The masked witches botg-4 Read online

  He could do it because, while it was by no means pleasant to watch people he d cared about die all over again, or to see a selection of old enemies attacking him all at once, his truesight made the illusory nature of the phantasms immediately and absolutely apparent. Thus they couldn t disorient or even hurt him as they might have another. But pretending they had was a good way to lure Grontaix in close.

  Aoth s spear point tore flesh and scraped bone. The fomorian screamed and staggered, but didn t fall. Instead, she stumbled around to face him again. He rattled off an incantation that put him at the hub of a spinning wheel of blades. Floating at chest level, the defense threatened any foe who ventured into striking distance. But in all likelihood, it would only slash the giant s extremities, not her vital organs.

  Too late he saw that Grontaix didn t mean to rush him again. Not yet, anyway. Instead, she invoked magic of her own. She thrust out her fist at him like she was miming a punch, and green and yellow light swirled from the cat s-eye ring on her middle finger to make a kaleidoscopic pattern in the air.

  Aoth was no longer looking at illusions that he could recognize for what they were and ignore thereafter. The light was only light, but it was supremely beautiful; its power to fascinate augmented by both the atmosphere of the Feywild and his own preternaturally acute vision. He strained to look away, break free, but there was a treacherous part of him that didn t really want to.

  Recognizing that she had him under her spell, Grontaix leered, gripped a little sculpted pear tree, and, with astonishing strength, twisted it and ripped it up from the floor. Aoth saw that the makeshift club would make it easier for her to strike at him without coming in contact with his spinning blades, that the hammering length of black stone would shatter his bones and pulp his flesh, and still, he couldn t quite bring himself to move. With blood running from her wounded knee, his foe limped forward.

  Suddenly Zyl darted past Aoth and up the fomorian s bloody leg. He paused for an instant to bite and scratch at the gash the spear had opened, then scurried onward. He vanished under the hem of her gown.

  Grontaix roared and pounded with her fist at the moving lump under the fabric. Somehow, she missed, and only managed to thump herself. Zyl scrambled from her front to her back, where she d have trouble reaching, and where, Aoth assumed, he clung gnawing at her flesh.

  Still roaring, the fomorian heaved the stone tree over her head and thrust it repeatedly downward like a huge, unwieldy back scratcher. Shaken loose, silver pears fell clanking and rolled clattering across the floor.

  Meanwhile, a cyclops at the periphery of Aoth s vision swung his sword at the flying mace of golden light that was assailing him in turn. By keeping the giant occupied, the conjured weapon freed up Cera to try to help Aoth. With her voice shrill but still as controlled as spellcasting required she rattled off a prayer.

  It set him free. Suddenly, though the floating, shifting pattern was still beautiful, its hold on him ended. For an instant, he felt a belated horror at having been so helpless, but he shook it off.

  By that time, the scraping stone branches had ripped Grontaix s gown from her body. The garment hung from the tree like a tattered flag on a pole. She rammed her weapon downward yet again, and it finally brushed Zyl from his perch and dashed him to the floor. She lurched around, exposing the hump that, crisscrossed with welts, cuts, and bite marks, looked like someone had flogged her, and glared down at the rat. He thrashed like he was in the throes of a seizure. She swung the tree over her head.

  Aoth cast a fan-shaped flare of flame from his spear, and it splashed across her crooked, bloody back. She howled and staggered.

  I m still here, Ugly! he bellowed.

  Finish with me before you start killing rats!

  She turned back around like he wanted her to. The force of her glare was like a hammer slamming into his face. He staggered and cried out, and, as fast as her wounded leg would allow, she rushed him.

  By the time Aoth had recovered his balance, the stone tree was whirling at him in a horizontal arc. He leaped back, and it missed his body but caught the end of his spear. The force of the blow tore the weapon from his grasp and stabbed pain up his arm. He suspected it was nearly broken or dislocated.

  Aoth snatched out the short, heavy sword he carried as a backup. He wasn t as adept with it, nor had he painstakingly infused it with as many enchantments as he had the longer weapon, but it would have to do.

