Mask of Dragons (6 page)

Mazael didn’t like Earnachar. The man was grasping, ambitious, and abrasive. Once, that would have been enough for Mazael to kill him. 

Now, though, that was the kind of impulse Mazael needed to control if he wanted to keep his Demonsouled nature in check. For that matter, he knew firsthand the coercive power of the heart spiders. 

It was a vicious dilemma. Fortunately, Mazael had an easy way out of it. 

“I already told you,” said Mazael, “that I have placed his fate into your hands. You are the Guardian of the Tervingi.”

“You are the hrould of the Tervingi,” pointed out Riothamus without rancor.

“True,” said Mazael. “And the hrould of the Tervingi has put this decision into your hands. The Guardian defends the Tervingi nation from dark magic, and Earnachar was under the influence of powerful dark magic. You, therefore, shall decide how responsible he was for his actions.” 

“You should either forgive him or kill him,” said Arnulf. “Anything else, you insult him and gain his lasting enmity. If you do an injury to a proud man, better to kill him with one blow. Else you shall leave him wounded and plotting your downfall.”  

“I agree,” said Molly. “Kill him and be done with it. The Tervingi will complain, of course,” she glanced at Arnulf, “but most of them don’t like Earnachar anyway, and half of them will be secretly relieved they don’t have to listen to him babble any longer.” 

“I will give the matter some thought,” said Riothamus. “He did commit evil, evil he wished to do, but he was not under his own will at the time.” He shook his head, frowning. “A matter for latter.” 

“Aye,” said Mazael. “We’ve a war to plan. The Prophetess is fleeing for Armalast, which is just as well, since that’s the chief city of the Skuldari. We’ll besiege the place, burn it down around the Prophetess’s lying ears, and take Sigaldra’s sister back.”

It sounded so easy, but Mazael knew the task would be far more complicated. 

“The holdmistress will wish to see you at once, my lord,” said Timothy.

Mazael grunted, turning his mind back to the more immediate problems. “The lords and knights have been heeding her?”

“Aye,” said Arnulf. He shrugged. “After Greatheart Keep, I don’t mind listening to her. Some of the lords and knights and headmen objected, but Talchar One-Eye and Lord Adalar follow her everywhere, and no one wants to cross either of them.”

“Really?” said Mazael. “Adalar?” He found it hard to think of Adalar as intimidating. Yet that was Mazael’s own fault. Sometimes he still thought of Adalar as the earnest boy he had met upon his return to the Grim Marches. Adalar had grown since then, becoming stronger and harder…and colder. The earnest boy had been replaced by a cold-eyed young lord. 

“He seems to work well with Lady Sigaldra, my lord,” said Timothy. “He promised to help her rescue Lady Liane, and intends to keep his word.”

“Ah,” said Romaria, with something like satisfaction. Mazael wondered what that was about. 

“Come, then,” said Mazael, swinging down from his saddle. “Let’s find them and plan our war.”

The others dismounted, and Mazael led the way into the fortified camp. 

Sigaldra and Adalar had kept the men busy. Everywhere Mazael looked, he saw men at work tending arms and armor, or stacking arrows, or caring for their horses. Many of them saw him as he went past, and offered hasty bows. Mazael greeted the men as he passed. Most of them had been with him in previous battles against the Malrags or the runedead, and he hoped they would survive the battles to come. 

Adalar and Sigaldra awaited him at the center of the camp with Sir Wesson and Talchar One-Eye. Adalar wore his usual chain mail and surcoat adorned with the stylized heart sigil of House Greatheart, the hilt of his greatsword rising over his shoulder. Sigaldra stood next to him, wearing a leather jerkin and a chain mail hauberk over her green gown, her mass of blond hair pulled in a thick braid that hung to her hips. It made her face look more forbidding, her cheekbones sharper, her blue eyes enormous in her pale face. 

She was a lovely young woman, and had Mazael been younger, stupider, and unmarried, he likely would have seduced her. The gods knew he had done it often enough before marrying Romaria. Yet there was a harsh, brittle edge to Sigaldra, a feverish light in her cold eyes. This was a dangerous young woman. She was going to do whatever it took to get her sister back, no matter what the price. 

Sigaldra reminded Mazael a little of Molly when they had first met, when she had been desperate to kill him. 

“Hrould,” said Sigaldra. “You came.” 

“I said I would, didn’t I?” said Mazael. 

