Mask of Dragons (36 page)

Yet Mazael could think of no other reason the Prophetess would risk using magic right now. Maybe he could find a way to warn the dragon, to convince her that the Prophetess was…

Rigoric attacked, and Mazael could spare no thought for anything but his defense.

###

Adalar dueled the Crimson Hunter, the strange sword of curved silver seeming to vibrate in his grasp. 

The sword could wound the Crimson Hunter, and if Adalar closed, he thought the weapon could kill or banish the creature back to the spirit world. Yet he could not get close enough to land a killing blow. The sword was shorter than his broken greatsword, and Adalar could not move close enough to hit his foe for more than a second. Any longer and the Crimson Hunter’s pincers or legs would find his flesh. He tried hewing off one of the Crimson Hunter’s legs, hoping to upset the creature’s balance, but the legs were simply too thick for him to sever. 

Worse, the wounds the sword had cut into the creature were healing, the gray light dimming as the cuts shrank and closed themselves. The Crimson Hunter had an endless supply of stamina. Adalar did not, and sooner or later he was going to stumble and the Crimson Hunter would have him. 

He didn’t mind that part. He had thought he would die in the Great Rising, torn apart by the runedead horde sweeping across the land. By comparison, getting killed by a giant spider after the runedead had been destroyed was almost a relief.

Adalar just wished he could have found a way to save Sigaldra.

She was still scrambling through the tables of armor, looking for arrows. There had been a few more swords, but he was relieved that she had not taken up one of the swords and tried to join him in the fight. Sigaldra was a good archer and competent with a blade, but she simply was not strong enough or fast enough to fight something like a Crimson Hunter in hand-to-hand combat.

Adalar was barely strong enough. Try as he might, he could not land a deadly blow upon the creature. He needed something faster, something stronger, something that could rip through the Crimson Hunter’s defenses with irresistible force. Something like a stone thrown from a catapult…

He blinked, sweat streaming into his eyes.

He didn’t have a siege engine in the caverns of the Veiled Mountain, but he knew where to find the next best thing.

“Sigaldra!” he shouted. “Follow me!”

She nodded and ran after him, and Adalar raced to far wall of the cavern, the Crimson Hunter pursuing them with deadly speed. 

###

Rigoric hammered at Mazael, his greatsword falling in massive overhand strikes again and again. Mazael retreated before the onslaught, deflecting some of the blows, dodging others, and throwing himself out of the way for a few. If any one of those overhand strikes connected, it would split Mazael in half. 

Yet those mighty blows had a dangerous weakness. Even with his inhuman speed, it took Rigoric a half-second to prepare them, and Mazael could exploit those half-seconds with his own speed. Again and again he struck, and Talon bit again and again into Rigoric’s black cuirass. The Champion made no effort to dodge, trusting in the strength of his armor to protect him. 

So far, he had been proven correct.

But every one of Mazael’s blows left a deep, shiny cut in the black armor. Mazael suspected that Rigoric hadn’t realized that Talon’s edge was biting into the steel. A sword of normal steel would not have been able to manage it, but Talon had been made from dragon claw, a substance lighter and stronger and more flexible than steel. With every hit, the blade sank a little deeper into Rigoric’s cuirass.

Mazael did not think that the Champion had realized his danger.

Certainly the Prophetess had not warned him of it. 

Mazael doubted that she had even noticed. Her eyes were still closed, darting back and forth behind their lids, her hands still hidden by the front of her robe. He would have thought that Azurvaltoria would have stopped her, but Azurvaltoria seemed fixed upon the combat, her massive head twitching back and forth as she watched the flow of the duel. 

Would the dragon realize if the Prophetess tried treachery? Perhaps Azurvaltoria thought herself beyond the reach of anything the Prophetess could attempt. Such an attitude was folly. The Old Demon had considered himself unconquerable right up until Lion’s fire had incinerated him from the inside out. 

Rigoric went on the attack once more, untiring, and Mazael defended.

###

Sigaldra sprinted next to Adalar as he wove and dodged across the cavern. 

The Crimson Hunter shot after them. 

“Where are we going?” Sigaldra shouted. Their desperate flight had taken them far from the ring of blue fire and the shrine holding the Mask.

