The Masked Witches Read online

  Falconer fingered the fleshless jaw of the middle skull while he said, “If I were this Yhelbruna, I might well send an agent—or his ‘proxy’—to make such an offer in the hope that some gullible soul would take him into his confidence and divulge useful information. Especially if there was no true risk to the actual agent himself.”

  Inwardly, Dai Shan acknowledged Falconer’s shrewdness. That was indeed one ploy to attempt in the game in which he was trying to be on everyone’s—or at least the hathrans’, the undead’s, and Mario Bez’s—side at once.

  “Noble champion,” he said, “you’re wise to be cautious, and indeed, I expected nothing less. But I believe I know how to allay your concerns. Tell me nothing. Not yet. Instead, simply let me help you. I’ve explained there are four other groups who truly are seeking your downfall. Let me destroy one of them as a way of demonstrating my good faith.”

  “I have a measure of authority, but I’m not the supreme commander of all my kind,” replied the undead. “I can’t say yes or no to such a venture.”

  “Then I suggest we devise a means of communication that will allow such deliberations to proceed,” said the Shou.

  * * * * *

  Cera cried out as the sweet building pressure inside her exploded into release, and Aoth grunted as he finished right along with her. After a few moments, he rolled off her, and they lay for a time, their sweaty bodies pressed together, utterly relaxed and looking up at the rafters of Borilak Murokina’s longhouse.

  “That was delicious,” she said after a while.

  “Glad you liked it,” he replied with a chuckle.

  “I wonder what it would have been like to do it in the Feywild.”

  “We were a little busy, and maybe it’s just as well. If it was too good …”

  “Then making love in our world might not satisfy us anymore? I don’t believe that could ever happen.”

  “No, neither do I, really.”

  “But I guess this will have to hold us for a while.” She pouted. “Even though the only reason I came north was to be with you.”

  He peered at her as he did when he wasn’t sure if she was teasing. She realized she wasn’t entirely sure, either.

  “You know I don’t want to separate,” he said. “But I don’t think any of us should go anywhere by himself—”

  “And obviously,” she replied, “Vandar needs to be one of those who goes back to Immilmar to bring the Griffon Lodge north. But he and Jhesrhi could ride the wind east while you and I go with Zyl to see the fey.”

  Aoth sighed before saying, “That’s the way I’d like to do it. But—”

  “You don’t think you should separate from Jhesrhi,” Cera replied.

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “It is to me.”

  “Well, I hope it isn’t to her. I don’t want her to think I don’t trust her. And that’s not it. Not so far. But I am worried. She says she’s glad she changed, and I understand how she might be. But is it true? At times, she fought so hard to overcome her problems. What’s this but an excuse to surrender to them?”

  “I understand your worries, and of course you have to take care of her. She’s your foster daughter, or near enough, and I don’t want you to think looking after her makes a problem between you and me. It’s just …”

  “What?”

  Cera wasn’t sure herself what she truly wanted to say but continued on as best she could. “During that final battle in Luthcheq, we killed dragons. Perhaps, without quite realizing it, I came away thinking that if we could manage that, no lesser foe could harm us. I certainly didn’t expect this journey to be especially dangerous. But we almost lost Jet in the sacred grove. I could have lost you when the fomorian held you spellbound.”

  “But we’re all fine now,” Aoth said.

  “But it didn’t have to turn out that way.”

  Aoth frowned. “Sweetheart, I don’t know what you want me to say. That we’re invincible? You’re not a child, and you know better. Any soldier can die in any fight against any enemy. All it takes is one mistake or a bit of bad luck. But you, Jhes, Jet, and I are good at what we do. The odds are with us most of the time, and when they’re not, we cheat.”

  “I know, and I’m not turning into a coward—”

  “I certainly know that.”