Her mouth twitched a little at that. “The Jutai are accustomed to having promises broken.” 

“And I’m not accustomed to breaking mine,” said Mazael. “Maybe we can meet in the middle. Judging from the heads on stakes, I assume the valgasts attacked the camp?” 

“Several times,” said Sigaldra. “We had to fight them off, and then Lord Adalar laid a cunning trap for them.”

Adalar shrugged. “I cannot take the credit. It was one of Lord Gerald’s ideas…”

“Ah,” said Mazael. “I remember that one. The burning barn?” 

“Pavilions, this time around,” said Adalar. 

“Clever,” said Mazael.

Adalar almost smiled. “I’m just glad it worked.”

“It did,” said Sigaldra. “The valgasts have not attacked since. Then Timothy arrived with the headman Arnulf, and cast spells of warding around the camp. We have not seen the valgasts again, though we have caught some Skuldari scouts skulking in the hills.” 

“You killed the ones you caught, I trust?” said Mazael.

“Of course,” said Sigaldra with perfect coldness. There was not a lot of mercy in that woman. He understood that quite well. When Romaria had been poisoned, Mazael had brought utter ruin upon the head of the man responsible. 

Sigaldra would do the same to the Prophetess if given the chance.

“Come, then,” said Mazael. “Call together the lords, knights, and headmen who have arrived already. We have a maiden to rescue and a war to plan.” 

###

Sigaldra followed Mazael as he strode to the center of the camp, gathering his vassals and headmen around him. 

They followed him, she noted, like iron nails rolling after a lodestone.

She felt it herself, did she not? Sigaldra did not think Mazael particularly handsome, not with his hard features and graying hair and eyes the color of sword blades. For that matter, she disliked trusting anyone outside of the Jutai nation. Yet Mazael had a dark sort of charisma within him, in much the same way a hunting predator had charisma. 

Some of it was his reputation – the man had been known as a fell knight and a fearsome commander even before Ragnachar had forced the Jutai to follow the Tervingi to the Grim Marches. 

Some of it was the things he had done since becoming liege lord of the Grim Marches. Once the runedead had threatened to overrun the entire world, and the Justiciar Order had promised to drown the Grim Marches in blood.

There were no more runedead, and the Justiciar Order was extinct…but the folk of the Grim Marches, the Tervingi, and the Jutai were still here. 

That was in large part because of Mazael Cravenlock. 

Sigaldra needed to trust someone. The Jutai were only a remnant of the nation they had once been. They needed a protector, and Sigaldra needed someone to help her rescue Liane. Mazael might be that man. The fact that the Jutai were still alive at all had a great deal to do with Mazael. Another man, she knew, might have had no qualms about exterminating the final remnant of the Jutai and taking their lands. Ragnachar would have done it. Perhaps even Lord Richard Mandragon might have given such a command to ensure peace between his vassals and the Tervingi. 

Mazael hadn’t. Sigaldra wondered why he had not. For all his charisma and authority, he was clearly a man who loved war, which made his restraint all the more unusual. He was a fascinating man, but dangerous, and Sigaldra always thought there was something strange about him, something uncanny. 

Sometimes he reminded her of Ragnachar. 

An odd thought, that, given that Mazael had killed Ragnachar at Sword Town. 

Still, she would have preferred that someone like Adalar ruled the Grim Marches. He reminded her not of Ragnachar, but of her father and brothers and so many other of slain swordthains of the Jutai nation. They had been men who did not love war for its own sake, but who had been skilled at it nonetheless. 

She put aside such musings. She was the last holdmistress of the Jutai, and the final responsibility for their defense lay with her, not with Mazael or Adalar or anyone else. 

“Lord Mazael,” she said in a quiet voice. 

Mazael looked back at her, his eyes the color of cold steel. “Aye?” 

“Have you decided the punishment of Earnachar son of Balnachar yet?” she said. 

“The Guardian will decide his fate,” said Mazael.

A flicker of anger went through Sigaldra. “He betrayed you and made war upon the Jutai.” 

“He did,” said Mazael. “He was not in control of himself at the time, though. The heart spider was commanding him.”

“He cooperated with the Prophetess at first,” said Sigaldra. “If he had not done so, much evil would have been averted.”

“He claims that he planned to turn the Prophetess and Rigoric over to me,” said Mazael. 

Sigaldra scoffed. “He is a liar.” 

