Mask of Swords (28 page)

“He was screaming and ranting all last night,” said the first Tervingi. “Then nothing. He must be dead by now.” He lowered his voice. “And if he isn’t, I say we stick a spear in him and move on.”

“Aye, and how shall we hide that from Earnachar and the Prophetess?” said the second man. “A spear wound is a bit obvious!”

“Then we’ll stick a wet blanket over his face and wait until he chokes,” said the first Tervingi. “They’ll think the spider killed him when he refused the wisdom of the goddess.”

“We should obey the Prophetess,” said the second man. “She speaks with the voice of the goddess.”

“She’s not here, is she?” said the first. 

“No,” said a third, deeper voice. “She and the Champion have gone to Greatheart Keep to claim the girl.”

Liane, Mazael remembered. The Prophetess wanted Liane. Why? Liane had the Sight, and perhaps the Prophetess needed her to find something. 

“The girl is more important,” said the first man. “The Prophetess went to claim her. I don’t think the Prophetess would mind having the hrould on her side…but she wouldn’t object if he happened to die.”

“What are you so afraid of?” said the third man, scorn in his voice, and the second chorused his agreement.

“Are you blind?” said the first. “Ruaric and his lads went hunting yesterday. They should have been back by now.”

“Maybe they got lost chasing deer,” said the second man.

“Or maybe someone got them,” said the first. “Some of the knights got away from the ambush.” Mazael’s fist tightened against the chain. “They’ll be a lot harder to fight without the soliphages to help.”

“We are Tervingi,” said the third man with contempt, “and now we have the power of the goddess behind us. Your cowardice does you no credit.”

“We are Tervingi,” said the first man, his voice growing hot, “and Ragnachar trusted in the Urdmoloch, and look where that got him.”

“You deny the goddess’s power?” said the second Tervingi.

“I deny nothing!” said the first. “But I do not deny what is before my eyes. We…”

All three men started arguing.

Mazael figured it was the best chance he would get, so he took a deep breath, wrapped the chain around his fists, and burst from the tent. 

The noon sun shone overhead, the grasses of the Grim Marches swaying in the breeze. Mazael found himself in the center of a circle of a half-dozen tents facing a smoldering firepit. Three Tervingi spearthains stood nearby, arguing and pointing at each other. 

They did not see Mazael until he was upon them.

He looped the chain around the neck of the nearest spearthain and yanked with all his strength. There was a hideous sound of cracking bone and tearing flesh, and the spearthain went down in a heap. Mazael caught the man’s spear as he fell and stabbed, catching another spearthain in the gut. The Tervingi warrior howled, and Mazael ripped the spearhead free and spun to face the third man. The Tervingi charged, and Mazael jumped back, beating aside a thrust of the spear with a sweep of his own weapon. More spearthains erupted from the nearby tents, and Mazael realized that he was in trouble. He was outnumbered, exhausted, and had no armor. Demonsouled rage and strength could only take him so far. 

At least he would take as many of the traitors with him as he could.

Mazael killed one, and then another, and five Tervingi spearthains moved into a half-circle around him, stabbing and thrusting. He took wounds on his hip and ribs, fresh blood spilling across his stained clothes. His mind raced as he look for some way to turn to the situation to his advantage, some tactic he could use…

An arrow hissed past him and slammed into one of the spearthains.

That would work. 

The spearthain fell back, screaming and grabbing at the arrow in his chest, and Mazael took the opportunity to strike, gutting another Tervingi warrior with a sweep of his spear. The remaining three men fell back, and another arrow plunged into the man on the left. The final two spearthains had seen enough, and they turned to run. 

They barely made it past the ring of tents before the unseen archer shot them both dead in the space of three heartbeats. Mazael turned, spear ready, but saw no other foes. 

Silence fell over the ragged little camp, and Romaria appeared around one of the tents, her Elderborn bow in hand, her face grim. Her eyes widened when she saw Mazael, and she sprinted to him.

“You’re alive,” she said, touching his face as if she could not believe he was real. “I heard…I heard you screaming.” A tremor went through her face. “What did they do to you?”

Mazael grinned. “The Prophetess fed me a spider, but I spat it out.”

She blinked. “Truly?” 

“Actually, I had to cut it out of my chest,” said Mazael.

“Oh.” She blinked again and took a deep breath. “Oh, Mazael. That…must have hurt.”