  “—It just strikes me, you’ll always be a warrior and have battles to fight. That’s just who you are. But does it have to be exactly like this? After what you accomplished in Chessenta, Shala Karanok would be happy to make a permanent place for you there. You could be a nobleman; Jhesrhi, Gaedynn, and Khouryn could be knights; and the Brotherhood could become a part of the regular army.”

  “And you wouldn’t have to choose between being the head of your faith in Chessenta and staying with me.”

  “I love you, Aoth. Truly. But I can’t roam the world with you if Amaunator tells me my place is in Luthcheq.”

  “And I love you. Truly. But I won’t become the vassal of any lord. Not even a good one like Shala.”

  “Why not?”

  “I suppose because when I was young, I served too many bad ones. Their ambitions laid waste to my homeland, and they used me with no regard at all for my welfare. And eventually, it made me decide that I was never going to think of anyone as my better or my master ever again. And I never have. Sellswords offer their services to kings and such, but we negotiate the terms, and the contracts are always temporary.”

  She shifted, getting more comfortable in the crook of his muscular arm. “I know you’re independent,” she said. “You don’t even like the suggestion that a god is telling you what to do.”

  “You’re right,” he replied. “When Yhelbruna started raving about messages from the spirits and sending us all off on a quest, I was almost ready to chuck this whole enterprise.” He smiled a crooked smile. “But only almost. I need those griffons.”

  “Then somehow we’ll win them,” she said with a sigh. “And probably, by then, it will be time to go home.”

  “Where we don’t know what will happen when all you sunlords and sunladies gather. The others may not even try to elect you. I’ll bet there are priests who actually want the job politicking frantically in your absence.”

  Cera decided not to say that there might be a part of her that actually wanted the job, too.

  * * * * *

  Folcoerr Dulsaer looked at the griffons sleeping in the snowy field. The men had built fires at various points as their commander had ordered. Some of the griffonriders had grumbled that the hardy mounts could handle the cold, and Dulsaer privately conceded that they almost certainly were right. But he’d always been solicitous of the steeds’ welfare. That, to his way of thinking, was the true mark of an honorable man: he took good care of the lesser creatures—such as animals and children—that fate placed in his keeping.

  His eyes automatically sought out Copper, his own mount, slumbering like the rest. He realized that even though he was nearly as tired as his steed, he wished he could spend the morning flying, just the griffon and him. It might help him forget the frustration of crisscrossing the wretched, barbaric land for days on end without ever finding his quarry.

  “Even sleeping,” said a soft baritone voice, “the beasts are magnificent.”

  Startled, Dulsaer jerked around to see Dai Shan standing in that straight, still, and somehow vaguely dainty way of his. The Shou’s breath steamed, but other than that, there was no indication that he felt the chill in the air, even though his long green overcoat didn’t look all that warm. The longhouses of Immilmar with their peaked sod roofs stood a long bow shot behind him, brown accents in a world of winter white.

  Dulsaer’s mouth tightened. He’d never liked Dai Shan, and disliked him still further since the merchant had made a fool of him in front of the Wychlaran. Still, he supposed it behooved him to show the man a modicum of civility.

  “Yes, they are,” he said. “Did you hike out from town just to look at them?”

  Dai S
han smiled as he said, “It was griffons that lured us all here, brave captain. Naturally, I’d like to become more familiar with them. And now that the Iron Lord has posted guards to keep us from approaching too close to the wild ones, I have nowhere else to study them. I must say, these look every bit as strong and as fierce as the ones we’re squabbling over.”

  Dulsaer nodded. “Absolutely,” he said.

  “Which begs the question,” said the Shou, “if Aglarond already has griffons of such quality, why are you so intent on acquiring the ones in Rashemi hands?”

  “What the simbarchs want, their servant delivers.”

  “But I have absolute confidence that such a shrewd officer knows why they want them, and could enlighten me if he chose.”

