Mask of Swords (39 page)

“I thought you were weary of war,” said Sigaldra, “and this is not your war.”

“I am,” said Adalar, “but it seems that war is not weary of me.” He seemed lost for words for a moment. “And this…the Jutai deserve better. I have seen all you have done here, all you have built. Perhaps it is not my fault the Prophetess took Lady Liane. But I will help you get her back, if it is in my power.”

For a moment Sigaldra could not speak. 

“Thank you,” she said at last. 

###

Adalar followed Sigaldra as she walked among her people, helping them with the work of rebuilding. 

Perhaps Adalar was not the man his father had been, but if he could find a way to help Sigaldra and the Jutai, he would.

Epilogue: A Rigged Game

Night fell across the western Grim Marches, and the woman who now called herself the Prophetess waited. 

She stood in a ruined church, a dozen soliphages waiting motionlessly near the windows and doors. Ruins dotted the Grim Marches, left from the Malrags and the runedead and the Tervingi barbarians. Some of them had been repopulated, but many had not, and the Prophetess had no trouble finding shelter as she made her way to Armalast.

Liane floated near the dusty altar, her eyes closed. The venom of the soliphages would keep her unconscious and healthy for months if necessary. The girl’s Sight was powerful, and it would call like a beacon to the Guardian. It was fortunate that the Crimson Hunters had distracted the Tervingi wizard. The Prophetess was not strong enough to overcome him in magical battle.

She smiled, rolling the sheathed maethweisyr in her palms.

Not yet, anyway. But soon…

A shadow fell over the church’s doors, and the Prophetess turned as Rigoric strode inside, his wounds healed. The Mask of the Champion glinted upon his face, reflecting the glow of the magical light that the Prophetess had conjured. The Mask of the Champion made Rigoric immortal and invincible, and no one could prevail against him.

Not even the last son of the Old Demon.

“You returned,” said the Prophetess, stepping towards him and running a hand along his armored chest.

Rigoric said nothing. It was one of his virtues. Even before the Prophetess had found him, he had been a man of few words. The Mask had taken his power of speech, though it had given him great gifts in return. The Prophetess did not miss his ability to speak. She had other uses for him.

Destroying the enemies of the goddess was just one of them.

The Prophetess undid her robe and cast aside her garments, standing naked before him, save for the metallic brooch clinging to her chest just above her left breast. Rigoric removed his armor, pushed her down, and took her upon the floor as the soliphages stood guard around them. She thrilled at his touch. She had wrought this – all of it. The goddess would return, but the Prophetess was the architect of her return. She was the voice of Marazadra, and Rigoric was her Champion. It was only proper that they should lie together. The fact that Rigoric was a creature of the Prophetess’s own making made it all the sweeter.

Much later, after they had finished, the Prophetess stood, stretched with a languid sigh, and gathered up her clothing. Rigoric armored himself in silence, though his eyes strayed to her belt. 

“This?” said the Prophetess. She held up the sheathed maethweisyr. “This is one of the reasons we came to the Grim Marches, my champion.” 

He tilted his head to the side.

“Ah,” the Prophetess murmured. “You see, the Old Demon was the great enemy of our goddess. Yet he was brilliant. Subtle beyond compare. He never played his own games, no. Instead he designed the games so that no matter what happened, he was still victorious in the end. Until Mazael Cravenlock slew him, that is.”

Rigoric seemed to tense, like a lion preparing to spring upon its prey.

“Fear not, my champion,” said the Prophetess. “You shall have your chance to revenge yourself upon Mazael soon enough, for I suspect he shall come for us. But we already have what we need from him.”

She smiled and drew the dagger, revealing the crimson blade, the blade that had drank Mazael’s blood and stored it up like a sponge.

“You see?” said the Prophetess. “Even Mazael shall serve the return of the goddess. Perhaps I shall inform him of that before you kill him for me.” 

She could tell that thought pleased Rigoric. 

The Prophetess had almost everything she needed. She had Liane and the power of her Sight. She had a dagger charged with the blood of the most powerful Demonsouled yet living. Now all she needed was the Mask of Marazadra, and she could restore the goddess.

And then the Prophetess could bring the world to order at last.

THE END

Thank you for reading MASK OF SWORDS Look for the second book of the MASK OF THE DEMONSOULED trilogy, MASK OF DRAGONS, to appear in 2015. If you liked the book, please consider leaving a review at your ebook site of choice. To receive immediate notification of new releases, 
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Other books by the author

The Demonsouled Saga

MAZAEL CRAVENLOCK is a wandering knight, fearless in battle and masterful with a sword. 

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The Dominiar Order and the Justiciar Order were once noble and respected, dedicated to fighting the powers of dark magic. Now they are corrupt and cynical, and scheme only for power and glory. They will kill anyone who stands in their way.

To defeat these foes, Mazael will need all the strength of his Demonsouled blood.

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RACHAELIS MORULAN is an Initiate of the Conclave, the powerful order of mighty mages. But to become a full Adept of the Conclave, she must first survive the Testing. Those who survive the Testing never speak of the trials they endured.

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And now the Magisters of the Conclave have come to take Rachaelis to undertake the Testing. And there she shall face perils to both her body and her sanity.

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SIGALDRA is the last holdmistress of the Jutai nation, the final defender of her people. Now the darkness comes to devour the final remnant of Sigaldra's home and family. Even Sigaldra's courage may not be enough to turn aside the darkness.

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