Mask of Dragons (34 page)

Liane screamed into her gag, and Mazael charged forward, drawing back Talon to strike.

This time the Prophetess was faster. 

Perhaps the metal spider encircling her chest, the Talisman of the Messenger, lent its power to her, just as it had healed her wounds. The Prophetess raked her hand through the air, fingers trailing purple fire, and a pool of mist appeared at her feet once again.

But this time, four Crimson Hunters came at her call, shimmering into existence before her. Worse, the surviving spider from her earlier summoning remained, and the creature whirled, turning to pursue Romaria and Sigaldra as they retreated. 

The four new Crimson Hunters rushed at Mazael.

Chapter 18: Challenge

Then all four Crimson Hunters froze in perfect unison.

Mazael blinked. He looked to the side, towards the spider pursing Romaria and Sigaldra, but that Crimson Hunter had frozen as well. Between the spiders’ gleaming bodies, Mazael glimpsed the Prophetess and Rigoric, and the Prophetess’s fury had changed to stark bewilderment. He shot a quick look at Timothy, to see if the wizard had found some way of stunning the summoned spirit creatures, but Timothy looked just as surprised as everyone else.

“What are you waiting for?” said the Prophetess. “Kill them! Kill them now!” 

The Crimson Hunters rippled, and the four of them in front of Mazael shimmered and dissolved back into mist. For an instant the mist swirled across the ground, and then vanished, clearing the way to the Prophetess. The fifth Crimson Hunter, the one pursuing Romaria and Sigaldra, remained intact, quivering as if gripped by some terrible force.

Romaria moved in a blur, yanking the final silver arrow from her quiver. The Prophetess flinched, trying to avoid the shot, but it proved unnecessary. The arrow came to a sudden halt in midair. Had the Prophetess’s warding spell caught it? 

The arrow shivered and clattered to the ground. 

“That,” said a woman’s voice, worn and old but still strong, “will be quite enough of that, children.” 

Mazael heard a cane tapping against the stone of the cavern floor. 

He was not at all surprised when Mother Volaria came limping around the side of the shrine, her cane rattling with every step. She wore the guise of an old woman once more, draped in black, her white teeth gleaming in her cold smile. 

“Who in the name of the goddess are you?” said the Prophetess. 

“Now, now,” said Volaria. She reached the top of the stone steps and started down, taking them one at a time. “I hope you would have figured that out by now. To be fair, Lord Mazael did not, but he came very close.”

“What are you babbling about?” said the Prophetess. “I demand that you name yourself.”

Volaria sighed. “The young are so impatient. Really, girl. If you’re going to play the game for such high stakes, you’ll have to cultivate quicker wits.” 

The Prophetess’s rage and irritation vanished, replaced by cool control once more.

“Let us see,” she said, “if your quicker wits will save you from this.” 

She thrust her hand forward, and a blast of purple fire howled from her fingers and shot towards Volaria with the speed of an arrow. Even from a distance, the power radiating from the blast of ethereal fire made the hair on Mazael’s neck stand on end, and he knew if the spell had touched him, it might have killed him where he stood.

Volaria made a swift gesture with her free hand. The burst of flame struck her and winked out of existence. 

The Prophetess rocked back, stunned.

“Oh, dear,” said Volaria. “You really ought to learn better self-control. Power without self-control is a recipe for destruction.” She smiled at Mazael. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?” 

“Who are you?” said the Prophetess.

Volaria reached the bottom of the stairs and walked past the Prophetess. The tap of her cane was loud in the tense silence. Rigoric stared at her, greatsword motionless in his fists, but did not move. Mazael turned his head and beckoned to Romaria and Sigaldra, and they hurried to join him, keeping away from the remaining Crimson Hunter. 

“You don’t know?” said Mother Volaria. She stopped between Mazael and the Prophetess, leaning upon her cane, and her form shimmered and rippled, changing into that of the young woman who had approached Mazael at the Guesthouse. “Perhaps your pet spider hasn’t told you yet. Though in point of fact, I suspect you are the spider’s pet.”

“You don’t recognize Mother Volaria?” said Mazael. “You ought to pay better attention to the legends of the Skuldari, Lady Celina.”

