Mask of Dragons (17 page)

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Danel of Volmaya proved to be a generous host. 

Adalar sat next to Sigaldra at the dining table of Danel’s house. The main room was spacious, with rafters supporting the thatched roof overhead, a cheerful fire crackling in the fieldstone hearth. A long table of pine planks ran the length of the room. Danel’s servants came forth, bearing trenchers and pots of stew and pitchers of wine, and disappeared back into the kitchens, leaving Danel and Basjun alone with their guest. 

Adalar ate with enthusiasm. The stew was hot and spicy, the bread was thick and good, and the wine was tart. Evidently Danel’s business had prospered. He was grateful that Mazael and Romaria would do the bulk of the talking, freeing Adalar to eat. Additionally, Mazael and Romaria had decided to tell only a portion of the truth to Danel and Basjun, which was just as well, since Adalar had never been good at dissembling. 

Even Sigaldra ate. Adalar knew firsthand how a brush with death awakened the appetite. 

“Trade has been good, then?” said Romaria. 

Danel grunted. “Trade was good. For a while I had a fine business smuggling goods out of Skuldar and into the towns of the Krago Hills. The priests of the goddess forbade it, of course, but not many people cared. The faith of Marazadra was a dying faith, and I thought my friends in the secret church might live to see the day when the worship of Marazadra faded away entirely.”

“Secret church?” said Mazael.

“Those of us who follow the Amathavian gods, not the way of Marazadra,” said Danel. A flash of defiant fire went through his expression. “Why should we follow Marazadra? The teachings of the goddess are cold and cruel. The way of the Amathavian church teaches mercy, and that is something Skuldar sorely needs. I have seen other lands, and compared to them we Skuldari have stagnated in our superstitions. We would be well-rid of the soliphages, too.” He sighed and shook his head. “And then the Prophetess came.” 

“She was not Skuldari?” said Romaria.

“No.” Danel shook his head. “From some other land. I don’t know which one. Truth be told, her accent sounded like that of your friend in the black coat.” He gestured at Timothy.

“Travian,” said Timothy. “I was born in Travia.” 

“Travia,” said Danel. “I never made it that far north. So the Prophetess is Travian. A pity she didn’t stay there. She appeared in Armalast and started preaching that she was the messenger of the goddess, that all mankind had fallen into wickedness and debauchery, and that only fear of the goddess and the soliphages would compel men to virtuous behavior.” 

“She said much the same to me,” said Mazael. 

Danel grunted. “Frankly, I am surprised she did not try to dominate you with a heart spider.”

Mazael smiled. “She did. It didn’t go well.” 

“Then you are a fortunate man, sir,” said Danel. “Only a few have escaped the Prophetess’s clutches. Many of the chieftains rallied to her side, and those who resisted were compelled with heart spiders. She proclaimed that the goddess would soon return to walk among us, and the Skuldari would conquer the world. She crowned Basracus as high king in Armalast, and went to the Grim Marches to find the things needed to summon the goddess.” 

“I see,” said Mazael.

Adalar wondered if that was the Prophetess’s plan, to summon Marazadra to the world somehow. The San-keth had attempted something similar when the Malrags had invaded the Grim Marches. Of course, the San-keth had been manipulated by the wizard Malavost, who had intended to seize the power of the serpent god for himself. Maybe the Prophetess was attempting something similar. 

“Who is Basracus?” said Romaria. “We’ve heard the name…”

Danel snorted. “A toad.”

“A weasel,” said Basjun, looking up from his stew.

“Aye, that’s better,” said Danel. “A vicious little weasel. He murdered his father and seized Armalast, and then amused himself by making war on the neighboring chieftains. When the Prophetess appeared, he was the first to join her. In repayment, she made him the High King of Skuldar. Now all the priests and priestesses obey him, and even the soliphages heed him in the Prophetess’s name. The other chieftains hate him, but they dare not disobey him, not when he can call on the priests’ magic. Which is a pity, because the idiot thinks he can conquer the Grim Marches.” 

“You don’t agree?” said Mazael.

“I’ve seen the outside world, sir,” said Danel. “We Skuldari think ourselves the finest warriors in the world. We are not. We do not have heavy horsemen as the lords of the Grim Marches and Knightreach do. Their wizards are better organized than our priests. Worse, rumor says that a mighty warlord rules the Grim Marches now, a man who has crushed many armies beneath his boots. Basracus thinks he can conquer such a man? No. The fool will lead Skuldar to destruction.” 

