Mask of Swords (21 page)

His Demonsouled blood couldn’t heal that. 

Mazael had to end this fight, now.

He caught both of Rigoric’s swords on his blade, shoved, and sent the bigger man stumbling back. Mazael whipped Talon around, low and fast, and tore a gash across Rigoric’s lower right leg. The orcragar stumbled without even so much as a grunt of pain. Perhaps the mask made him unable to speak. Mazael attacked again, his thrust forcing Rigoric to retreat, all the orcragar’s weight going down upon his wounded leg. Superhuman healing or not, the gash upon his leg still had not healed, and Rigoric’s leg twitched from the movement. Again the orcragar stumbled, and Mazael drove Talon forward with all his Demonsouled strength and momentum behind it. The blade punched through Rigoric’s chain mail and sank into his chest. The orcragar tottered backwards, and Mazael ripped his sword free and stabbed again.

Still Rigoric was silent.

The orcragar’s legs flexed, and he jumped backwards, tearing free of Talon’s bloody blade. Rigoric landed in a crouch and straightened up, swords hanging at his side. Already the massive wounds Mazael had carved into his chest were vanishing.

His mask was rippling, moving. Some of the blades upon its sides lengthened, sprouting from the mask like metal roots. The metal filaments sank into Rigoric’s neck and shoulder, throbbing like veins. His wounds shrank faster, and in an instant they had vanished entirely. He seemed fresh and rested, ready for battle. 

“Well,” said Mazael. “That’s a neat trick.”

Rigoric rolled his neck and lifted his blades. Romaria moved her horse to Mazael’s side and fired again, and Rigoric dodged the arrow with inhuman speed. 

“Watch yourself,” said Mazael. “He’s fast even for an orcragar.”

“He’s not just an orcragar any longer,” said Romaria in a low voice. “I see the taint of Ragnachar’s blood in him…but it’s that mask. It’s magical. It’s…alive, somehow.”

“When I cut off his head, we can examine the mask,” said Mazael. He shot a quick look around the battlefield as his damaged rib healed. The additional spider riders had joined the fray, but the horsemen were pushing them back. Rigoric was fast and strong and dangerous, but even he could be overcome if surrounded.

For a moment Mazael met Rigoric’s eyes. They were black and bloodshot, full of cold knowledge and certainty. The orcragar raised his swords, the miniature blades of his mask writhing as they sank additional tendrils into his skin. 

The ground began to shake, and a war horn rang out. 

Mazael and Rigoric both looked to the side, and horsemen swept down from the north. The horsemen rode smaller, faster horses than Mazael’s knights and armsmen, and wore leather and steel chain instead of plate. Many of them had heavy, fur-lined cloaks. All carried spears and axes. 

They were Tervingi horsethains, Earnachar’s men. 

Mazael hesitated, wondering if the horsethains would attack his men or the Skuldari. 

His answer came a moment later when the spiders fled, racing away to the west. The horsethains started to pursue them. Rigoric took one more look at Mazael, his fingers tightening around his sword hilts. 

Then he shoved his blades into their scabbards, whirled, and took a flying leap, hurtling to the west like a missile flung from a siege engine. Rigoric landed twenty yards away and kept running, moving with a speed that matched the giant spiders. 

“I suppose that settles that,” said Romaria. 

“What’s that?” said Mazael, rubbing his sore side. 

“Earnachar isn’t working with the Skuldari,” said Romaria. 

“It doesn’t mean he’s not a worshipper of this new goddess,” said Mazael. “It’s the sort of thing the San-keth would do, to make as many secret allies as possible without letting them know about each other.” He snorted. “It’s the sort of thing my father would have done.” 

“Perhaps we’ll have some answers now,” said Romaria.

“Perhaps,” said Mazael, unconvinced. Agaric had been one of Earnachar’s men, and he had been busy spreading those spiders in Cravenlock Town. Earnachar had also been hiring mercenaries, perhaps to infect them with spiders. Why go to all the trouble of gathering followers if he didn’t intend to make mischief with them? 

“Lord Mazael!” Adalar rode over, followed closely by Sir Wesson. “Are you injured? That orcragar hit you hard.”

“A bit bruised, but otherwise well,” said Mazael. Neither Adalar nor Wesson knew that he was Demonsouled, and Mazael preferred to keep it that way. “The gods know I’ve had enough practice at getting knocked out of the saddle.”

“Convenient that the horsethains arrived when they did,” said Wesson, eyeing the Tervingi riders warily. “I thought the Tervingi didn’t fight from horseback.”