“Just a bit,” said Mazael. He gripped the hand touching his face. “But…I am glad you are safe. Gladder that I can put into words. What happened?”

“It was a near thing,” said Romaria. “The Prophetess had some sort of cloaking spell that hid the soliphages and the heart spiders from Sight, along with the entrapping sigil she used on you. The soliphages went after the horsemen. Adalar and the others put up a good fight, but they couldn’t hold against that many soliphages, and they retreated. Some of the soliphages went after me, but I went wolf and lost them. Then I came back to get you. Earnachar left twenty spearthains to guard you.”

“Where did they go?” said Mazael. One of the men he had killed had mention something about a hunting party.

“I killed most of them,” said Romaria, her voice soft. That surprised him. She was often less willing to kill than he was. “I waited until they wandered off to relieve themselves or to patrol, and I shot in the back or took the form of the wolf to tear out their throats. Some of them went hunting, and I picked them off one by one.” She shivered. “They were hurting you. I could hear you screaming. I would have killed them all if I had enough time.” She blinked several times and looked away. “I…am just glad you are alive. I saw you die once before, after Cythraul Urdvul. Again…no, I have no wish to see it a second time.” 

“I saw you die once, too,” said Mazael. “Never again.” 

She blinked again, wiped at her eyes, and laughed a little. “Do you think other husbands and wives have talks like this?”

“Probably not,” said Mazael. “Thank you.” 

She shrugged. “You got yourself loose.”

“And they would have killed me if you hadn’t shot most of them,” said Mazael. 

“They shouldn’t have hurt you,” she whispered, and in that moment she looked more dangerous than any of the Demonsouled he had fought and faced. “So. What do we do now?” 

“We go to Greatheart Keep, stop the Prophetess, and kill Earnachar,” said Mazael.

“He has a spider in him, by the way,” said Romaria. “The Prophetess’s cloaking spell also hid the spiders. Earnachar and all of his men had heart spiders.”

“I should have known,” said Mazael. “Earnachar was too stubborn to cooperate with me half of the time. Why would he cooperate for the Prophetess and Marazadra?”

“Why attack Greatheart Keep?” said Romaria. “I see why Earnachar wants it, but what interest does the Prophetess and her goddess have in the place? If she is merely looking for sacrificial victims for her goddess, surely she can obtain them with less work.” 

“Liane,” said Mazael.

“The girl with the Sight, Sigaldra’s sister,” said Romaria, some of her tension draining away as she considered the puzzle. “What does the Prophetess want with her?” 

“I don’t know,” said Mazael, rubbing a heel of a hand against his forehead. “I think…while I was fighting off the spider, I think I spoke with the spirit of Marazadra herself.”

“Truly?” said Romaria. “It wasn’t simply a hallucination?”

“I don’t believe so,” said Mazael. “I don’t remember all of it. Something about a bloody dagger, and spiders preying upon men...bah.” He grimaced. “I was a little distracted. But I think the Old Demon bound Marazadra somehow, and now that he is dead the binding has been destroyed. She is free to act, and apparently she wants Liane for something.”

“For what, though?” said Romaria.

“A good question,” said Mazael. “Perhaps I will beat the answers out of Earnachar.”

“He will be at Greatheart Keep by now,” said Romaria. “He has over a thousand Skuldari warriors with him, along with his horsethains and the soliphages. I don’t know how long Sigaldra can hold out.”

“Especially if the Prophetess throws her magic into the fray,” said Mazael. “Or the soliphages. Or if the valgasts dig under the walls.” 

“I think your armor and Talon are in there,” said Romaria, pointing at one of the tents. “Along with the spearthains’ supplies. I haven’t eaten in two days, and healing that much injury,” she glanced at his chest through his ragged shirt, “always leaves you ravenous.” 

It did. “Any horses?”

“I fear not,” said Romaria. “Earnachar took them all.”

Mazael nodded. “We’ll walk, then. Let’s go.”

###

An hour later they headed south. 

Mazael had found his armor, weapons, and boots in the largest of the pavilions, along with clothing that had not been stained by blood and spider guts. They had also found the spearthains’ rations, loaves of hard bread and strips of jerky. Mazael and Romaria ate as they walked, flicking the crumbs into the waving grasses of the plain. It was easy enough to follow Earnachar’s trail. A thousand Skuldari and a few hundred horsemen left a trail a child could follow.

“What are we going to do,” said Romaria, “when we find Earnachar?”

Mazael grunted, thinking. 

