Mask of Swords (12 page)

“You first,” said Agaric. He grinned. “I’d prefer not to be stabbed in the back.”

“That’s why you wear armor,” said Romaria. Agaric gave her a sour look. Adalar started down the stairs, hand hovering near the hilt of the dagger in his belt, and Mazael and the others followed. Agaric waited until they all had gone, then stepped after them and locked the door behind them.

“Any particular reason you needed to lock the door?” said Adalar.

“I don’t want to be disturbed,” said Agaric. “I rented Grulda’s cellar for a reason. It is both deep and secure, and I do not wish irritating interruptions.” 

“Interruptions?” said Adalar. “What are you doing that you fear interruptions?”

“You’ll see,” said Agaric. “Keep moving.”

The stairs ended in a large cellar, rough brick pillars supporting the ceiling overhead. The only light came from a pair of lanterns upon a long wooden table, shadows dancing against the walls. Four Tervingi men sat at the table, speaking in low voices. Against one of the pillars stood a wooden shelf holding a half-dozen small clay jars.

An altar stood against the far wall.

At first Mazael thought the Tervingi men were San-keth proselytes, that the cult of Sepharivaim had returned to the Grim Marches. He had rooted out and destroyed a half-dozen hidden San-keth temples in the Grim Marches, but the serpent people had operated in the shadows for millennia, and he had expected them to come slithering back sooner or later. 

But the symbol painted upon the rough stone wall was not a serpent. It was a red disc, with hooked lines coming out of its sides. Eight hooked lines, in fact. 

Like a crude drawing of a spider. 

Mazael glanced at Romaria, and she lifted the fingers of her right hand. All four of the Tervingi men at the table had spiders inside of them. 

“Have the others returned yet?” said Agaric, moving to the table. 

“No,” grunted one of the men.

“Others,” said Adalar. “What others?”

“Oh,” said Agaric, “just the five men we sent to assassinate Mazael Cravenlock.”

Silence answered his pronouncement. 

“A bold choice,” said Adalar. “The Lord of Castle Cravenlock is known as a hard man to kill.”

“He is still a man,” said Agaric, “and men can be killed. His daughter the shadow-witch and the Guardian are in Sword Town, and are unable to protect him. Not even his wolf-demon of a wife will be able to save him.”

“You’re quite brave to tell us this,” said Adalar. “How do you know we won’t run to Lord Mazael and warn him? He would pay us quite well. Better than whatever you can offer, I’m sure.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” said Agaric, tapping one of the clay jars upon the shelf. “You’re going to stay here and serve the goddess.”

“Goddess?” said Adalar. “What goddess is that?” 

“You’ll find out,” said Agaric, “when you enter her service.”

“Do you think you can convert us so easily?” said Adalar.

“I’m afraid,” said Agaric, stepping forward, “that you’re not going to have any choice in the matter.”

The Tervingi men at the table laughed. 

Agaric began whispering, a yellow glow appearing around his fingers, and Mazael realized that he was casting a spell.

“Timothy,” said Mazael, but Timothy was already moving, reaching into his shabby coat. Agaric flung out his right hand, the yellow glow pulsing, but Timothy gestured with his left hand, a green crystal flashing in his right. The yellow glow vanished, and the other men scrambled to their feet, reaching for their weapons. 

“Witcher,” snarled one of the Tervingi men, drawing a short sword. “He’s a witcher.” 

Agaric’s eyes narrowed as he lifted his broadsword. “He will not long defy the goddess’s powers.” 

“If that was an example of your goddess’s powers,” said Timothy, shaking his head with disapproval, “then she must be a feeble deity indeed. That was one of the poorest examples I have ever seen of a sleeping spell. A first-year student of the wizards’ Brotherhood could do substantially better.”

“Why don’t you tell us more about your goddess?” said Mazael. 

“Idiot,” said another of the men. “That’s Mazael Cravenlock himself, Agaric! Why did you bring them here?”

Agaric looked from the Tervingi to Mazael and then back again, and his eyes went wide with alarm. 

“The five you sent after me?” said Mazael. “They’re dead. Unless you want to join them, I suggest you…”

“Kill them!” roared Agaric, raising his broadsword. “Kill them all!” 