“There are no horses in the middle lands,” said Mazael. “The Tervingi had no cavalry, which is how we won at Stone Tower. Since coming to the Grim Marches, Earnachar has seen the advantage of horses, so he’s begun training his thains as horsemen.” They had gotten good at it, too. Earnachar’s horsethains had handled themselves well at the Northwater and at Knightcastle. 

“Was not Earnachar working with the Skuldari?” said Adalar.

“Perhaps,” said Mazael. Around him his knights and armsmen began to form up again, watching the Tervingi horsethains. “Or perhaps Earnachar started to accept help from this Prophetess, and realized just how dangerous she was. Like a merchant who gets in too deep with the harder sort of moneylender. Romaria. Do they have any spiders within them?”

She shook her head, her heavy braid rustling against the back of her leather armor. “None.” 

“Let’s see what they want,” said Mazael.

He flicked the blood from Talon’s blade, sheathed the sword, and walked towards the waiting horsethains. There were thirty of them, and Mazael felt the weight of their eyes as he approached.

“Hrould?” said the leader of the horsethains, a burly man with a ragged yellow beard and a maze of scars across his face and arms. 

“I am,” said Mazael. 

“I am Kalochar son of Velchar,” said the horsethain. “The headman Earnachar bade me to ride south and meet you. He feared you might come under attack from the Skuldari dogs.” 

“Don’t you mean the Skuldari spiders?” said Romaria.

Kalochar gave her a flat look, but it was a look tinged with fear. Likely he had figured out who Romaria was. 

“He feared correctly,” said Mazael. “I heard that Earnachar decided to side with the Skuldari and their goddess.”

“Lies,” said Kalochar. 

“Sigaldra of the Jutai might say differently,” said Mazael.

“The holdmistress of the Jutai vermin,” said Kalochar, “is a liar and a deceiver. I would call her a whore, but no man in his right mind would pay good coin to lie with such a termagant.” Adalar bristled a bit at that. “Her folk have been encroaching on lands rightfully held by the Tervingi.”

“So Earnachar decided to turn to the Skuldari and their goddess for help?” said Mazael.

Now it was Kalochar’s turn to scowl. “Slander. The Skuldari worship the spider-devils of the middle lands, the soliphages, and have summoned them to the Grim Marches. Lately they have infiltrated Earnachar’s bondsmen and thains, infecting them with spiders the size of a man’s fist.” Kalochar raised his own fist, as if it to demonstrate. “The spiders force the infected to obey the priestesses of the soliphages and their goddess. Many among Earnachar’s folk were infected, and there has been much fighting over the last few days.”

“So why have you come south?” said Mazael. “Why are you on the lands of the Jutai?” 

“We pursued Skuldari raiders,” said Kalochar. “After we drove out the soliphages and the spiders hiding in our midst, Earnachar called his thains and bondsmen and marched south. We are making for Castle Cravenlock, to warn you of the threat and deal with any other soliphages we encounter. Then we learned that you had come to Greatheart Keep, and made our way here.”

“I see,” said Mazael. Kalochar’s story made sense. Earnachar was an ambitious scoundrel, but he was Tervingi to his core, and the Tervingi would never voluntarily associate with creatures like the soliphages. Though that utterly failed to explain why Sigaldra had seen the Prophetess with Earnachar. Perhaps Earnachar had thought to use the Prophetess and had then turned against her. 

Perhaps Kalochar was lying. There was something that Mazael was missing, some connection between Earnachar and the soliphages and the valgasts. 

Maybe Earnachar himself was the key.

“Where is Earnachar now?” said Mazael.

“A few miles north of here, hrould,” said Kalochar, “patrolling with his horsethains. The main body of his spearthains, swordthains, and militia bondsmen are following.”

“Hunting for the Skuldari, no doubt,” said Mazael. “And if you happen to terrorize the Jutai in the process…well, isn’t that just tragic?”

Kalochar shrugged. “Accidents happen.” 

“Indeed,” said Mazael. “Gather your men, Kalochar. You will take us to your headman. I will have words with Earnachar.”

“Of course,” said Kalochar. “Earnachar is ever eager to serve his hrould.”

Chapter 11: The Circle

Dusk fell by the time they came upon the Tervingi riders. 

Adalar followed Mazael, but kept his hands near his weapons and his eyes upon Kalochar and his horsethains. He did not trust these Tervingi, not even a little. Adalar knew lords like Earnachar, treacherous and slippery, keeping the letter of their promises while ignoring the spirit. 

