There is more to this Geveral than meets the eye, and at some point he is going to be vital to the success of our quest. I have seen this.”

Before he could reply, he was distracted by the sounds of a commotion occurring outside the hut. A cry of “fire” sounded in the distance, followed by the thud of running feet. Hurrying to the window, Orrick saw their Watcher guard had deserted his post.

“What’s happening?” asked Eydis, joining him at the window. “Is it the Aviads returning?”

Orrick didn’t answer. Their window was positioned to afford a view of treetops, a glimpse of the walkway twisting around the hut, and little else. They were on the wrong side to see anything of the village.

But Orrick’s keen hearing detected what his eyes could not. Someone was stealthily approaching the hut. The soft steps weren’t those of a guard but of someone who had no business being here. Someone who did not care to be detected.

The door handle rattled softly.

Casting caution to the winds, Orrick demanded, “Who’s creeping around out there?” When there was no response, he laid a hand to the iron door handle. And jerked away when it was painfully cold to the touch. His hand throbbed as if it had touched a frozen flame. Before his eyes, the door handle changed, turning blue as ice crystals formed over the iron, then spread, crackling over the lock and down the side of the door.

Orrick knew magic when he saw it. “Is this your doing?” he asked Eydis, uneasily.

She shook her head and stepped back as the door’s hinges and handle suddenly shattered, shards of frozen metal showering the floor. With a bang, the door fell. And there, on its other side, stood the figure of a tall and slender youth with the sharply pointed ears and narrow features of the Drycaenian race and the simple forest clothing and long loose hair favored by the Treeveil inhabitants. This particular youngling was the last person Orrick had expected to see.

“Geveral,” Eydis cried. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to rescue you,” he said. “Or at least that’s the plan, if my little diversion keeps your guard out of the way long enough to get you both out of here. Orrick, catch.”

Orrick caught the blanket-shrouded object the youngling threw at him. It was large and startlingly heavy. “My sword,” he realized, tearing the blanket away. “How did you get this away from the Watchers?”

“Never mind,” said Geveral. “There’s no time to explain. You have to follow me now.” He led them quickly out into the evening light and hurried them down a twisting walkway. Their path took them further from the village and into a deserted area, where the platforms and walkways were in disrepair. Strangely, Orrick didn’t see a soul around.

Geveral seemed to read his mind. “Most of the village is down in the southern glade, witnessing the burials of the victims of last night’s attack. Only Watchers remain to guard the village. Considering how wary everyone is of fire after last night’s destruction, it was a simple matter to stuff a chimney with oiled rags, fan the billowing smoke out the windows, and yell ‘fire’. With any luck every Watcher in Treeveil has descended on my cottage by now. But it won’t take them long to discover my ruse, so we must waste no time.”

He skidded to a halt alongside a small railed platform that looked something like a wooden box hitched to ropes and pulleys. Orrick and Eydis stopped with him.

“We use this supply elevator for bringing up heavy goods,” Geveral explained. “It’s the quickest way down to the forest floor. When you’ve put Treeveil behind you, head north to the near road. There you’ll find a white horse hitched to a cart and waiting for you. I’m not sure I procured all the provisions you need for your journey. But the food I stowed in the cart should get you as far as the next village anyway.”