The Tervingi men surged to their feet, while Agaric charged. Adalar stepped back, whipping out his heavy broadsword. Mazael drew the longsword from his belt and met Agaric’s attack. Wesson wheeled to cover Mazael’s flank, while Timothy started casting another spell. Agaric lunged at Mazael, and he caught the slash on his own blade, the weapons clanging. Adalar whipped his greatsword around, opening one of the Tervingi from throat to groin, and the man screamed and fell to the ground, his blood pumping into the hard-packed earth of the cellar. 

Timothy shouted and clapped his hands, and a brilliant flare of silver light burst from his fingers. It did not trouble Mazael and the others, but Agaric and his men winced, stumbling away from the glare as they tried to shield their eyes. Wesson’s mace crashed upon the head of a Tervingi with a sickening crunch, and the man collapsed, blood dripping from his ears and mouth and nose. 

A dark blur shot forward and an enormous black wolf appeared, a hulking beast with bristling black fur and eyes that seemed to blaze with blue fire. The wolf slammed into the two remaining Tervingi men behind Agaric, knocking them to the ground. They tried to strike at the wolf with their weapons, but she was too quick, and bounded out of reach with fluid, deadly grace. Adalar attacked before the Tervingi could recover, killing one of them with a heavy blow of his greatsword. 

Agaric screamed and threw himself at Mazael, and Mazael dodged the blow, bringing his own sword down. His blade tore across Agaric’s neck, and the Tervingi swordthain fell dying to the ground. Mazael looked around, but no one else moved in the flickering gloom of the cellar.

“Damn it,” he said. 

“We are still alive,” said Timothy. “That seems cause for relief.”

“I had wanted to take some of them alive,” said Mazael, cleaning the blood from his longsword. “Perhaps learn the name of their goddess.” He scowled. “Or learn why one of Earnachar’s men tried to kill me.” 

Romaria walked out of the shadows behind one pillar, rubbing her right hip.

“Are you all right?” said Mazael.

“Yes.” She shook her head. “It’s just…I never transformed while wearing a skirt before. It is a surprisingly peculiar sensation.” 

“They all had spiders, then?” said Timothy.

“They did,” said Romaria. Adalar nodded, lifted his greatsword, and began spearing the blade through the chests of the dead men.

“It seemed foolish,” said Wesson. “Why invite five strangers into their lair? Four armed men? It seems a risk.”

“I don’t think they believed it a risk,” said Romaria. She pointed. “You see those jars? There are more spiders in them.”

Mazael frowned. “Live ones?”

“Aye,” said Romaria.

Timothy waved a hand, casting the spell to sense magic. “She speaks it true, my lord. They are…sleeping, I think. Their dark magic is latent.”

“So they thought to stun us with Agaric’s sleeping spell and then put those spiders inside of us?” said Mazael.

“That seems likely,” said Romaria. “It’s the only reason they would have let four armed men into their lair.”

“Why?” said Adalar. 

“Because,” said Mazael, a suspicion coming together in his head. “Because I think those spiders can control people.”

“That is a disturbing notion,” said Wesson. 

“You have a gift for understatement, sir knight,” said Romaria.

“The San-keth changelings were bad enough,” said Mazael. “But this…this would be worse. If they take people and turn them into puppets or slaves with these spiders, they could take over half of the Grim Marches.”

 “But if Lady Romaria can see the spiders,” said Timothy, “we have an advantage.”

“That stays in this room,” said Mazael. “No one else can know about it. If these spider-worshippers realize it, they will change their tactics.” Or, worse, they would try to kill Romaria to remove the threat. 

“What shall we do?” said Romaria.

“For now, we continue with the melee as if nothing has changed,” said Mazael. “We will watch the crowds and find more of these spider-infested men. Then we’ll depart for Greatheart Keep and lay Sir Nathan’s ashes to rest in the chapel…and after that we’ll stop at Banner Hill.”

“Who is lord there now?” said Adalar. That bleak look came over his face once more. “I suppose the original lord and his people were killed in the Great Rising.”

“They were, I fear,” said Mazael. “Earnachar and his thains have settled there, and so far the only spider-infested men we have seen have been Earnachar’s thains. I suspect we shall find our answers at Banner Hill.”

Chapter 7: Tunneling

Three days later, Mazael Cravenlock and Adalar Greatheart left Castle Cravenlock for Greatheart Keep.