  He would have to get close to the fomorian and stay there, so the blade could reach her. She would have a more awkward time of it attacking him from the shorter distance. He scrambled toward her just as she followed up with a backhand swing.

  Aoth strained to spring forward even faster and just made it inside the giant s reach. Her arms were above him, and the branches of the stone tree scraped, banged, and snapped, sweeping across the patch of floor at his back. The wheel of blades sliced a deep gash across Grontaix s unwounded leg before the magic blinked out of existence. With a final stride, Aoth closed the distance, charged his sword with destructive force, and slashed a second cut above the other.

  The sword bit deep, but the giantess still wouldn t fall down. Though the wound must have hurt her, she repeatedly tried to stamp on Aoth, and to stab the top of the stone tree down on his head. She alternated those tactics with an attempt to scramble far enough away so that his sword couldn t reach her, while at the same time sweeping him away by swinging her makeshift weapon. He dodged, pursuing doggedly whenever she tried to open up the distance, and cutting at her whenever she gave him a chance.

  Meanwhile, something started pounding on the other side of one of the arches that Jhesrhi had sealed with her wizardry. So far, Aoth and his comrades had held their own, but it seemed unlikely that even the elementalist s mastery of earth and stone could keep the rest of the giants out for long.

  Which meant they had to end the fight quickly. Aoth had to, for he d taken the critical task upon himself. Everyone else was essentially just keeping the cyclopes from swarming on him.

  Grontaix tried another retreat, and pursuing more slowly, trying to look fatigued it shouldn t be difficult he let her open up the distance. She screamed and whirled the stone tree the silver pears all fallen away, many of the branches snapped off short in another sweeping horizontal stroke.

  Aoth didn t try to dodge. He d let her open up the distance precisely so she could attempt another of those arcing blows they took longer to travel to the target. With luck, they even afforded the time for a spell. He rattled off words of power as the stone tree spun at him, and he slashed in its direction with his sword.

  A shaft of green light blazed from the blade and struck the onrushing makeshift weapon. The whole tree glowed emerald for an instant and then simply disappeared.

  The sudden absence of its weight threw the fomorian off balance. Aoth charged and cut at her nearest leg like a mad logger frantic to fell a tree.

  He slashed repeatedly, inflicting new wounds on a limb that, like its mate, was already a gory, tattered mess. Blood spurted. Grontaix roared, stumbled, and fell headlong. When she slammed down, it jolted the floor, and Aoth nearly lost his balance, too.

  He sprinted toward her head, grabbed the edge of an ear, and pressed the point of his sword against a pulsing artery in the side of her neck. Don t move! he gasped. Tell the cyclopes to stand down! Now, or you re dead!

  She hesitated for a moment, then cried, Everyone, stop! It gave him a vague sort of satisfaction that she sounded as winded as he did.

  When he felt confident that she really had stopped fighting, he risked a quick glance around. To his relief, all of his allies appeared to be all right. In fact, they d killed two more cyclopes: one that Jhesrhi had apparently burned to death and another that looked like it had succumbed to a combination of sword cuts and bites from large fanged jaws. The bites didn t look like the results of any spell that Jhesrhi or Cera used, and Aoth could only assume that some magic Zyl commanded was responsible. The surviving retainers were loweri
ng their weapons and backing away from their opponents.

  Suddenly the stone plugging one of the arches flew apart with a flash of silvery light and an echoing boom, and more cyclops warriors scrambled through the breach. Fortunately, they faltered when they saw Aoth s blade at Grontaix s throat.

  Good, he told the giantess. Now, everyone s going to stay calm, you re going to answer some questions, and then you re going to escort my friends and me safely out of here.

  That ll be a good trick, she gritted, considering that I m bleeding out.

  He realized that might actually be true. Cera, if you have any power left, keep her alive, he said.

  All right, the priestess replied. She stanched the rhythmic arterial spurting with a prayer and a gleaming touch of her hand.

  There, said Aoth. You see, this doesn t need to turn ugly. Well, uglier.

  Who are you people? the fomorian growled.

  Agents of the Iron Lord and the Wychlaran, Aoth replied.

