The Bone Mask Trilogy: (An Epic Fantasy Boxed Set), page 109
Sofia hesitated. Could she trust him?
“I will vouch for him,” Wayrn said. “His desire is true.”
Ain spoke directly to Sofia, Notch and Emilio – his expression becoming fierce. He clenched a fist as he spoke.
Wayrn translated. “He’s sworn an oath on the lives of his wife and unborn child. He wants to end the threat as much as we do; dark things threaten his people.”
Sofia stood and offered a bow. “Then welcome. I hope you will be given the chance to return home.”
Notch held out a hand, as did Emilio, welcoming the Medah. “Hope you’re ready for more odds stacked against us.”
Ain’s response sounded affirmative.
“He’s ready,” Wayrn said. “He says that’s always the way of life.”
“Truly spoken,” Notch said, his tone approving.
Sofia had to agree – nothing was ever easy. The creature within the pool would hardly be any different. Would she be able to defeat it, even with Argeon? Oliadamo had put some doubt into her mind.
Or was it much needed caution?
There was only one way to discover. Which meant drawing forth the creature – whatever it might be.
Chapter 47.
Sofia squeezed the rock in her palm.
Her pulse quickened as she glanced to either side. Notch and Emilio, Wayrn and Ain a step behind. All armed; all vulnerable. And wasn’t she too? Padin had warned her – Oliadamo had warned her.
But she wore Argeon; that had to count for much.
“Everyone ready?”
“We are, My Lady,” Emilio said.
She nodded but didn’t throw the rock. Wasn’t there something she was forgetting? Something she’d wanted...it wasn’t coming to mind. She had to act, every moment she hesitated was another moment for Marinus to get closer to retrieving the Crucible. If he didn’t possess it already.
One more squeeze and she tossed the rock into the sludge.
A thick splash followed and then the dark mess began to stir. A peak rose, resolving into an arm and hand, though it remained buried in the sludge. It gripped the pool, black strings of tar caught between rim and hand when it lifted itself.
An arrow sped across the distance between them.
It thudded into the rising shape and the thing flinched, spraying tar. Sofia shielded herself with her long sleeve. Emilio cursed. A dark spot sizzled on his armour.
“We won’t be able to slow it down much,” Notch said.
“Find stones,” Sofia said. Her voice echoed off the cold rock. The wind rose, biting at her hands and exposed throat.
Finally, the full shape pulled itself free. Smaller than she’d expected, it was mostly limbs, save for one blazing eye in the centre – if it truly were an eye. The body was larger than a dog but when it slapped its way forward, it wobbled. Joints stretched, light visible between the streaks of tar. It was not unlike the green things that burst from the sewer in Anaskar – which meant its touch would likely be deadly.
But the creature held together as it advanced.
Sofia raised a hand and squeezed, Compelling as she did. The gesture was not necessary, yet she found it focused Argeon’s attention. Bones snapped but the creature slipped on. She gave ground, waving the others back.
“Sofia. If we try to smash it with a rock, there’s every chance it’ll spray us,” Wayrn shouted.
“I’m thinking,” she said.
What could she do?
“Back,” she commanded. This time her voice echoed with power, rising over the wind, but the creature continued to advance. Spots of fur became visible when one limb stretched too far, but the sludge covered the fur quickly. As if the dark mess were separate from the bulk?
Fire!
Sofia cursed. “I need fire – I’m a fool.”
“We have no fuel,” Notch shouted.
“If I can distract it, could you reach the wood?” Sofia asked.
“We’ll try,” Emilio said.
The thing had slowed. Its eye dimmed, swiftly turning to a glowing black – and the stained ground responded in fashion. A black glow shot up around Sofia in a burst, clouding her vision. Cries of pain rose around her, and she spun. Emilio was writhing in the air, lifted by the dark light. Notch had fallen to one knee, fighting to drag himself out of the glow. Wayrn and Ain were already moving away from the stains, which had not reached far along the trail.
Argeon protected her – yet she could no longer see the creature.