“Earnachar will have sent out patrols,” said Romaria. “We can fight them, but when we get to Greatheart Keep, we’ll have a thousand enemies in our way. Not even Mazael Cravenlock can fight past them all.” 

“He can’t,” said Mazael, “which is why we’re going to the surrounding villages – Castyard and the others. We’re going to raise an army of our own and attack Earnachar while he besieges Greatheart Keep. Even the most powerful army is vulnerable while maintaining a siege.”

“Do you think Greatheart Keep can hold out that long?” said Romaria.

“I don’t know,” said Mazael. He hoped they could. If not, then Mazael would make certain that the Jutai were avenged. 

“Mazael,” said Romaria, lifting her left hand. “Look.”

Far overhead, Mazael saw a black speck against the blue sky. 

He grinned. “Ah, Molly, you clever girl.”

“Molly?” said Romaria. “What did you do?”

“I left her a note,” said Mazael, and he stopped and waited for the skythain on his griffin to descend.

Chapter 15: Siege

Adalar drew his greatsword with a steely hiss as Earnachar, the Prophetess, and Rigoric withdrew to the ranks of the waiting horsethains. 

“Go back to the keep,” said Sigaldra to her sister. “Do it right now.”

“Sister…” said Liane.

“Go,” said Sigaldra, her voice soft but hard as iron. “You’ll be safest there. Go now.”

Liane hesitated, then turned and walked from the rampart. 

“Lady Sigaldra,” said Adalar. “The ladders.”

The Skuldari warriors moved forward. Four groups of twenty warriors each carried a massive wooden ladder topped with iron hooks. The men would reach the walls and throw up the ladders, the iron hooks catching upon the battlements. A stake-lined ditch encircled the wall, but the ladders were long enough to reach over it. If the Skuldari charged up their ladders and established a hold on the ramparts, the battle would be over in short order.

“Archers!” said Sigaldra, her voice ringing like a trumpet. 

The Jutai archers stepped to the battlements, bows in hand. Many of them were older women, their hair gray and their hands hard from years of labor. 

“Release at will!” said Sigaldra. “Stop those ladders!”

The Jutai obeyed, and a storm of arrows fell from the wall, landing amongst the Skuldari carrying the ladders. At first nothing happened, and the ladders continued their inexorable advance. The Jutai kept raining arrows upon the ladders, and Adalar saw one Skuldari warrior fall, then two and three. The advance of the ladders wavered as the Skuldari tried to take cover.

“They haven’t done this before,” said Adalar. 

“What?” said Sigaldra, staring at the ladders.

“The Skuldari,” said Adalar. “They ought to have sent men with shields to screen the ladders.”

“Likely they are accustomed to raiding each other in their mountains,” said Wesson, “rather than assaulting fortified positions.”

“All the better, then,” said Sigaldra. “Let us teach them the price of folly.”

The rain of arrows continued, the ladders bobbing back and forth drunkenly as the Skuldari warriors fell. Two of the ladders retreated back to the main body of the Skuldari forces, leaving a trail of dead and dying men in their wake. Adalar felt his lip curl in contempt. Surely Earnachar should have known better. Yet it seemed that while Earnachar commanded the Skuldari and his own men, the Prophetess commanded him, and her goddess had not imparted a knowledge of war to match her knowledge of magic. A third ladder wavered and then turned back as its bearers retreated.

The fourth rushed forward, its bearers screaming as they ran. They were going to reach the wall. Sigaldra simply didn’t have enough archers to bring them down. 

“We can’t stop that one,” said Talchar One-Eye. 

“Talchar,” said Sigaldra. “Have half of our archers keep watch for new ladders. The others are to focus on the ladder that reaches the wall.” 

“We shall aid in the defense,” said Adalar. “You can keep your thains in reserve if the enemy overwhelms us.” 

Her cold eyes turned towards him, and he thought he saw a flicker of gratitude there. “Thank you.” 

“What I would not give for a bigger postern gate,” said Wesson, hefting his mace. “The way the Skuldari are bunched together, we could ride through them like a wind. Spiders might be a problem, though.” 

“Not to worry,” said Adalar. “We’ll have plenty of Skuldari to kill up here.”

He jogged along the ramparts behind the archers, Wesson and his men from Castle Dominus following. The width of the ramparts impressed him. Sigaldra and her people had not been idle since arriving in Greatheart Keep. With proper siege engines and enough men, Adalar could have held the walls for months.