  Well, not all of us, said Zyl. It looks like my disguise has outlived its usefulness, so these oafs might as well know who outwitted and defeated them. His body contours flowed as he started shapeshifting.

  Though he didn t consider himself a fanciful man, Aoth imagined his new ally might now stand revealed as a sinisterly handsome dark-elf wizard or a notably hideous devil. That, after all, was the sort of transformation that happened in stories. Thus, he felt a mixture of anticlimax and amusement at his own romanticism when the black rat flowed into the shape of a black hare.

  But if he wasn t impressed, Grontaix was. You! she snarled.

  Zyl laughed as he said, Yes. I ve been hiding right here in your palace for months now.

  And I imagine you have some things to say about it, said Aoth to his captive. But they ll keep. Right now, you need to tell me about the undead durthans, and don t bother denying you know what I m talking about. I ve already questioned your warrior Choschax.

  The fomorian spat. I curse the night the durthans came back! she said.

  The hathrans aren t too happy about it, either, said Aoth. But why apart from your present situation do you say that?

  When my folk first allied with the durthans, we were supposed to help them cast down the hathrans, and they were supposed to help us crush our foes in the Feywild

  Like me! Zyl interjected. and Shadow alike. But the so-called Witch War was a disaster. The hathrans annihilated the durthans, and our enemies humbled us. There may be some among my people who are eager to try exactly the same thing again in precisely the same way, but I m not one of them. That s why I live apart: because I can t abide the company of fools.

  So why, Cera asked, did you help the durthans recruit werewolves to their cause?

  The giantess snorted. The curs are nothing, she said. Just a convenience we in this stronghold created to keep true humans off my land.

  So by parting with something of little value, said Aoth, you satisfied the durthans and bought yourself time to decide whether you really want to throw in with them again or not.

  Yes.

  Who s bringing the durthans back?

  Other undead, supposedly from somewhere far away. I don t know where, exactly. I ve only met with the durthans, not with the ones who called them from their graves.

  If they re from so far away, Vandar asked, shivering and ashenlipped now that his rage had passed, what do they care about Rashemen?

  I can t tell you why they chose to come to this land in particular, Grontaix said. But I do know their intent is to establish some sort of hegemony of the dead. The durthans will rule here as they desire, but their dominion will be part of something greater.

  Like the tharchs that make up Thay, said Aoth.

  I suppose, replied the formorian.

  And that explains why these invaders are so concerned about Szass Tam and his lieutenants finding out about them. Thay s already an empire of the undead and necromancy. I doubt it wants a rival, and it may well have the power to destroy this one before it really gets going.

  That would be my guess.

  And when the undead rule Rashemen, what do your people get out of it?

  The fomorian sneered. Those who came to visit me gave essentially the same pledges as before, she said. The undead will rule in the mortal world, and my folk will rule in the spirit realms.

  How do the durthans and the other undead travel around Rashemen without the hathrans watchers spotting them?

  I can t say, but it s a useful trick.

  What else do they have in their quivers? What s their grand strategy for winning a new war?

  I don t know that, either.

  You must at least have some idea where they ve based their command.

  Is it Citadel Tralkarn? Vandar asked, referring to the ruin that had once been the durthans greatest stronghold.

  The fomorian snorted. Do you think they re stupid enough to establish themselves in the first place so that you berserkers and such would come looking for them? she said.

  No, the invaders visited Citadel Tralkarn early on, before you had any idea that anything was amiss. They reanimated those they could, looted what remained to be looted, and moved on.

  Where to? asked Aoth.

  I don t know that all their captains are there, or even the chief one. But they re gathering strength at the Fortress of the Half-Demon, Grontaix said with a smirk.

  Enough to slaughter your little band, I m sure.

  Isn t that a Nar ruin? Cera asked.

  Are the newcomers bringing back dead Nars, too?

  Ask them when you meet them, assuming you re fool enough to go, the formorian replied.

  We won t look foolish with my lodge behind us, Vandar said. This is what my brothers and I have been waiting for. Now that we know where to find our enemies, we can kill them.

  Not a chance, Zyl said. Or at least, not unless my people help.