“Maybe.” Mazael considered that. “Probably. Though if I were to execute my lords and headmen for being ambitious liars, I’d have neither nobles nor Tervingi headmen left.” 

“The Grim Marches might be well improved for it,” said Sigaldra. 

Mazael snorted. “Perhaps they would. Still, I will leave Earnachar’s fate in the Guardian’s hands.”

Sigaldra glanced back at Riothamus. The Guardian was a starkly handsome man, with thick black hair and deep blue eyes. Right now the entirety of his attention was upon Molly Cravenlock, and the Lady of Shadows laughed at something the Guardian said. Riothamus had a good reputation, even among the Jutai. 

“He will spare Earnachar,” said Sigaldra. “Yet Earnachar deserves death.” 

“Maybe he does,” said Mazael. “I don’t like the man, and he has caused me a great deal of trouble. Yet he did most of that trouble while he was under the control of the Prophetess’s pet heart spiders. I cannot determine what effect that had upon him. So, his fate is in Riothamus’s hands.” 

Sigaldra pressed her lips together. Earnachar had more than earned death in her opinion. 

Perhaps she would yet have the chance to give it to him…

She shook her head. In the end, it hardly mattered. Earnachar had committed his crimes, and they had allowed the Prophetess to take Liane. Getting Liane back was more important than vengeance. 

But if the chance came to make Earnachar pay for his crimes…she would not hesitate to take it. 

They reached the center of the camp. Their one remaining pavilion had been raised to house the maps, and Mazael ducked inside, Sigaldra and all the others following him. The lords and knights and headmen crowded into the pavilion, and Sigaldra quickly took a place near Mazael. But not too near – a charismatic lord like Mazael would have a wandering eye, and Lady Romaria seemed like the sort of woman who would deal violently with any woman who showed too much interest in her husband. 

Someone bumped into Sigaldra. 

“I apologize,” said Adalar. 

She offered him a quick smile. “Do not fear. We must make do with close quarters.”

“Indeed,” said Adalar. 

His eyes met hers. This close, they were more of an amber color, and…

A wave of some strange emotion went through her, and Sigaldra looked away. 

“My lord and knights and headmen!” said Mazael his voice cutting through the noise. At once the others fell silent. “It seems the Skuldari interpreted the defeat of the runedead as a sign from their goddess, and have come forth to conquer the world in her name. The valgasts and the soliphages worship the same goddess, some dusty bitch named Marazadra, and so fight alongside the Skuldari. They’ve decided to attack the Grim Marches first. So we’ll chase them back into the mountains of Skuldar and burn their city down around their ears. Let’s see if Marazadra will save them. When we’ve finished, the Skuldari will wish they had stayed hiding in their mountains.” 

The men cheered, the noise tremendous in the confined space of the pavilion. 

“A good plan,” said Arnulf in his dry voice. “Just how are we going to do that?” 

“Armalast,” said Mazael. “It’s the chief city and stronghold of Skuldar. Some Skuldari chieftain named Basracus has proclaimed himself the high king of the Skuldari, and has raised his banner within its walls. Additionally, the Prophetess fled to Armalast after her attack at Greatheart Keep was repulsed.”

Sigaldra scowled. The Prophetess’s attack had been repulsed, but she had not been defeated there. No, there entire reason the Prophetess had gone to Greatheart Keep had been to capture Liane, and she had succeeded. 

“No one here has ever been to Armalast,” said a middle-aged knight that Sigaldra did not recognize. “The Skuldari slew all who ever passed their borders. How will we find it?” 

“True,” said Mazael. “The Skuldari have slain all who crossed their borders…almost all of them. Romaria?” 

Romaria Greenshield Cravenlock came to her husband’s side, her cool blue eyes sweeping over the pavilion. The lords and knights and headmen seemed uneasy around her, and Sigaldra could hardly blame them. She never knew quite what to make of Lady Romaria. Sigaldra would have expected a man like Mazael to either have a small army of concubines, or a pretty, empty-headed wife with wide hips for birthing many children (or, more likely, both the empty-headed wife and many concubines). Romaria could have been anywhere from fifteen to forty, depending on how the light struck her, and her eyes were a little too blue and her face a little too angular to be human. She had the pointed ears of her Elderborn blood, and various rumors claimed that she was a sorceress or that she feasted upon the flesh of the innocent while in her wolf form. The stories may have been inconsistent, but they all agreed that the wife of Mazael was mad and dangerous and not someone to cross.