More wind tore through the clearing, causing the black to falter. The thing became visible, almost upon her. She lashed out with whatever she could find – more wind. It drove the creature back and dispersed the glow, momentarily drowning out the cries of pain.
A limb shot forward and she flung her arm up – blocking the sludge, which hissed through her robe and splattered against Argeon. More hissing. She pulled wind to her body once more, shuddering with its force before flinging it at the thing, sending it sliding back. Sofia raised her arms and drew yet more wind from the sky – not unlike the storm before the Harper – and channelled it at the creature, slamming it against the stone of the pool.
And there she pinned it.
Blast after blast of chill air. Wind pummelled it. Held it in place. She advanced, clothing billowing. Argeon’s glow intensified.
“More,” she cried.
She hurled another blast, sucking down yet more mountain air, tearing it from the snow-capped peaks now, drawing more and more, pulling little shards of ice as she did. Cries arose from behind her, but they were faint sounds of shock. Not pain. Sleet hammered the creature. It flinched as thin shards of ice lanced its body. Sofia smashed it into the stone with such chilling wind, from the darkest reaches of the mountains above, that ice began to form around the thing. The edges turned a bitter white, the darkness shrinking.
Was it dead?
Make sure.
She drove more wind and ice at it, each piece sticking like a spear, until she could hold no more. The wind died and she gasped. She shivered, icicles glinted on Argeon’s eye-sockets and cracked when she moved her legs. Her first step nearly sent her sprawling. Ice glinted all around the pool, all over the ground but concentrated most heavily on the creature.
She crouched beside it. “Argeon, is it dead?”
Yes. You acted well. Oliadamo was pleased. Now I will lead you in the cleansing.
Oliadamo raised her hands over the pool. Within lay a thin layer of sludge, less than a foot deep at a guess, its surface still. Hints of ice climbed the edge closest to the creature. Argeon glowed and a warmth spread through her, drawn from the mask itself – and set the pool to boiling. Hissing black steam rose. Oliadamo kept the heat on the pool, while at the same time drew more wind and cast the black gas high into the air to dissipate. Finally, it grew clear. There. All is cleansed.
All that remained in the bottom of the pool now were fragments of bone and claws from an animal, perhaps a wolf, floating in a clear liquid tainted the faintest shade of blue.
“How does it rejuvenate the land?” Sofia asked.
When properly maintained the pool does not turn rancid. Then, it is allowed to overflow and the blood of the Sea God is spread across the land via the rivers.
“Sofia! Quickly.”
She spun. Wayrn waved for her to join him where he crouched over the prone body of Notch. Ain knelt beside Emilio, who was similarly motionless. She slipped on the icy stone as she ran. How could she have forgotten them?
She reached Notch first and gasped.
Black coursed through his veins, tracing splayed lines up along his neck and into his cheek – even his wrist and fingers were poisoned. Further up the trail, Emilio was the same. “Bring them together,” she commanded.
Wayrn and Ain complied. Sofia knelt between the stricken men. Both were pale and neither man’s chest rose very high, breathing shallow.
“Argeon.” She flung a picture at the Greatmask – the first that came to mind – that of both men vomiting black tar, sitting up as they hacked great coughs.
Power flowed from her. Notch and Emilio jerked upright, eyes wide as they coughed. A stream of black bile poured forth. Notch rolled onto his side, coughing and hacking. Emilio mirrored his movements. Wayrn slapped Notch on the back and Ain duplicated the gesture for Emilio.
Black tar continued to spew from their mouths, pooling on the stones.
Yet the sludge did not hiss and the darkness within their veins began to fade. Notch heaved another mass of blackness and she checked on him. Even the black tendrils in his throat, which had been darkest, were fading.
Emilio fared as well, shadows disappearing from his face.
She kept the pressure on, until both men stopped – Notch driving himself away from the pool of sludge and Emilio staggering to his feet to lean against a wall. Both men breathed hard, eyes still wide.
“Thank you,” Notch gasped.