  Will they? asked Aoth.

  They might, said the hare. A squabble between humans and their dead grannies is no great matter to us. But if these invaders are giving our enemies among the fey silly notions, and if they re tampering with the fiends the Nars left locked in pentacles and the like, that could be a problem. We could certainly ask my prince to send warriors to look into the situation. One of you could tag along with me to help explain it.

  While others, Aoth thought, fly back to the lodge house in Immilmar. Then the two forces will rendezvous near the haunted fortress.

  It sounds like you have it all figured out, Grontaix growled. So why not go away and leave me in peace?

  I told you, said Aoth. We re going to keep you hostage until you and you alone have accompanied us back aboveground. Unfortunately, I need to keep a weapon at your throat, so you ll have to put up with me riding on your shoulder. That is, unless you d rather crawl.

  SIX

  It wasn t much of a village, just a cluster of huts in the rugged hills between Lake Ashane and the Urlingwood. In such a backwater, there were relatively few people to kill, and even fewer who could put up a fight against the dead. By the time Dai Shan s shadow arrived, the massacre was nearly over, but not quite. It felt the survivors before it actually saw them, as points of warmth in the cold and dark. It sensed its peers, too, as something colder than cold and emptier than empty.

  As the shadow came loping down the slope, one grinning corpse gripped a little boy s ankles, and another, his wrists. They pulled in opposite directions, and if they were hoping to rip him in two, they were disappointed. But he screamed as his arms and legs came out of their sockets.

  A ghoul clawed a woman to rags, and then, when the victim stopped struggling, took an experimental bite out of her shoulder. It spat the bloody flesh out again, dumped the body on the ground, and, swinging itself along on its knuckles, scuttled toward the tiny graveyard.

  A man drove a spear into a thing so decayed that the shadow couldn t tell if it had originally been male or female. Though it had no eyes left in the dark and mushy wreckage for a head, the creat
ure looked down at the weapon, then grabbed its attacker by the neck.

  The shadow needed to decide how best to approach the killers. It was still pondering in its murky way when a hathran in a white tabard, cloak, and single-horned mask and a unicorn suddenly appeared among the carnage.

  Together, they shed a silvery glow that burned and dazzled the dead like sunlight. While the creatures were still reeling from that, the unicorn whipped its head and tore the mushy thing in two with its horn. The hathran chanted a prayer that turned the left half of a ghoul s body to dust. After the part that was left fell down, it tried feebly and futilely to crawl.

  Perhaps because the shadow hadn t hurt anyone, the priestess and the unicorn didn t appear to notice it. It realized it had an opportunity to win the trust and attention of its fellow undead. It circled around behind the unicorn and the hathran. Then it charged.

  When it got close enough, the pale light seared it, too, but the pain was bearable. It pounced like a cat, landing on the unicorn s back, and plunging its freezing, insubstantial hands into the sacred animal s flesh. The unicorn jerked and screamed.

  Raising her scimitar, the witch pivoted toward her ally. But before she could strike or cast a spell at the shadow, an imp the size of a hawk, with beating batlike wings, pointed ears, and a mouth full of needle fangs, appeared in the air directly behind her. It whipped its tail, and the stinger at the end of it, at the back of her head.

  The sting didn t seem to penetrate her woolen cowl. But she whirled to defend herself from the hovering devil and left the unicorn to look after itself.

  The shadow pummeled the sacred beast repeatedly, as fast as it could. But the animal simply vanished out from underneath its attacker.

  The shadow spilled to the ground like water. The unicorn popped back into view on its flank and instantly leaped, its shining horn leveled.

  The shadow threw itself to the side, and the thrust missed. The unicorn pivoted, reared, and battered at it with its front hooves. One blow plunged through its arm, and it felt a shock of pain.

  A burst of dark red, somehow filthy-looking flame splashed across the unicorn s side. The animal screamed and staggered, dropping back onto all fours. As it struggled to recover its balance, an undead stepped in and clubbed it in the head with a war hammer. Blood splashed and bone crunched. The unicorn collapsed and lay motionless. The haze of silvery glow surrounding it and the hathran dimmed.