  Dulsaer shrugged. “I suppose it’s not a secret, just common sense. When it comes to a weapon like griffons, you can’t have too much of it. You’re also wise to keep your enemies from getting any. The first time Aglarond tried to take back the Wizard’s Reach, that turncoat Fezim brought griffons against us, and that was part of the reason we lost. For that matter, Thay itself once had a Griffon Legion. Don’t you think they’d rebuild it if given a chance?”

  “It may be so.”

  “And Thay’s the enemy of every other land in the East. But if you had the griffons, you’d sell them to Szass Tam, wouldn’t you? You’d figure his gold spends the same as anybody else’s.”

  “It grieves me, valiant sir, that you appear to regard my profession with disdain. I humbly concede, it’s not heroic like your own, but still, it would be a cheerless, hardscrabble world without commerce.”

  “Maybe so, but tell me I’m wrong about the griffons and you.”

  “About me, personally, you are. I have some insight into the source of Szass Tam’s powers, and the unfortunate things that would befall any realm that came under his sway. But I must admit, my elders in the House of Shan might not see that as clearly as I do, and I too have orders to obey. Happily, I enjoy a certain amount of latitude as to how I interpret them.”

  Dulsaer cocked his head. “What are you getting at? Say it straight out.”

  “As you wish. In front of the hathrans, carried away by the enthusiasm of the moment, I expressed my intent to destroy the creatures troubling this realm. But later, I reluctantly came to the conclusion that you were right: My little band lacks the resources to accomplish any such thing. You, on the other hand, possess precisely the armed might necessary … Except that, if rumor can be trusted, you haven’t had any luck locating the enemy.”

  “So you’re suggesting a partnership?”

  “Of a kind that ought to suit you very well. If I don’t help you win the griffons, you naturally owe me nothing. But if I do, you’ll still take possession of all the animals, and simply pay a fee for my assistance. You’ll go home with everything you came for, and I’ll reap sufficient profit to satisfy my father even though it’s not the prize he sent me to fetch.”

  “Some people say you’ve already made a deal with Mario Bez. That you were seen talking to him the last time his skyship flew back into town.”

  “Seeking opportunity, a trader talks to all sorts of people. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t prefer a covenant with an honorable officer over a sordid arrangement with an infamous mercenary.”

  “Hm,” Dulsaer murmured as he turned the proposal over in his mind, looking for a flaw. Feeling a bit like a cunning, greedy merchant himself, he asked, “How big a fee?”

  * * * * *

  As she tramped along, planting the butt of her staff with every other stride, the snow crunching beneath her war boots, Jhesrhi kept an eye out for tracks and figures lurking behind the trees. It was probably a waste of effort. Aoth and Zyl were likely to spot trouble before she did. But life had taught her never to entrust her safety entirely to others if she could avoid it.

  “How much farther?” Aoth asked, a hint of impatience in his voice.

  “Not far,” the black hare answered, “so stay close. We’ll come up on the sentries soon, and we want to make sure they understand the two of you are with me. Humans aren’t generally welcome this deep in the forest.”

  Aoth snorted. “Does Rashemen have any woods that aren’t forbidden, sacred, or both?” he asked.

  “Not many,” Zyl replied. “Fundamentally, it’s a land of spirits and fey, who tolerate what they consider to be lesser creatures just as long as we show the proper respect.”

  “ ‘We?’ ” Jhesrhi asked.

  Zyl laughed a shrill, pulsing sound enough like a human wail of pain to be unnerving. “I really am just an animal, a fire spirit,” he said, “although one who’s learned some useful tricks since a precocious child awakened him on a whim. There are those who’d say you belong in the courts of the fey more than I do.”

  “For some reason,” she said, “you have a mistaken impression of me. It’s true I’ve acquired an affinity with fire, but I’m still a human being.”

  “If it pleases you to think so, lady, then who am I to argue otherwise?” Zyl said.

  “I see one of your sentries,” said Aoth. “Ahead and a little to the left.”

