Mask of Dragons (24 page)

Mazael shoved away from the wall, backing away as the Crimson Hunter spun, preparing itself to spring once again.

The door on the far side of the dining hall boomed open, and Mazael cursed. He could barely keep one Crimson Hunter at bay. Trying to hold back a Crimson Hunter and another opponent would prove impossible.

Rigoric stepped through the door, the Mask of the Champion glinting in the dim torchlight. Rigoric made no sound, and his reaction was impossible to gauge behind his strange mask, but his bloodshot eyes narrowed. 

He reached over his shoulder and drew his greatsword, the steel rasping. 

The Champion took one step forward to join the fight, and then two arrows slammed into him. Sigaldra’s arrow rebounded from his fine cuirass, but Romaria’s arrow punched through the chain mail covering his right shoulder. 

Rigoric did not even slow. He reached up and ripped the arrow free, and as he did, steel threads seemed to erupt from the wound, knitting it closed like living metallic stitches. 

Rigoric advanced, silent and implacable, and the Crimson Hunter skittered after Mazael.

###

Adalar charged, raising his greatsword high. 

His weapons could not hurt the Crimson Hunter. Yet Rigoric, for all his strange abilities, was still only flesh and blood. The mask had to be the key. If Adalar could get the mask off the Champion, then Rigoric could be killed. 

Rigoric spun as Adalar attacked, flicking his blade down in a parry. Adalar’s sword rebounded from his opponent’s weapon, but he retracted his sword as Rigoric attacked, wielding the heavy greatsword as if it was made of paper. The Champion was fast and hellishly strong. Given enough time, he would wear down Adalar and kill him.

Two more arrows slammed into the Champion. This time one of Sigaldra’s arrows punched through the armor in his knee, and Romaria’s shaft pierced his recently wounded shoulder. 

“Remember me?” shouted Sigaldra, her voice filled with hate. “You got away once before, but this time…”

Rigoric attacked, steel threads erupting from his wounds, and Adalar fell back on the defensive, the Champion driving him across the hall. 

###

Mazael ducked under the lash of the Crimson Hunter’s legs, sweeping Talon across its carapace once more. Strange grayish light and mist leaked from its wounds, but the injuries did not seem to slow the creature at all.

Timothy finished his next spell, and a pool of glowing mist swirled across the floor. From the pool sprang three gaunt gray wolves, their bodies lean with muscle, their fur stringy and lank, their eyes burning with hellish light. The wolves were just slightly translucent…and each one of the spirit creatures had a pair of barbed tentacles rising from their shoulders. The creatures leapt upon the Crimson Hunter, and since they were creatures of the spirit world, their claws and fangs bit into the creature. The huge spider reared backwards, trying to dislodge the wolves, but they were more of an annoyance than anything else. 

Yet Mazael could exploit that annoyance, and he attacked, hitting the spider behind its head once, twice, three times. Talon bit deeper and deeper into the armored black carapace, and gray mist and light poured from behind the Crimson Hunter’s head. Mazael pressed closer, trying to land a decisive blow.

The Crimson Hunter’s legs flexed, and the spider leaped backwards, landing on the far side of the hall. The movement knocked the spirit wolves from its back, and the creatures fell sprawling to the ground. Before they recovered, the giant spider went on the attack, stabbing with its obsidian legs and snapping with its pincers. In a matter of moments it destroyed all three spirit creatures, their forms dissolving into mist as they were drawn back into the spirit world. Timothy stumbled with a grunt of pain, his mental link to the creatures shattered. 

Adalar and Rigoric wheeled around each other, greatswords flashing. Adalar had grown into a swordsman of vigor and skill, and Mazael saw no flaws in his technique. That was probably the only thing that kept him alive against the fury of the Champion. A half-dozen broken arrows jutted from Rigoric, but the wounds did not seem to slow him at all. 

The Crimson Hunter came at Mazael again in a blur, pincers snapping, and Mazael had no choice but to retreat, keeping Talon up to ward off the spider’s attacks. The Skuldari cavalry spiders were dangerous, but they were still animals, and possible to frighten. The Crimson Hunter was far more intelligent, and Mazael suspected the ancient creature had a malign and cunning intellect. Step by step it pushed him back towards the corner of the dining hall, using its long legs to stay out of his reach while it attacked. Another few yards, and the spider could pin him in place with its legs and rip him to pieces with its pincers.

Or it could simply crush him beneath its armored bulk. 

