Mask of Dragons (11 page)

Sigaldra swallowed. 

“Would you prefer that?” said Mazael, his eyes glinting in the gloom. “If I was more like Ragnachar?”

“No,” said Sigaldra at last, her voice shaken. 

“Lord Mazael,” said Adalar, uncertain of what to do. Whenever he had heard that cold fury in Mazael’s voice, it had almost always been before a battle. “Isn’t…that enough?”

Mazael blinked at him, and then took a deep breath, seeming to calm himself down. “Yes, you’re right. Forgive me, Lady Sigaldra. I fear my temper rather carried me away.” 

“No,” said Sigaldra, shaking his head. “No, you are nothing like Ragnachar. He…never asked forgiveness for anything.” 

“That may be one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me,” said Mazael. “Come.” 

He strode the rest of the way to the tent housing Earnachar, Adalar walking at Sigaldra’s side. The spearthains guarding the tent stepped aside at Mazael’s approach. He nodded to them and threw open the tent’s flap. The furnishings within were austere – a cot, a table, and a stool, light coming from a lantern upon the table. 

Earnachar son of Balnachar, headman of the Tervingi hold of Banner Hill, sat at the table, scowling at an open book.

Adalar had met him a few times, and the man always scowled, save for when he talked about the deeds of mighty Tervingar in ancient days. He was a balding keg of a man without much fat, his arms like tree trunks, and Earnachar was a formidable warrior. Certainly he commanded the loyalty of his spearthains and swordthains and horsethains, and Adalar wondered if there was a kernel of truth in Sigaldra’s accusation that Mazael had not executed Earnachar because the headman was too influential. 

Or perhaps Mazael did indeed think Earnachar had been under the Prophetess’s control. 

Earnachar looked up at them. 

“You can read?” said Sigaldra, incredulous. 

Earnachar shrugged. “Not well.” 

“Tervingar of old did not read,” said Sigaldra. 

“The Tervingi nation have come to a new land,” said Earnachar. “We must learn new ways. So I hired one of the Amathavian priests to teach me.” He turned a page of the book, and Adalar saw it was a history of the realm, describing the wars between the ancient Roland kings and the necromancer-lords of Old Dracaryl. “It seems a useful tool, and it helps a man to pass the time.” He sighed. “So, I suppose the Guardian has decided to kill me. That is why the Jutai woman has come, to watch my death, and her pet knight has come to deal the blow.”

“Pet knight?” said Sigaldra, her anger plain. 

“He follows you around like a trained puppy,” said Earnachar. “Perhaps you have seduced him…no. You haven’t seduced him yet. It is the hope of your favors, such as they are, that compels him…”

“You, sir, will hold your tongue,” said Adalar. “I have fought runedead and mad wizards, and I will not be insulted by a man who betrayed his lawful lord to side with a renegade sorceress and her pet spiders. Perhaps she rewarded you with some of her favors, or maybe you preferred the spiders instead of a woman…”

Sigaldra let out a shocked, angry little laugh.

Earnachar scowled, but sighed again. “I am in no position to argue. I certainly underestimated that damned woman.” He looked at Adalar. “Well, be quick about it. That greatsword ought to take off my neck in one blow if you do it properly. Though you might want to make…”

“Earnachar,” said Mazael, “shut up.” 

Earnachar blinked and fell silent.

“Let us be candid,” said Mazael. “The Prophetess controlled you with her heart spider, but she inflamed what was already there. You want to be hrould of the Tervingi nation, and perhaps rule the entirety of the Grim Marches yourself. Good sense kept you from acting on those ambitious, but I suspect the heart spider’s influence removed that inhibition.” 

“It is as you say,” said Earnachar. “Though in your position, I would have killed me already.” 

“True,” said Mazael. “But, I am not you. I put your fate into the Guardian’s hands, and the Guardian has decreed a trial for you. Succeed, and you shall live and return to your hold of Banner Hill. Fail, and you shall die.” 

“Very well,” said Earnachar. “What is the trial, then?” 

“To test your motives, you shall undo the damage you have wrought,” said Mazael. “We’re going to go to Armalast, kidnap Liane to ruin the Prophetess’s plans, and return to the Grim Marches.” 

For a while Earnachar said nothing. 

“Very well,” said Earnachar at last. “I owe that bitch the Prophetess a debt of pain anyway. When do we leave?”