Emilio tried to smile at her. The blackness of his lips and teeth marred the gesture of gratitude. She took water from the pile of packs they’d made before the fight, and removed a flask, which she handed to him. “Here.”
He drank, washing his mouth out and spitting. “I apologise, My Lady. I know I must look unbecoming.”
She put her arms around him and squeezed. “I don’t mind.”
Chapter 48.
Kanis hurled another boulder into the ravine. It flattened one of the dark pine trees that clung to the slope, crashing all the way down. The scent of split wood and sap rose. He paused to wipe his brow beneath the overcast sky, the chill in the air doing little to cool his sweat.
Or his temper.
Another slab of rock flew into the shadows below, the nearby Gigansi giving a grunt. A second took the man’s place at the edge of the ravine, dropping another huge rock over the edge. Kanis fell into step behind one of them, bending at the wall of rubble that sealed the pass and gripped another huge hunk of rock. This one had one smooth side, as if it had once been part of a statue. And maybe it had; Vinezi had obviously been thorough.
At the ravine, he cast it down and rejoined the cycle.
Just as he’d been doing since morning. He and the other half-dozen Gigansi worked while Marinus and one of his sycophantic seconds, and their attendants, watched. Occasionally they inspected the wall, where they’d split some of the more compacted sections of stone with their masks, before returning to their tents.
Once or twice, Marinus had left his tent, a cup of steaming tea in his hand. He watched a moment, nodded, then returned without a word.
“Lazy bastard,” Kanis would mutter.
He reached the towering pile of rubble again, climbed to the top, took up a piece of stone and tossed it into the ravine from where he stood – just for variety’s sake.
Getting bored, yet?
Bethana again. He sighed. “Why don’t they just blast a hole in the damn mountain?”
He’s afraid to use too much of his power. Unlike our masks, his Greatmask is the only thing that – as far as I can tell – is unable to be drained. The rest holds a finite amount of power only.
“To hell with him then,” he said. None of the Gigansi bothered to glance at him. None spoke Anaskari and they were used to his muttering, it seemed. To them, he probably appeared to be speaking to himself, complaining about the task.
And why not? It was garbage.
That’s the idea.
He snorted, flexing his fingers while he waited. His little finger always tingled when she spoke in his mind. “I’m still not convinced, you know. Your plan leaves a lot to chance, My Lady.”
You don’t have anything else. Besides, no gain without risk.
“True – though I take all the risk.”
Laughter.
He heaved another piece into the ravine. “Forgive me if I don’t join the merriment.”
Fine. If you’re looking for assurance – steal his Fox-shaped charm, he wears it beneath his breastplate. It will absorb any magic directed at the wearer.
“Indefinitely?”
No, but it might be enough to survive an attack. Just be sure to replace it with a good fake.
“And how can I do that exactly? I have no bone and carving isn’t one of my skills – not to mention taking his armour off without him noticing.”
Don’t worry – there’s a dead animal nearby. Go take a bone and I’ll do the carving. In fact, I should have thought of it before you left. My fault. You take care of stealing it. Let me do the rest.
“Whatever you say, My Lady.”
By dark, he slumped against a rock wall after the meal, cold trail rations, just close enough to the fire to feel its warmth. Earlier he’d snapped a thigh bone from whatever half-eaten animal lay nearby, under the pretext of relieving himself, and now his hands, which moved of their own accord, began shaping the rough outlines with his knife – dulling the edge.
So sharpen it later.
Kanis didn’t reply. Weariness dragged at his limbs – even with Bethana using them – his strength held throughout the day, no stone was too heavy, but his endurance had eventually flagged. Still, Marinus hadn’t appeared to care and there were hints of proper, tooled stone visible at the edges of the pile. Perhaps Vinezi’s stunt wouldn’t put them back as far as first thought – though Marinus was always discussing other methods to pass into the First Temple.
Yet it always came back to the temple lying directly beyond the clogged pass.
Kanis closed his eyes. His hands worked on, the soft scrape of steel on bone soothing. Did she really think she could fool Marinus with a decoy?