Sooner or later Rigoric would overpower the others and turn his attention to Mazael, and then the battle would end. Or, worse, the Prophetess would rouse herself and throw her spells into the fray, which would end the battle even sooner. 

Mazael had to do something to win the fight, now.

He launched a rapid series of attacks, the Crimson Hunter weaving and stabbing with its legs as it avoided Talon’s gold-burning edge. Mazael feinted to the right, and then threw himself forward, leaping upon the Crimson Hunter’s back.

As he did, its pincers closed around his left leg, just above the knee.

That hurt. That hurt a lot. 

He felt the jagged pincer sink deep into his flesh, and then a shudder as it impacted upon the bone. One side of the pincers deflected off the edge of his mail hauberk, which was likely the only thing that kept the Crimson Hunter from biting off his leg. Yet Mazael’s momentum ripped his leg free from the creature’s grasp, blood pouring into the inside of his boot, and Mazael stabbed down with Talon once, twice, three times, the blade of dragon claw sinking deep into the Crimson Hunter’s carapace. 

The creature reared back with a shudder, and Mazael lost his grip, hitting the floor hard and slamming into one of the chairs. He scrambled backwards, every movement filling his left leg with agony, though he already felt the slow pulse as his Demonsouled blood healed the wound. The Crimson Hunter jerked back and forth, its movements growing slower. Its wounds were starting to heal, but slowly, and cracks spread across its carapace from the gash Mazael had carved into its abdomen. Mazael heaved himself to his feet, trying to ignore the agony in his leg. If he could just land a killing blow before the spider recovered…

The door on the far side of the hall swung open, and a slight figure in a black robe stepped out. 

“What madness is this?” came a familiar woman’s voice.

Mazael’s gaze met the Prophetess’s green eyes, and she flinched in shock. 

“You!” she said. “How can…” She looked at Rigoric. “Kill them! Kill them all, now!” 

“Timothy!” said Mazael, stepping back. “Now!” 

###

Adalar wheeled in his duel with Rigoric, moving back and forth across the hall. 

Sigaldra saw that he was overmatched. 

Adalar fought as well as any man she had ever seen, as well as her father and brothers. Any other foe would have fallen to his greatsword by now. 

Any human foe, at least. 

The Mask of the Champion had transformed Rigoric into something other than human. 

Watching Rigoric fight was like watching a force of nature. Romaria had hit Rigoric a half-dozen times with arrows that had pierced his armor. Sigaldra herself had landed four arrows that had sunk into his flesh. Any two of Romaria’s arrows would have killed a charging boar.

They didn’t even slow Rigoric down. 

Every time an arrow hit him, steel threads erupted from the wound, ripping apart the arrow and sealing the gash closed. She saw the steel threads flowing down from the mask, piercing his skin and weaving their way into his flesh. During the fight at Greatheart Keep, she had seen Mazael cut Rigoric down, yet he had risen again to fight here.

Could anything kill the man? 

Adalar’s face glistened with sweat, his breath coming hard and fast. His movements hadn’t slowed, but sooner or later the relentless Rigoric would wear him down. Mazael and Timothy were locked in battle with the Crimson Hunter. Sigaldra had to do something, something that would change the course of the fight before they were overwhelmed and killed. 

“Kill them! Kill them all, now!”

That voice, that familiar, hated voice, filled Sigaldra’s ears.

The Prophetess stood in the doorway at the far end of the room, her eyes wide with shock. A mixture of terror and exultation and pure molten fury surged through Sigaldra. Here stood her enemy, the architect of all that the Jutai had suffered since settling at Greatheart Keep. Here stood the woman who had kidnapped Liane.

It was possible Liane was in the very next room. 

“Liane!” screamed Sigaldra as the Prophetess cast a spell, more gray mist swirling at her feet.

Sigaldra aimed and released, sending an arrow speeding across the room, and her fingers moved in a blur, sending another at the Prophetess. The first arrow slammed into the black-robed woman’s hip, and the Prophetess rocked back with a cry of shocked pain. A fierce surge of vicious, joyous rage shot through Sigaldra. The Prophetess had not warded herself! The impact of the first arrow knocked the Prophetess back, and the second arrow missed her, sinking into the thick wood of the door. As the Prophetess fell to one knee with a shriek of pain, the mist at her feet swirled, condensing into a pair of hulking, gleaming shapes.