Chapter 6: Messengers of the Goddess

At noon on the next day, Mazael broke away from Sir Tanam’s band of scouts and rode higher into the Weaver’s Pass. Romaria, Adalar, Sigaldra, Earnachar, and Timothy followed him, all with mounts of their own. Tanam’s scouts would continue screening the hills, and Mazael had told the lords and headmen that he would be gone for some time, scouting the ways of the enemy in preparation for the assault. Molly had taken command of the host, with Riothamus at her side, holding the army ready to fend off any attacks from the Skuldari. 

Mazael wondered how long the ruse would last. 

Hopefully they would reach Armalast, rescue Liane, and return before it ended. 

No man of the Grim Marches had set foot in the Weaver’s Pass and Skuldar for centuries, at least none who had returned to tell the tale. 

Fortunately, their guide was someone other than a man of the Grim Marches. 

“The pass climbs for another three or four miles,” said Romaria. “After that, it enters a wide vale that cuts through the heart of Skuldar.”

“It will be quite heavily populated, I imagine,” said Timothy. The wizard rode much better than he had when Mazael had first met him, his long black coat wrapped around him to ward off the chill of the foothills. 

“That would make sense, but no,” said Romaria. “The soil is too stony and too sandy for proper cultivation. The Skuldari keep their farms and pastures in the higher, smaller vales. The vale itself is called the Weaver’s Vale, and it is mostly pine forest.” 

“Unpopulated?” said Adalar. 

“By men,” said Romaria. “The soliphages and the giant spiders of the Skuldari lurk there in great numbers. We shall have to be on our guard.” 

Earnachar grunted. “Will not the Skuldari stop us?” He had the traditional Tervingi dislike of wizards, and so kept his horse as far from Timothy as possible. Of course, Sigaldra kept her horse as far from Earnachar as possible, and Adalar stayed near her. If they were not careful, Mazael thought, they would wind up scattered all over the pass. 

“Normally, they would have killed us already,” said Romaria, looking back at Earnachar. “But they’re all scouting in the lower hills. I suspect we’ll have a clear ride to the Weaver’s Vale proper.” 

Earnachar snorted. “Will you take the form of a bitch wolf and scout the path for us with your nose, my lady Romaria?” 

Mazael rolled his eyes. Sigaldra would have flown into a rage at the remark. Romaria only looked back at him and grinned. 

“If you need a wolf’s nose to see a soliphage’s web,” said Romaria, “then you had best fall upon your sword now, for if you cannot see a soliphage then you are too impossibly stupid to live.” 

Earnachar snorted again. “You Marcher women are bold. No Tervingi woman would speak to me that way.” 

Romaria laughed. “I’ve faced the Old Demon and runedead and San-keth serpent priests, Earnachar. A bald barbarian from the middle lands is hardly frightening after all that.”

“Will you let your wife speak to me that way?” said Earnachar. 

“You provoked her,” said Mazael. 

“You should intervene,” said Earnachar.

“If I intervene,” said Mazael, “it will be to stop her from killing you, which would depend on my mood at the time.”

Earnachar scoffed. “In the days of old, Tervingar himself said…”

“Do you,” said Sigaldra, her voice cold and sharp, “ever shut up?” 

Earnachar went through the same reaction that he displayed whenever Sigaldra snapped at him, staring with anger, traversing a flash of guilt, and then settling upon surly silence. 

“An excellent idea,” said Mazael before the argument could begin again. He trusted Riothamus and he trusted Riothamus’s Sight, but the thought of traveling to Armalast with Sigaldra and Earnachar at each other’s throats the entire way was not a pleasant one. For that matter, he wasn’t even sure they could reach Armalast with the two of them prepared to kill each other. Still, if the other option was inevitable destruction, he would do what he had to do.

Though Riothamus had said that an uncertain future lay before them if Mazael went to Armalast. Perhaps that, too, would end in inevitable destruction. 

“How far to Armalast?” said Mazael.

“Six days, maybe seven,” said Romaria. “Depends on how far we have to go out of our way to avoid any soliphages. For that matter, I think we should make a stop first.”

“Why?” said Mazael.

“To talk to an old friend of mine,” said Romaria. 

Earnachar scowled. “You have friends among the Skuldari?”

“I have friends among the Tervingi,” said Romaria without hesitation. “My stepdaughter even married one of them.” 

“This friend of yours,” said Mazael, before Earnachar could resume his quarrel.

“I met him when I passed through Weaver’s Vale to the first time,” said Romaria. “His name is Danel. He was a trader, made his living selling goods between the various villages.”