Her eyes narrowed at the use of her name, but her cold sneer returned. “Mother Volaria? The witch of the mountains? There is no such woman. A fable the Skuldari told each other as their thoughts turned from the true worship of the goddess.” She glared at Volaria. “I say again. Who are you?”

“It is customary,” said Volaria with a smile, “for the guest to introduce herself first.”

Mazael blinked. 

“Guest?” he said. “This is the dragon’s mountain. How…” 

And then the pieces fell together in his mind, and he started to laugh.

“Do you find this funny?” snapped the Prophetess. 

“Not in the least,” said Mazael, “for the joke is upon us.” 

“Ah,” murmured Volaria, her pale eyes flashing. “You do understand.” 

“Understand what?” said the Prophetess. 

“She’s right, you know,” said Mazael. “If you’re going to play this damned game, you need to pay better attention. Do you not yet realize it? Mother Volaria is real. She’s not a legend. She’s very real, and she’s been wandering the mountains of Skuldar for three thousand years. Except Mother Volaria isn’t her real name. It’s just what the Skuldari called her when she visited them.” 

Romaria understood first. Mazael saw her eyes go wide, saw her take an involuntary step back.

“Go on,” said Volaria. “You’re almost there.”

“The Old Demon bound Azurvaltoria to watch over the Mask of Marazadra,” said Mazael. “I thought that meant the dragon was trapped within these caves, unable to leave. But in game like this, the letter of the rules apply, not the spirit…and I assume that also applies to spells of magical binding. The dragon was bound to guard the Mask, but she could leave the Veiled Mountain…so long as the trip had something to do with protecting the Mask.” 

“Indeed,” said Volaria. She spun and ran up the steps to the shrine, the black skirt flaring around her legs, and whirled to face them again. “After all, I imagine the dragon needed to keep watch over the Skuldari, lest they try to break into the Mountain. And they tried, again and again and again.”

The Prophetess’s eyes narrowed. 

“Then,” said the Prophetess, “you are…”

“Would you like to know who I really am?” said Volaria. “Lord Mazael figured it out. You, alas, shall have be shown.” She spread her arms, smiling her white smile. “Watch closely.”

She blurred and shimmered once more, disappearing.

The dragon appeared an instant later. 

Mazael had been expecting it, but he still took an involuntary step back. Earnachar’s stunned cursing filled his ears. Sigaldra muttered something about her ancestors, and the Prophetess hissed and lifted one hand. 

The dragon was a little smaller than the one Mazael had fought and killed outside of Arylkrad, but she was still nearly a hundred feet long from snout to tail. Scales of electric blue armored her sleek form, and Mazael knew from experience that those scales would be as tough as steel armor. Her muscled body had to weigh several tons, and her forelimbs and hind legs were tipped with claws like sword blades. Great black wings rested against her back, folded and ready to lift her into the sky, and a row of spikes went down her spine, turning into something like jagged horns near her head. Her huge eyes were a pale shade of blue, and her dagger-like teeth were very white and very sharp. 

“Have you now realized the truth?” said Azurvaltoria, her voice like thunder. 

###

Sigaldra stared at the colossal dragon, her mind refusing to believe the evidence of her eyes. 

She had seen Mazael’s sword and armor and Lady Molly’s dagger, and numerous others had testified to the existence of dragons. Yet some part of Sigaldra had never quite believed them. Seeing Azurvaltoria in all of her terrible splendor proved the existence of dragons beyond all doubt. Sigaldra could hardly tear her eyes from the colossal creature, and some part of her mind gibbered in stark terror. She had been terrified of the soliphage in the cave, and that creature had haunted her nightmares ever since.

Azurvaltoria could have crushed the soliphage in an instant. 

Part of Sigaldra’s mind trembled with fear…but the rest of it performed cold calculation.

The dragon held the full attention of Mazael and Romaria and Adalar and the others.

The Prophetess had her full attention on the dragon.

That meant no one was paying any attention to Liane. 

Sigaldra took a few quiet steps backwards. No one noticed. She took a deep breath, ducked behind a cluster of stalagmites, and broke into a run. If she circled around the cleared space at the foot of the shrine, past a pool of lava and a few stacks of gold bars, she could approach back of the shrine holding the Mask. That would put her behind the Prophetess and Rigoric.

It would also put her behind Liane. 