  With that to guide her, Jhesrhi spotted the watcher, too. He somewhat resembled a slender elf archer with pointed ears and slanted eyes. But the elves she’d seen had little body hair, whereas the sentry appeared to have a tawny down covering him. His face was narrower and less manlike than an elf’s, and she couldn’t read its expression. Long canines extended from under his upper lip, and smallish antlers jutted from his brow with shiny metal objects attached to the points.

  “Interesting,” said Aoth. “I haven’t run across folk like that before.”

  “They started out as elves,” Zyl said, “or so the story goes. But then, in a time of desperation, they asked a spirit called the Stag King to save them from the doom that was coming to claim them. He agreed to do it if he could lie with three of their maidens. Perhaps not understanding just how strong his blood would prove to be, the elves agreed. After a few generations, they were all like him, and made no objection when he returned to rule as their king.”

  As Jhesrhi and her companions marched onward, Aoth pointed out other archers watching from hiding like the first. In time, a silvery chiming like sleigh bells sounded at the sellswords’ backs.

  “What’s that?” asked Aoth.

  “The bells in their antlers,” Zyl replied. “Their way of telling you that now that you’ve come this far, you can’t turn back.”

  “In other words,” said Aoth, “they think they can scare us onward like beaters flushing game. That’s not very flattering or friendly, either.”

  “They’re not a friendly people.”

  “Then why serve them if you’re not really a dark fey yourself?”

  “You’ve seen that I have powers.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, like the elves in the story, I had to bargain for what I wanted with one who was willing to trade with me. Now, look sharp. We’re almost there.”

  The travelers wound their way through a thick stand of ash and alder to the clearing on the other side. At first, Jhesrhi couldn’t see any reason why no trees grew on that particular patch of ground. Then she took another step, and a castle wavered into view in front of her. The lines of the spires and battlements had once been graceful and harmonious, and the walls once adorned with intricate mosaics. But everything was crumbling and faded.

  “What world is that fortress actually standing in?” she asked.

  “This one, currently,” said Zyl. “And it hardly ever slides except at night.”

  Jhesrhi supposed it was as reassuring an answer as she had any right to expect. She and Aoth followed the hare through the gate and across a snowy courtyard. The inhabitants watched as they passed. The females didn’t have antlers, but that didn’t make the contours of their long, tapered faces any less strange.

  In the Stag King’s hall itself, two naked males were wrestling, alternately grappling like humans and slamming an
d grinding their antlers together. The little round bells wired to their points chimed with every violent, straining motion. That, the grunting, the slap of flesh on flesh, and the click of cloven hooves on the floor were the only sounds in evidence. Unlike a human audience, who would surely be cheering their favorites on, a ring of spectators watched the contest in silence.

  “Wait here,” said Zyl. He hopped around the onlookers and out of sight.

  The bout ended shortly thereafter, when the stag men locked antlers, and one flipped the other off his feet with a savage wrenching motion that involved his entire body. At last the onlookers showed their appreciation—or at least Jhesrhi assumed that was what they intended—by nodding and setting the bells attached to their own antlers ringing.

  From the far end of the hall, someone called, “Clear a path! Let me see what the hare dragged in!” The voice was as deep as a cyclops’s.

  The stag men in the hall pivoted to regard the strangers by the door, but if they were surprised or alarmed to discover them there, Jhesrhi couldn’t tell. They vacated the center of the chamber, and she had her first look at the Stag King, slouched on a finely carved wooden throne.

  His height and bulk matched his voice, and though his high-backed chair was more than big enough for any elf to sit in comfort, he appeared squeezed into it. But despite his hugeness, and antlers that dwarfed those borne by any of his descendants, in some ways, he looked more manlike—or elflike—than they did. His features were human enough to bespeak arrogance.

  He waved a hand, and four guards started forward. It seemed obvious that they intended to manhandle the mercenaries up to the throne.

  Jhesrhi felt the old familiar loathing at the prospect of being touched. “Aoth?” she said.

  “I agree,” he answered, sidestepping to distance himself from her. “Let’s make a different kind of first impression.”