“We need to go to Armalast,” said Mazael.

“Why?” said Danel. 

Romaria looked at Sigaldra. “The Prophetess kidnapped our friend’s younger sister. The girl has the power of the Sight, of visions and foretelling. The Prophetess needs the ability, that power, to work some evil, though we know not what.”

Danel snorted. “Perhaps she will sacrifice the girl as a blood offering to summon Marazadra back from the void.” 

Sigaldra stiffened next to Adalar, her hands curling into fists. 

“Maybe,” said Romaria. “We don’t know. We do know she is going after something called the Mask of Marazadra. Do you know of it?”

“I fear not,” said Danel. “Her pet warrior wears a magical mask, something she calls the Mask of the Champion. The man is an outlander named Rigoric. He never speaks, but he is a savage killer.” 

Mazael nodded. “I’ve seen him fight.”

“Danel,” said Romaria. “We mean to enter Armalast, steal away the child from the Prophetess, and escape Skuldar. You have no reason to help us, I know…”

“Nonsense,” said Danel. “You save my life when we first met. Those raiders would have cut my throat if you hadn’t shot them down.” 

“And if we steal the child back,” said Mazael, “it will severely hamper the Prophetess’s plans. I don’t know why she needs the girl, but I do know she expended a great deal of time and effort to kidnap her.” 

“I can offer little in the way of help myself,” said Danel. “However, the secret church has grown large, and we help each other. I have a friend in Armalast, a man named Hirune. He keeps the inn near the gate, and he is a brother of the secret church. He will aid you, and give you additional information.” 

Mazael frowned. “How will he know us?”

“My son Basjun shall accompany you,” said Danel. Basjun put down his trencher and nodded. “He is a skilled hunter and tracker, and knows Skuldar well. Additionally, we have many friends in Armalast who are part of the secret church. He will know who you can trust, and where you can hide if necessary.” 

“Thank you, Danel,” said Romaria, smiling at the old man. “That is more than we hoped for.”

“I suggest you leave on the morrow,” said Danel. “You can lodge here tonight, and then continue on your way with Basjun. He knows the back ways to Armalast, which should let you avoid both the priests and Basracus’s press gangs.” 

“I have two more questions for you,” said Mazael, leaning forward. “In addition to the Mask of Marazadra, I think the Prophetess is looking for a war horn of some kind. Do you know of anything in Armalast like that?”

Danel grunted. “A war horn? Every Skuldari village has a horn to summon the men to arms, but the Horn of Doom and Fate is secured in the citadel of Armalast.”

“The Horn of Doom and Fate?” said Earnachar. “That is hardly a cheering name.”

Danel shrugged. “According to legend, the ancient high kings of the Skuldari carried it to battle. When sounded, its blast summons the dead to fight alongside whoever carries the horn.”

“That sounds dark enough,” said Adalar.

“Like the day of the Great Rising, when the runedead rose to kill,” said Earnachar, scowling at the memory. 

“Perhaps,” said Danel. “Perhaps not. According to the legend, the horn kills anyone who sounds it.” He shrugged. “Regardless, I do not think the Prophetess would seek to summon a horde of undead upon us. She said the runedead were proof of mankind’s wickedness.”

“They weren’t,” said Mazael. “Proof of one man’s wickedness, perhaps.” He tapped his fingers against the table. “One other question. Have you ever met a woman named Mother Volaria?” 

Danel blinked, and then looked as Basjun. A moment later Danel burst out laughing, and even the stoic Basjun cracked a brief smile.

“What?” said Mazael. 

“Mother Volaria is a children’s story, my friend,” said Danel. 

“I just met a woman who called herself that,” said Mazael.

“Then I fear someone has played a peculiar practical joke upon you,” said Danel. “Mother Volaria, or so the story goes, is a witch who has lived in the mountains of Skuldar for generations beyond count. Sometimes she meets travelers and poses riddles to them. If the travelers please her, she rewards them with purses of gold or magical spells. If the travelers annoy her, she kills them, or places curses upon them, or transforms them into beasts of burden to pull her chariot.” 

“Chariot?” said Mazael.