Two more Crimson Hunters shimmered into existence and stalked forward with deadly grace. 

###

Mazael stumbled back, Talon raised in guard, his leg throbbing.

He and Timothy had barely been able to overpower one Crimson Hunter. Three Crimson Hunters, backed by the fury of Rigoric, would make short work of them. 

It was time to leave. 

“Timothy!” said Mazael.

Timothy reached into his coat, producing a copper tube about a foot long, both ends topped with cork. He yanked away one of the corks and started casting a spell, gesturing with the tube, flames crackling around the fingers of his free hand. Mazael seized one of the chairs and flung it. The chair missed the injured Crimson Hunter, but it smashed into the side of Rigoric’s head. The Champion stumbled as the chair shattered against him. Adalar stepped back, breathing hard.

“Come on,” said Mazael, grabbing Adalar’s shoulder and pushing him towards the others. “Time to go.” 

Adalar blinked, and then his eyes grew wide. 

He had seen Timothy use one of those tubes before.

“We cannot go!” said Sigaldra. “Liane’s here! We…”

“If we stay here we die,” said Mazael. “Behind Timothy, now!”

Her expression hardened, but she snarled and ran behind Timothy. 

“Kill them!” snarled the Prophetess. The two new Crimson Hunters blocked Mazael’s view of the door, but he heard the Prophetess’s voice fill with venomous rage. “Kill them! You will not stop the return of the goddess, Mazael Cravenlock. You will die here! You will…”

“For the gods’ sake, shut up!” said Mazael. “Timothy!” 

Timothy finished his spell and thrust the copper tube as Rigoric and the three Crimson Hunters charged. 

The results were impressively explosive.

The end of the tube erupted in a snarling cone of flame, so hot that Mazael felt it singe his hair and beard. A gale of fire tore through the hall, setting the broken table, the chairs, and the tapestries upon the wall ablaze. The fire sheeted across the Crimson Hunters, and they erupted into flames, their carapaces crackling, the horrible smell of their burning flesh flooding the hall. The flames engulfed Rigoric, and the Champion fell to one knee, a hissing noise rising from his armor as the fire consumed his flesh. Mazael wondered if that would be enough to kill him, but the Mask of the Champion erupted with steel threads, digging into Rigoric’s skin. 

The heat was terrible. It was like standing a few inches from a blacksmith’s fire.

“Go!” said Mazael. “We can’t stay here! Go!”

They stumbled back into the corridor, and Mazael slammed the door shut behind them. 

“We’re so close!” said Sigaldra. “If we just wait for the fire to die down…”

“There is no time,” said Mazael. “That fire won’t slow the Prophetess for long.”

Sigaldra started to protest. 

“He’s right, Sigaldra,” said Romaria. “The Prophetess is already casting wards to dispel the flames. Another few moments and she will summon fresh Crimson Hunters to kill us. We must flee.”

A look of furious, twisting pain came over Sigaldra’s face, and for a moment Mazael thought she would rip open the door and take her chances with the inferno beyond. 

“He’s right, Sigaldra,” said Adalar. “We could barely hold back Rigoric and one Crimson Hunter. With the Prophetess’s magic behind them, we don’t have a chance.”

She glared at him, but gave a single sharp nod.

“Go,” said Mazael as the door began to smoke, black spots spreading across the thick wood.

They ran down the corridor, hastening back to the balconies of the great hall. Mazael’s leg slowed him, but he felt the gash healing, the torn muscle and skin knitting itself together. Hopefully the others would be too distracted to notice. Romaria knew the truth about his dark heritage, but Adalar and Timothy and Sigaldra did not, and Mazael saw no reason to let them know. 

His Demonsouled rage screamed through him, demanding that he go back, that he kill and kill until his enemies lay in their own blood at his feet. His mind, however, knew that such a course was suicide. 

So he pushed on, ignoring the hideous pain in his leg. The gods knew he had a lot of experience at ignoring ghastly agony. 

They reached the balcony overlooking the great hall and hurried down the spiral stair to the catacombs. Mazael closed the hidden door after him, and as he did, he heard a thunderous explosion echo through the great hall. Either the fire had chewed through the door to the corridor, or the Prophetess had simply blasted it off its hinges. He doubted Sigaldra’s arrow would slow the Prophetess for long. Adalar had hit her with a crossbow bolt in Greatheart Keep, and the Prophetess had shown no sign of that injury. Likely she possessed some magical method of healing herself.