The melee had concluded without incident, save for a drunken brawl over some gambling debts that took six knights and a score of armsmen to settle. Other than that, the melee had been a success. A knight sworn to Lord Jonaril Mandrake of Drake’s Hall had won the melee, one of Arnulf’s hunters from Stone Tower had taken archer’s trophy, and the drinking and revelry had carried on well until the dark hours of the night. Mazael had heard no talk about a mysterious new goddess. Many had spoken about the valgasts, and there were rumors of Skuldari raids in the west, but no one had mentioned a goddess. Nor had Romaria seen any spider-infested men in Cravenlock Town, the castle, or the crowds watching the melee. It seemed the assassination attempt and the fight below the inn had wiped them all out. 

There were too many separate threads, and Mazael could not piece them all together. Valgasts raiding in the name of their goddess, claiming that the death of the Old Demon had lifted the restrictions upon them. Skuldari coming down from their mountains for the first time in living memory, trying to take slaves back to Skuldar. Now Tervingi thains had been infested by spiders in the name of the same goddess. They were all connected, but Mazael could not yet see how. 

Riothamus might know more. Generations of Guardians had carried his staff, and many of their memories rested within it. Perhaps Riothamus could have told Mazael more, but the Guardian and Molly had not yet returned from Sword Town, and Mazael could not wait for them. If the Skuldari were stirring on the western reaches of the Grim Marches, if more valgasts launched raids upon the outlying farms and villages, he had to take action. 

He left a sealed letter with Cramton for Molly, instructing the seneschal to give it to her and no one else.  

Mazael doubted the Skuldari and the valgasts and the spider-infested Tervingi were all coincidences. What was driving them?

Mazael sat in his saddle and thought it over as he rode west. Romaria rode at his side with easy grace, the staff of her bow resting across her saddle, the hilt of her bastard sword rising over her shoulder. She had traded the gown for her usual leather armor and wool, a green cloak hanging from her shoulders. Her blue eyes roved endlessly over the plains, her expression serene. She was always happiest when traveling, so it was just as well Mazael spent so much time traveling from one end of the Grim Marches to the other. Rudolph Larsar followed with his shield, and Sir Aulus Hirtan rode nearby, carrying the black Cravenlock banner with its three crossed swords. Timothy rode behind Sir Aulus, a white crystal in his hand. His spell kept watch on the surrounding countryside, letting them know if any foes approached. Behind them rode a hundred of Mazael’s knights and armsmen, all of them veterans of the wars against the Malrags and the runedead. Alongside them walked Arnulf and fifty spearthains and swordthains. When traveling, Mazael preferred to take both knights and armsmen and Tervingi thains with him as a gesture of unity. 

Though the Jutai might respond badly to the presence of the Tervingi. Still, Arnulf had been sworn to Athanaric, not Ragnachar. The holdmistress of the Jutai was a steely young woman, and would keep her thains in check. 

Adalar’s column followed Mazael’s, the banners of the Greathearts and the Stillwaters flying overhead. Adalar and Wesson both rode at its head, and as before, Adalar seemed lost in thought. He had not participated in the melee. Mazael had been half-tempted to take up Grulda’s suggestion and send the boy to the Blood Rose House, but he knew Adalar’s grim mood went deeper than that.

“He’s not a boy any longer,” said Romaria. As ever, she had a knack for guessing his thoughts.

“Eh?” said Mazael. 

“Adalar,” said Romaria. “I suspect he feels adrift. His old home was destroyed by the runedead, and the Jutai have settled there. His new home was almost destroyed by the runedead. He’s the Lord of Castle Dominus, but there is hardly anyone left living in that part of Mastaria. His past is lost to him, and he thinks the future holds only ruin.” She shrugged. “I understand. I felt much the same way when I left Deepforest Keep.”

“How did you handle it?” said Mazael.

“I spent years wandering from one end of the world to the other,” said Romaria, “and then I fell for this bold knight with a temper.”

“Ah,” said Mazael. 

“You did much the same thing,” she said with a smile, “drinking and whoring your way across the realm for fifteen years until you returned to Castle Cravenlock.” 

“Adalar doesn’t have my temperament,” said Mazael. “Besides, I didn’t have as much responsibility when I was that age, and neither did you. Perhaps laying his father’s ashes to rest will ease his mind.” 

“Perhaps,” said Romaria. “We shall see.” 

Mazael looked back once more. Behind Adalar’s standardbearer rolled the wagon carrying Sir Nathan Greatheart’s ashes. It had been hung with the banner of the Greathearts, Sir Nathan’s sword and armor laid out upon the chest holding the urn.