“And he didn’t try to sacrifice you to Marazadra?” said Mazael.

“No,” said Romaria. “I suppose the Skuldari are a great deal like the Aegonar, at least as the Aegonar were before Skalatan abandoned them. Some of them, many of them, are fanatically devoted to the goddess. More of them are lukewarm, and only follow the goddess because it is the custom of the land. And some actively hate the goddess and her priests. Danel was one of them. He had traveled widely, and he even crept into the villages of the Krago Hills and the Stormvales. Danel even had a secret shrine to the Amathavian gods.” She smiled at the memory. “I think he was quite taken with me, in truth.” 

“Really,” said Mazael. He knew that he had not been her first lover. She knew about some of his past adventures (and misadventures) with women, but she had never spoken about her past lovers. He gathered the subject was too painful for her.

She smiled at him. “Don’t worry. He was twice my age then, and that was fifteen years ago.”

“He might not even still be alive,” said Mazael.

“Perhaps not,” said Romaria. “But if you think it worth the risk, I believe we should speak with him. He will know more about Skuldar than any of us, and perhaps he could help us.”

“How far is his home from here?” said Mazael.

“About three days,” said Romaria. “In the midst of the forest. It’s about a day out of our way to Armalast.” 

“He might have died years ago,” said Earnachar. 

“And every day we delay is another day Liane is in the Prophetess’s hands,” said Sigaldra.

Earnachar and Sigaldra both glared at each other, as if annoyed to find themselves in agreement. 

“It is worth the risk,” said Mazael. “Timothy.”

“My lord?” said Timothy.

“You have your sensing spell ready?” said Mazael.

“Of course.” The wizard reached into a pocket and drew out a quartz crystal wrapped in copper wire. “I will be able to detect if anyone comes within…oh, one hundred and fifty yards with us.”

“One hundred and fifty?” said Mazael. “Isn’t it usually a hundred?”

“The events of the last few years have given me ample opportunity to practice,” said Timothy. “However, if a soliphage is aware of our presence, I suspect it will be able to cloak itself from my detection spell.” 

“Hopefully the soliphages will not be that clever,” said Mazael. “Romaria, please lead the way. The rest of you, keep quiet unless absolutely necessary. Most of the Skuldari might be down in the lower foothills, but the stragglers might be up here. Or the soliphages. No sense in bringing them down upon our heads unless necessary.” 

Hopefully that would also keep Sigaldra and Earnachar from arguing. Riothamus’s Sight had never yet led Mazael wrong, but this might be its ultimate test.

They rode on in silence, climbing higher into the foothills, the mountains rising over them like the gray ramparts of an enormous castle. The wind grew sharper, tugging at Mazael’s cloak and hair. His armor of golden dragon scales was too distinctive, so he had traded it for an unremarkable shirt of chain mail. He missed the dragon scale armor already. It provided better protection than a hauberk of chain, and the thing was warmer. 

The trees and bushes thinned as they climbed, the Weaver’s Pass growing narrower, until bare gray rock rose around them. Here and there stood standing stones, each one about nine or ten feet tall. Their tops had been adorned with carvings of spiders, and a row of peculiar glyphs marched down their sides. 

“What are those?” said Mazael. 

“Shrine stones,” said Romaria. “The Skuldari raise them in honor of Marazadra.” She waved her hunting bow in the direction of the glyphs. “Those symbols are the language of the soliphages. I don’t know what they say.”

“Are they alphabetic symbols or pictograms?” said Timothy.

Mazael had no idea what that meant.

“I don’t know,” said Romaria. 

“In the wizards’ college at Alborg,” said Timothy, his eyes distant with the recollection, “they have some old scrolls written by the soliphages. No one knows what they say, either. The language is lost to the knowledge of mankind, and I doubt the soliphages will share it.”

“Better that some things remain lost, witcher,” said Earnachar. “The magic of the soliphages is dark. Earnachar son of Balnachar knows that all too well.” 

“I suppose you do,” said Mazael.

By sundown they reached the apex of the pass, and the Weaver’s Vale yawned before them. 

It stretched into the mountains like a vast canyon carpeted in thin green pine trees. Mazael saw countless gray boulders lying tumbled and eroded amongst the trees. Romaria had been right that the soil was too rocky to support crops, and even the pine trees themselves looked stunted. He supposed that the entire vale had been carved out of the mountains long ago by a passing glacier or a titanic flood.