If Earnachar had indeed betrayed Mazael, if he had sided with the Skuldari and the soliphages and whatever mysterious dark power moved behind them, there would be more fighting before the sun set, fighting that would end with Earnachar’s head upon a spear. 

Or so Adalar hoped. 

They outnumbered the Tervingi horsethains, but if Earnachar brought up more men and decided to make a fight of it, things might not go so well. 

Perhaps it was inevitable, just as the runedead and the destruction of Mastaria had been inevitable. 

If it was, Adalar would make a good accounting of himself before he fell. 

Fifty more Tervingi horsethains awaited nearby, and Adalar reined up as the column came to a halt.

###

“Tell me,” murmured Mazael, “if any of the Tervingi have spiders inside of them.” 

Romaria offered a faint nod, her expression distracted. Her hands were tight against her short bow.

“You see something?” said Mazael.

“I…don’t know,” said Romaria. “There’s a…ripple. Like someone cast a spell here recently. A powerful one, too. But I’m not sure. It could be something else entirely. Or I’m simply seeing things.” She shook her head. “The Sight is not always as unambiguous as I might wish.” 

“I suppose not,” said Mazael. “Keep an eye out if Earnachar decides to make trouble.” She nodded, and Mazael spurred his horse forward. One of the men in the mass of waiting Tervingi horsethains did the same, while Kalochar and his men went to join the others. 

Mazael watched as Earnachar himself rode forward. The headman of the hold of Banner Hill was squat, bald keg of a man with a round head and black eyes that were perpetually narrowed with suspicion. He sat in the saddle with capable ease, steering his mount with his knees alone. It always surprised Mazael how quickly the Tervingi had taken to using horses. Perhaps it shouldn’t have. The Tervingi had used mammoths and griffins in war for generations, and a griffin was harder to train than a destrier. 

“I am Earnachar son of Balnachar of the Tervingi nation, headman of Banner Hill,” announced Earnachar, reining up halfway between his horsethains and Mazael’s men “and I wish for parley with Mazael Cravenlock, Lord of the Grim Marches and hrould of the Tervingi nation. I wish to speak with him alone concerning grave matters.” 

“Does he have a spider?” muttered Mazael.

“No,” said Romaria. “There’s a ripple around him, though.”

“Maybe the soliphages attacked and he fought his way here,” said Mazael. 

“Maybe,” said Romaria. “I don’t like this, Mazael.”

“We outnumber him,” said Mazael, though he agreed with her assessment. “If he makes any trouble, we can retreat back to Greatheart Keep.”

“If he attacks you,” said Romaria, “I am going to shoot him through the throat.”

Mazael grinned. “You’ll be Sigaldra’s new best friend, then.” He touched Talon’s hilt and nodded to himself. “Let’s see what Earnachar wants.” 

He spurred his horse forward and rode to Earnachar, stopping a few feet away from the headman. Earnachar looked pugnacious as ever, but sweat glittered upon his forehead despite the cool of the dusk.

Was he nervous? Afraid, even?

“Hrould,” said Earnachar at last, breaking the silence.

“Headman,” said Mazael.

“You received my message, yes?” said Earnachar. “You have come in answer to my call?”

“I received no message from you,” said Mazael. “I was in Greatheart Keep on unrelated business, and I happened to hear from Sigaldra what you’ve been doing.” 

Earnachar’s scowl deepened. “Sigaldra? You should not believe her lying words, hrould. I have tried to befriend her, for her own benefit.”

“I’m sure,” said Mazael.

“Yet she has spurned my offers of friendship,” said Earnachar. “She is a most rude and ungrateful young woman.” 

“I came to Greatheart Keep to bury the ashes of a knight who died in my service,” said Mazael. “Before I departed Castle Cravenlock, I was attacked.”

“Valgasts?” said Earnachar. “They have been acting strange of late. In the middle lands they only came to the surface on the days of midwinter and midsummer.”

“I was attacked by valgasts,” said Mazael. “I was also attacked by a group of your thains, led by a swordthain named Agaric.”

Earnachar flinched. “What happened?” 

“Some of them tried to assassinate me outside the walls of Cravenlock Town,” said Mazael. “They failed. I tracked them to where they had been lodging, and met with Agaric. He, too, tried to kill me.”

“That…” said Earnachar. “That makes sense. Agaric left a month ago with some of my thains. He intended to participate in the spring melee at Cravenlock Town.”