“In some stories she rides in a chariot pulled by fire-breathing boars,” said Basjun. It was the longest sentence he had spoken since they had entered the house. 

“So someone must have been amusing themselves at your expense,” said Danel.

“No,” said Mazael, shaking his head. “Something else was going on. I’m not sure what.” He gazed at the wall for a moment, scowling. “Another player in this damned game, whatever it is. We’ll find out soon, one way or another. Master Danel, thank you for your counsel and your aid. We shall leave tomorrow.” 

Chapter 9: Choices

The next morning they prepared to leave. 

Danel was generous with his supplies. Evidently he did indeed remember how Romaria had saved his life from bandits fifteen years ago. Or he was eager to discomfort the Prophetess and save his people from the soliphages. Perhaps his hopes could come true. If Mazael killed the Prophetess at Armalast, or simply stole away Liane, then the entire war with the Skuldari and the soliphages and the valgasts might come to naught. 

Danel also provided them with animals – a string of donkeys, loaded down with supplies.

“You’ll need to leave your horses behind, I’m afraid,” said Danel, limping along the line of pack animals as his servants loaded them with supplies. “The road to Armalast is steep, and not in the best repair. Your mounts will break their legs. Best to leave them here, and you can retrieve them upon your return.”

Mazael grunted. “And if we’re all killed, you can sell them at a handsome profit?”

Danel shrugged. “A man must prepare for the worst and hope for the best.” 

Basjun helped load the animals. The young man did everything with quiet competence, and did not speak unless he thought it necessary. Given how Earnachar never shut up, it made for a welcome contrast. Mazael had known a lot of young men like Basjun. If they lived through this, Basjun would likely come home, find a wife, settle down to his father’s trading business, and raise a crop of children. 

A lot of men like Basjun had died in the last few years, fighting in the armies of the Grim Marches and Knightreach and Barellion. 

A woman’s laugh rang out, and it seemed so out of place in the grim forests and mountains of Skuldar that it shook Mazael out of his dark thoughts. He saw Romaria walk around the corner of the house, Danel limping next to her. 

“Basjun!” called Danel. “Come help an old man move some things, will you? Our guests will leave soon.”

Basjun nodded, patted one of the donkeys on the head, and headed towards the house. His big, ugly dog padded after him. He called the beast Crouch, and as vicious as the dog was, it heeded his commands as joyfully as a year-old puppy. Danel and Basjun and Crouch disappeared around the house, and Romaria headed towards Mazael. 

“How did you meet him, by the way?” said Mazael. 

Romaria blinked, and grinned. “Still wondering if I ever slept with him, is that it? Mazael Cravenlock, with all his hundreds and hundreds of women?”

“It was not hundreds and hundreds,” said Mazael, though it had been a lot. “And I didn’t know you preferred cripples before we met.” 

She shook her head. 

“He got the bad leg the day we met,” said Romaria. “Some bandits had captured him, and were amusing themselves by torturing him to death. I lured a few into the trees and killed them, and then shot the rest with arrows. Naturally, Danel was grateful. I didn’t think he would remember after all this time, but I guess some things are hard to forget.” 

“Some things are,” said Mazael.

She touched his hand, smiling. “It’s sweet that you’re jealous.” 

“Of an old man with a limp?” said Mazael. “No. Not jealous. Guilty, maybe.”

“Guilty?” said Romaria. “Of what?” 

“A lot of things,” said Mazael. “Mostly of the pain you’ve endured since you met me.”

“Mazael Cravenlock,” said Romaria. “This is unusually contemplative for you.”

“I wonder what your life would have been like if you hadn’t met me,” said Mazael. “Perhaps you would have been happier with someone like Danel.” 

“Really? Well, consider what would have happened if we hadn’t met,” said Romaria. “I would have been consumed by the Elderborn half of my soul and become a monster, and the Old Demon would have turned you into the Destroyer and killed you to harvest your power, like he did with all the others. Don’t regret anything, Mazael.” She leaned up and kissed him. She was almost as tall as he was, so she didn’t have to lean very far. “There has been pain, yes, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.” 

“I’m glad you think so,” said Mazael. “Well, shall we find the Prophetess and wreck her plans?” 

“Oh, yes,” said Romaria. 

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The air grew colder as they climbed higher into the foothills, the wind sharper. The moan of the wind seemed ominous, like the wailing of damned souls warning them off.