“Not far!” said Adalar, gasping. 

The far wall of the cavern came into the sight, along with the rough ramp leading to the chambers holding the basins of poison and healing antidote. Adalar ran up the ramp, and Sigaldra followed him. Did he think to escape the Veiled Mountain? They couldn’t outrun the Crimson Hunter, and Sigaldra would not abandon Liane. She would leave the caverns with her sister, or she would not leave at all. 

They stumbled into the chamber with the basin of healing potion. Adalar ran to the archway leading to the chamber with the basin of poison and stopped a few feet away. 

“What are you doing?” said Sigaldra.

“Wait a moment,” said Adalar, the strange sword shimmering with gray light in his fist. 

“We can’t stay here,” said Sigaldra. “If the Crimson Hunter catches us in an enclosed space it will tear us apart.”

The huge spider appeared atop the ramp, its carapace gleaming, the red hourglass splotch upon its abdomen seeming to glow.

“I know,” said Adalar. “Wait.” 

The Crimson Hunter glided forward with eerie grace. It was the perfect predator, quick and fast and deadly, and Sigaldra had no chance against it.

Gods and ancestors, but Sigaldra had come to detest spiders. 

“Adalar,” she said.

“Now!” said Adalar. He ran through the archway into the next chamber, pulling Sigaldra along. They stumbled to a stop next to the plinth holding the basin of poison, and Adalar whirled to face the archway, sword ready. Sigaldra caught her balance as the Crimson Hunter shot forward, pincers yawning wide to rip into their flesh.

Then the stone doors to the chamber slammed shut.

The Crimson Hunter had gotten halfway through the archway when the massive slab of stone fell into place. It cut the giant spider in half, one portion sealed away in the chamber with the healing potion, the other skidding to a halt a few yards from Sigaldra. The pincers snapped open and closed, the legs lashing at the air, but gray mist and light leaked from the stump where the creature’s abdomen had once been attached.

For a moment the severed half of the Crimson Hunter thrashed, and then it dissolved into nothingness.

Sigaldra let out a long, shaking breath, and then to her astonishment, she started to laugh. 

“What?” said Adalar. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” said Sigaldra. She laughed once more, shook her head, and then got herself under control. “Nothing at all. I just…I wasn’t expecting that. Gods and ancestors! I’ve never seen a giant spider cut in half before.”

“Neither have I,” said Adalar. “I’m glad that worked. I wasn’t sure if it would. But I could think of nothing else to do.”

Sigaldra smiled at him, still a little giddy. “That was clever, my lord Adalar. Now let’s rejoin the others and defeat the Prophetess.”

He looked graver than usual. “About that part…”

The sigils upon the walls began to glow with harsh yellow-orange light, flooding the chamber with heat.

###

The edge of the greatsword clipped Mazael’s shoulder. His chain mail turned the edge of Rigoric’s blade, but the Champion still struck with the force of a kicking bull. Mazael stumbled, barely keeping his footing, and Rigoric charged without hesitation. The greatsword hammered down, and Mazael staggered to the side, slashing with Talon. Rigoric twisted his wrists, pinning Mazael’s blade in place beneath the heavy greatsword.

Mazael’s left hand was still free, so he punched Rigoric in the face.

That hurt a great deal. His fist slammed into Rigoric’s mask of sword blades, and even through his leather gauntlet, it still felt as if he had punched a stone wall, the shock of it shooting up his shoulder. The punch was still strong enough to snap Rigoric’s head back, and the Champion retreated, sweeping his greatsword before him to ward off any attacks. Mazael dodged and went on the attack before Rigoric could recover. 

Again Talon bit into Rigoric’s armor, and a shudder went through his cuirass.

###

“What do you mean?” said Sigaldra, the heat from the symbols washing over her face. 

“There’s only one way out of here,” said Adalar. “I have to drink the poison.”

“One of us has to drink the poison,” said Sigaldra. 

“It should be me,” said Adalar, sheathing the Dark Elderborn sword in his shoulder scabbard. “To be blunt, you’re smaller than I am, so the poison will affect you more quickly. I just have to make it to the healing potion before it kills me.”

“Lord Mazael barely made it to the potion!” said Sigaldra. 

“See?” said Adalar. “He’s at least fifteen years older than I am. It won’t kill me as quickly.” 