With the dragon commanding the attention of everyone else, perhaps Sigaldra could cut Liane’s ropes and break her free. She doubted Azurvaltoria would care. So long as Liane took nothing from the dragon’s treasure, Azurvaltoria would do nothing to stop them. In fact, if the Prophetess tried to interfere, the dragon would likely burn her to ashes. 

It was worth the risk. 

The heat of the lava pool washed over Sigaldra, and she hurried past it, circling towards her sister.

###

Adalar stared at the dragon, unable to take his eyes from the great creature. 

He had never seen a dragon, but he had heard the tales. In Knightreach, the singers and the jongleurs liked to sing songs of knights who had overcome dragons in single combat, and the Dominiar Order once claimed to have rid Mastaria of dragons. 

Looking at Azurvaltoria, Adalar wondered how anyone could possibly defeat a dragon without an army and a dozen powerful wizards. If the dragon felt like it, she could have bitten a grown man in half as easily as Adalar could bite into a loaf of bread. 

“Behold, for I am Azurvaltoria!” thundered the dragon, her massive head waving atop the thick, serpentine neck as she glared down at the Prophetess. “The Veiled Mountain is mine, and everything within it is mine! For three thousand years I have guarded this mountain, and you presume to steal from me!” The dragon moved forward with fluid grace. “You shall meet the fate of all thieves.”

A harsh light flashed behind the dragon’s white fangs. 

Adalar could not believe it would be that easy. Had they come all this way only for Azurvaltoria to burn the Prophetess and Rigoric to charred bone? It would make for an anticlimactic end to their quest, but Adalar would not complain.

“Azurvaltoria!” said the Prophetess. “Hear me! It is my right to challenge you!” 

“You speak to me of rights, thief?” said Azurvaltoria. 

“Three thousand years ago the Old Demon bound you to guard the Mask of Marazadra,” said the Prophetess. “By the laws of the binding, I have the right to challenge you, and you must therefore set a trial for me. When I succeed, you will surrender the Mask of Marazadra.” 

“But when you fail,” said Azurvaltoria, that massive voice purring like a cat, “your life is forfeit to me.” 

“So be it,” said the Prophetess.

“Then I challenge her in turn,” said Mazael, stepping forward. Rigoric raised his sword in menacing guard, but the Prophetess remained motionless. “The Mask must remain here.”

“Nevertheless, I have the right to offer a challenge to claim the Mask,” said the Prophetess. 

“And that, in turn, means I have the right to offer a challenge,” said Mazael. 

Azurvaltoria let out a musical, thunderous laugh, the echoes bouncing off the ceiling and walls of the vast cavern. The Prophetess stared at Mazael, her eyes narrowed. Her right rose to her collar and vanished within her robe, and Adalar had the distinct feeling that she was grasping that metal spider wrapped around her torso. 

Something moved from the corner of his eye.

Adalar glanced to the side, not wanting to draw the Prophetess’s or Rigoric’s attention. To the right, he saw that the remaining Crimson Hunter had started to move, circling around the confrontation. Usually the Crimson Hunters moved with the furious click of their claws against the stone. Apparently the creatures had the ability to move in perfect silence when necessary, which was more chilling by far. He looked back at the Prophetess. Her face was calm, but her eyes did not blink.

She was controlling the Crimson Hunter. Why? Did she think to use it in an ambush? It couldn’t hurt the dragon, and if the spider interfered with the dragon’s game, Azurvaltoria would likely respond with rage. 

“A challenge,” said Azurvaltoria. “So be it. I have decided that you shall challenge each other.” 

###

Sigaldra circled around the base of the shrine as fast as she could.

For an instant she considered taking the Mask of Marazadra and using it as a bargaining chip. Perhaps she could hold it over a pool of lava and threaten to destroy it if the Prophetess did not surrender, but she dismissed the idea. For one, the dragon would likely interpret it as an attempt at theft. That, and Sigaldra had seen how that metal spider had sunk into the Prophetess’s flesh, like a giant leech drinking her blood.

Would the Mask of Marazadra do the same to Sigaldra? 

Best not to find out. 

That, and it seemed that the Prophetess needed both Liane and the Mask to summon Marazadra. If Sigaldra could deny the Prophetess access to Liane, then the Mask was useless. 

She eased around the base of the shrine’s low hill, loosening her short sword in its scabbard.