Don’t concern yourself about that; I will imbue it with just enough to fool him. Instead, worry about the theft. And remember, I don’t need you to survive killing him, only to succeed in doing so.
“Then why help me?” he whispered. How distant her voice had become. And had the orange glow of the fire grown dim?
Because to succeed, you need all the help you can get.
Kanis did not answer.
When he woke, the grey light of dawn was breaking through clouds. Wind brought rain, slashing across the surface of the blockage. He stretched, glowering at the pile of stone. Wonderful. Endless piles of slippery stones. He stood and a new weight pulled at his tunic, the piece of bone Bethana had been working on. He peered into the pocket. Already half-formed – the head and legs, tail too, all emerging from the hunk.
He shook his head. Still hadn’t figured out how to take the real charm.
A passing Gigansi gave him an odd look and he grinned. Whatever the poor fellow thought he was doing, staring down his own tunic and frowning, it was better not to even attempt an explanation.
Marinus himself was shouting orders from the mouth of his tent, urging everyone to hurry, if his agitated waving was an indicator. Kanis sneered. Seems the man didn’t like the rain, either.
Kanis joined the breakfast line, wolfed down the hot food – finally – then headed for the rubble. He’d only heaved his first stone into the ravine when one of the Ecsoli waved him over. Rain splattered against the man’s mask but it beaded on his cloak – not unlike the red robes of the Mascare.
“You. Inside,” he said.
Kanis followed the man into the tent, where he was caught and held in place by the bone-magic. The man gestured that he should shake off the rain before stepping further inside, where Marinus and his silver breastplate glinted. A brazier burned nearby and a selection of cut orange and apples were arrayed before him, between two steaming cups of tea.
“You were the one Vinezi hired to storm Anaskar, were you not?”
“Yes, My Lord.” And in hindsight, it would have been better had he never met the fool. Now his dream of riches was well and truly dashed. And worse – yes, worse – he’d left things poorly with Flir. Again.
“Then you are familiar with this.” Marinus snapped a finger. One of his attendants lifted a small barrel onto the table, opening the lid.
Dark powder – acor.
Kanis stiffened. “Could you move it further from the brazier?”
“Fool,” Marinus roared. He dragged the barrel to the opposite end of his table. The Ecsoli bowed deeply. Marinus waved him away. “We plan to use it on the rubble, now that we have made some headway. How much is needed to ensure access to the pass?”
“I could only estimate, My Lord.” Kanis said. They’d obviously taken it from the palace, but how much did they have? Too much and he’d kill them all. It wasn’t a bad thought, save that there was a chance he’d be killed as well. Dilar he may be, but acor remained too much of an unknown. “To be safe, I would recommend perhaps two mug-fulls at first. To be sure we don’t cause any avalanches. Your Highness,” he added.
“I see.” Marinus studied him. “Not only your own life hangs in the balance, should I learn that you have lied here in a foolish attempt to strike at us.”
“No more than two mug-fulls,” he repeated. “Completely protected from the rain. Not a single drop must touch the acor.”
“Very well.” He glanced to one of his attendants. “See to it. Inform me when all is prepared.”
Kanis was ushered back into the rain and the blocked pass, where he was told to assist the Gigansi create a sheltered hole for the acor. He helped the giants create a snug alcove within the clogged pass, then stood aside. The Ecsoli who’d placed the barrel too close to the brazier – the other Ecsoli was bulkier – knelt before the alcove, arranging the acor before him.
When the man stood back, he revealed a water flask with a slash through it, dark powder within. Two cups? Hard to say, but it had better be. Kanis gave a short nod; at least the Ecsoli had placed the flask deep within the crevice. The fellow was now waving Marinus over, who strode forth with a burning torch in hand. The Ecsoli Prince shouted for those gathered to take cover beyond the tent, where he would hold a barrier.
Whatever that meant.
Marinus gestured to one of the Gigansi, then thrust the torch out before retreating to the safety of the barrier, something Kanis couldn’t see. The Gigansi clenched his jaw as he strode forward. Even throwing the torch, as the man doubtless planned to do, would be a risk.
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