“No,” said Sigaldra.

“There’s no other way,” said Adalar. “If one of us has to die here, better that it is me. I have no family left. You have your sister and the rest of the Jutai. You have to escape to rescue you sister.”

Sigaldra stared at him, stricken. His words made cold, logical sense. She had told herself again and again that she would do anything, sacrifice anyone, to save Liane. 

Now that it came to it…

“No,” said Sigaldra.

“It has to be me,” said Adalar with a faint smile. “Then I just drink the healing potion, and we’ll go kill the Prophetess.”

Sigaldra opened her mouth, closed it again, unable to speak through the emotions warring through her.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last.

“No,” said Adalar. “Don’t be. I thought I would die for nothing. If I am to die today, let it be for something.”

Before she could answer, before she could stop him, he cupped his hands, plunged them into the basin, lifted the poison to his lips, and drank. 

At once the symbols upon the walls went dark, and the doors slid open with the grating rasp of stone on stone. 

Adalar managed three strong steps before he groaned, his eyes going wide, every muscle in his body seeming to go rigid at once. He staggered forward another step, and Sigaldra rushed to him, helping to hold up.

“Come on,” she said, “hurry, hurry, please hurry…”

He managed a jerking nod, clenching his teeth. He staggered forward, and Sigaldra half-dragged him to the archway to the next chamber. Another dozen yards and they would reach the basin with the healing potion…

Adalar fell to one knee, pulling Sigaldra down with him.

“Get up,” she said. “Get up, get up…”

He smiled at her, but his eyes rolled up into his head, and he fell upon the floor. Sigaldra stared at him, trying to think of what to do. She was not strong enough to carry him to the plinth. She might be able to drag him there, but he would not be able to drink, and by the time she got him there, he might be dead.

Could she bring some of the potion to him? She had nothing that could carry a liquid, and his mouth was closed. She couldn’t cup it in her hands, because she needed her hands to pry his mouth open and hold his nose to pour it down his throat. 

She couldn’t save him. 

“No,” whispered Sigaldra, pure fury rising up to swallow her.

She had lost so much. The Malrags had slaughtered her people. Battle had claimed her father and brothers. Ragnachar had taken their homeland away. The Prophetess had kidnapped Liane. Sigaldra had lost too much already. She was not going to lose Adalar. 

She was not!

Sigaldra ran to the plinth, plunged her hands into the basin, and filled with them the blue potion. She lifted her hands and drank, holding the potion in her mouth without swallowing. Adalar shuddered, his breathing coming slower and slower, a ghastly blue tinge coloring his lips and fingers. Sigaldra shoved away from the plinth, the potion sloshing around her teeth, and ran to Adalar’s side. She knelt next to him and pulled his jaws open.

Then she bent over him, put her mouth against his, and let the antidote potion fall into his opened mouth. She pinched his nose shut and pushed his head back, and after a moment he swallowed. 

He shuddered once more, and then went limp, the sweat glistening on his forehead.

Nothing else happened. 

Sigaldra stared at him, horrified. She should have told him to stay at Greatheart Keep, or to go home to Castle Dominus and Mastaria. This was her fault. She had known following her would lead Adalar Greatheart to his death, and she had let it happen away because she was selfish and ruthless and…

Adalar’s eyes popped open, and he sucked in a heaving breath. Then another came, and another, and Sigaldra almost sobbed with relief. 

“Did…did it work?” said Adalar. 

“Yes,” said Sigaldra, cupping his cheek with her left hand, the stubble rough beneath her fingers. “Yes, it did. We’re out.” 

He blinked in surprise, his right hand closing around her left. She thought he would pull her hand away, but instead his hand rested atop hers. Then he seemed to draw his thoughts back together, and he straightened up and stood, helping her up as well. 

“Then let’s finish this,” said Adalar, “and save your sister.”

Sigaldra nodded, and they ran back into the cavern. 

###

Mazael’s shoulders ached, his arms throbbed, and his knees screamed with pain. Sweat sheeted down his face, and even with his Demonsouled rage, he felt his stamina starting to waver. Rigoric suffered from no such limitation, and his swings and parries were just as sharp and as crisp as they had been at the start of the duel.