Mistress Of Masks (Book 1) (25 page)

Orrick kept his head down and clung to the shadows as he crept along the outer wall of the seclusionary. Dosing himself with a careful amount of scorpion venom might have put him into a deathlike sleep, allowing him to pass for just another corpse after the battle. But it couldn’t make him invisible now that he’d clawed his way from the bottom of a pile of lifeless bodies and was on the move.

The after-effects of the venom had left him dizzy, and his legs felt unnaturally heavy. But some force or fate was on his side, because it was an especially black night, the moon and stars screened by clouds. No enemy soldier spotted him or cried an alarm as he limped away from the fallen seclusionary.

That was lucky, because some scavenger had apparently robbed his “corpse” of its weapons. Even his pockets were empty. The coins from the assassin were gone, the pay he had accepted in return for his promise to ensure Eydis made it out of the battle alive. Ah, well. He probably would have done as much even without the money. After all, she was still his only link to Arik the One-Eyed. Sooner or later, if he survived this night, he would have to go looking for her.

But not now. For tonight he couldn’t think beyond finding someplace safe to hide away and sleep off the effects of the toxin.

Geveral had to stop and lean against the wall to catch his breath. Eydis looked at him quizzically as she rushed past, but her hands were full with the injured child, so she didn’t stop to check on him. He hid his relief, which wasn’t hard to do in the gloom of the tunnel. The only illuminating light was that of the torches the fleeing adherents carried, and those were swiftly moving away, leaving him behind.

Once alone in the dark, except for the distant noise of the others’ footsteps moving away, he pressed his forehead into the cool earthen wall and tried to gather his scattered emotions. It had been such an overwhelming experience, commanding the storm over the seclusionary. Did Eydis guess it was no force of nature but his own manipulations that had sent those shards of lightning falling from the sky to strike the invading enemy? How could she, when he hardly believed it himself? A week ago he could barely summon a fine mist over the grass. Yet tonight he had created a storm so violent its winds overturned small trees and its lightning incinerated dozens of enemy soldiers.

Eydis had once predicted he would find this power. But now it was awakened, he wasn’t sure he could handle it. His stomach roiled at memory of the destruction he had wrought. Using his magic in this way had been like a rejection of the peaceful teachings he had always followed. But what choice had there been?

He rubbed a trembling hand over his face and realized he wasn’t only drained emotionally but physically. Using so much magic had sapped his strength to the point where it was an effort to shove away from the wall again and follow after the others. Remembering the manner of Mentor Kesava’s death, he wondered with a chill just how far he could safely push himself without meeting the same fate. One thing was certain. He couldn’t let anything like this happen again. Until he learned his limits, he was a risk to himself and everyone around him.

Varian tried not to show his unease as he paced the seclusionary courtyard in the gray light of early dawn. It wasn’t the heaps of dead scattering the ground that troubled him or the damage from last night’s unnatural storm. One didn’t expect to win a battle without casualties. He suspected the master was unconcerned with the number of followers he lost or the damage to the seclusionary, as long as Varian achieved the expected results. But had he?

Shuddering at the question of failure, he tried to appear confident. He instructed the undead messenger at his side, “Tell the master victory has been won and the seclusionary is now under our control. Our soldiers are tearing the place apart even now in search of the artifact he desires. It is only a matter of time before the scepter is found.”

The undead creature drew back its lips, revealing blackened gums “And the survivors?” it asked. “What do I tell the master about their escape?”

Varian’s cheek twitched, and his throat went suddenly dry. “Tell him… tell him there was a minor setback, but all will soon be in hand.”

The silver-haired wizard straightened from the gazing ball he had been peering into and started upon finding he was not alone. “You?” he snapped, stepping away from the pedestal. “How did you get in here?”

The White Lady smirked. “Surely you do not imagine yourself the only one possessed of magical means to travel and observe?”

“You’re supposed to be bound to your cursed island,” he pointed out, following her casual circuit of his viewing chamber.

Her ethereal form passed through a column, undeterred by the solid granite. “My corpse may be bound there, but of late my spirit is prone to wander.”

“Then in future kindly let it travel somewhere else,” he warned. “When I want you, I’ll send for you, the same as all the others.”

“I am not one of your fire scorpions to be summoned and sent away when you’ve no further use for me,” she said. “You were less imperious at our last meeting. Then you were eager to obtain my help. And grateful.”

“So I remain,” he said, modifying his tone slightly. “You have done your part adequately.”

“Only adequately?” she asked. “I protected your precious mistress of masks, as you instructed. I kept the catalysts alive on my island and shepherded them on their way. If not for me, they would not have survived as far as Asincourt.”

She glanced sidelong at the gazing ball on its pedestal, thinking of the things she could accomplish in just a few minutes alone with such a powerful instrument. But it was clear from the way her reluctant host positioned himself to block her access that she would not get that chance today. A pity.

“You will be rewarded as promised,” he said, pulling her attention back to the conversation.

She curled a lip. “And your favorite assassin? How will he be rewarded?”

“That is not your concern. He and the Kroadian barbarian ensured the girl survived the seclusionary battle, before herding her in the necessary direction. They have proven themselves of use.”

“Then she comes this way? To the tower?”

He allowed himself to show a glimmer of satisfaction. “All is proceeding as the stars and signs predicted. Every step she takes brings Eydis Ironmonger and the treasure she carries closer to me.”

Wincing, Parthenia looked away from the rows of spikes over which the oracle reclined. “The battle is over, Your Wisdom,” she informed the oracle.

“Is it?” The oracle’s head didn’t turn at her entrance. Eyes closed, breathing deep and even, she seemed unaware of the sharp nails that must be piercing her skin in dozens of places. The only hint of her discomfort was in the sweat coating her violet skin and the slow drops of blood pooling around her.

Parthenia said, “Yes, Your Wisdom. I’ve just received word Rathnakar’s forces prevailed and the few remaining survivors have fled through a tunnel to the mountains.”

“Is
she
among them?”

“You mean the mistress of masks? Yes, I’m told she lives.”

A sigh eased from the oracle. “Then it is not over at all,” she said. “It is just beginning.”

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Here’s the rundown on me. I’ve been a writer since I was old enough to pick up a pen, setting my heart and focus on the fantasy genre more than a decade ago. Alongside my fantasy works, I’ve published an assortment of other books under the pen name Dara England. In addition to writing, I’m a graphic designer and a lover of books, animals, and my Kindle. Find out more by visiting my home on the web at
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