The Bone Mask Trilogy: (An Epic Fantasy Boxed Set), page 40
“Twins? Or brothers?”
Seto shrugged. “Possibly.” It wasn’t something that could be solved right away. The pit of dark stone and human refuse was not the venue either. “It’s more likely that this body, whoever he was, was no more than a ploy.”
“Doesn’t explain why he’s missing a foot.”
“Nothing does.” He pointed toward the entrance. “Have anyone who has been on guard duty since his arrival report to the palace. Then go find Flir.”
“Yes, Seto.”
Chapter 4
Sofia pulled her mount to a halt, calling for Notch. She rubbed her mare’s neck, leaning over to murmur in the horse’s ear. Notch turned his own horse. Beneath shadows of the treeline his face was creased with worry and his beard had grown heavier.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She glanced over her shoulder. “I just...” A week had already passed and they were only now reaching the Bloodwood, how could they catch up? And how could she turn her back on Anaskar, on her city? From her position on the edge of the Bloodwood, in the middle of the once-paved road, the city was lost beyond the horizon but it would still be perched on the black coast, its walls rebuffing the distant sea. She sighed. Damned either way. Seto would be furious; not that the old man needed her, just her bone masks. But then, he couldn’t use Osani anyway.
And only she could use Argeon.
“Is this the right choice?”
Notch rested his hands on the pommel. “We can turn back.”
She said nothing, running a hand over the saddlebag where both Argeon and Osani sat. Were they talking to each other even now, as Tantos claimed they could? Or was it another diversion, a half-truth? Gods, it wasn’t as though she could trust her brother. Had he lied about Father? Or worse, had he told the truth?
“Sofia?”
“No. I’m just being...I don’t know. Maybe it’s selfish.” Did he think she was selfish too? His face gave nothing away. She adjusted her cloak in the cold. The crimson robes of the Mascare were packed away, for now Notch believed it best to appear as simple travellers. “But I need to know the truth about Father.”
He hesitated. “Seto will understand your choice, Sofia.”
“Hmmm.” Would he? Would anyone back in the city? Pietta? Or Emilio? How could she explain it to them, especially with the city under threat? The Masks were meant to protect Anaskar. “I doubt that.”
“You might be surprised.”
“You’re not much of a liar, are you, Notch?”
He chuckled. “I guess not. Well, either way, he’ll manage. We should keep moving.”
Sofia exhaled and pulled her horse into line behind Notch. The Bloodwood closed around them as long branches spread over the road; big, broad leaves rustling in the breeze where it danced across the treetops. Sofia reached for one but paused. Notch assured her stories about the Bloodwood were lies, that the trees didn’t suck the blood of unwary travellers, but perhaps there was another reason for the name. She tugged at a leaf as they passed a low branch. It came free with a tiny pop.
Red veins ran through the green leaf, ending in a blush at the tip. She shuddered. Blood followed her still. Splashing over her hands as she drove the blade into Oson’s stomach. Spreading across the Mascare’s back in the Carver’s room. Staining the carpet in her father’s study.
“Sofia.” Notch had stopped beside her. “The deeper we go, the more careful you should be.”
“With the trees?”
“The Braonn are very attached to the forest. Some consider it a grave insult to raise a hand against a tree.”
Sofia nodded slowly. History lessons with Father. “As their Gods, Tira and Areth ask.”
“Right. Protectors of the forests.”
They rode on. So much of the wood appeared similar to what had come before. “Have you seen any sign yet?”
He shook his head. “That’d be pushing the limits of our luck. Weeks have passed since he’d have come this way. If he did.”
She frowned. “This is hardly a good time to start having doubts.”
“I’m only saying he might not have taken the Southern Road into the Bloodwood. There are other trails.”
“He was being pursued; wouldn’t he take the path of least resistance?”
“You know Danillo best. What do you think?”
“He’d make it difficult. He’d go deep. He wouldn’t stay on the main road long.”
“We’ll find something.” Notch said, nudging his horse back into motion. The clomp of hooves was dulled by a thick loam coating the road. “There’s a settlement where we can ask. Demarc. We’ll reach it by noon.”
The morning wore on. Notch set a steady pace, not overtaxing their mounts. They stopped twice, once to eat travel rations and once to let a Braonn cart pass. Two men crowded the driver’s seat. The Anaskari man inclined his head, but the driver glared, his pale skin covered in bruises. In the back rode four Braonn children, already dressed in palace livery. Wide eyes stared from sombre faces, though one, a girl, waved at Sofia. Indentured, each of them.
She waved back.
Beside the children were a pair of heavily armed Braonn. Bigger than the driver, they reminded her of Luik. Bows were slung across their shoulders and each carried long knives belted over green tunics.
“Heading for the Palace,” was all Notch said.
Sofia didn’t speak again until the trees thinned ahead. A dozen low-rooved buildings of log and thatch appeared. The homes surrounded a dirt square with a single well. One building, much larger than others, boasted a stable. Not much else seemed of note. Both Braonn and Anaskari folk mingled before the buildings, some offering a greeting to Notch as he dismounted before the building that must have been Demarc’s inn.
“It’s smaller than I expected,” she whispered, removing her cloak and fastening it to her saddle. Beneath the leaves it wasn’t exactly hot, the winter sun being smothered by green, but nor was the day cool. Or she was simply nervous. She hesitated over the masks. No-one could use them, and she wasn’t going far. They would be safe.
“It’s a stopping point really,” Notch said. “We’ll reach a larger, older village tomorrow.”
She trailed him to the door, which he pushed open, entered and closed gently. “Doors are rarely slammed in the wood,” he told her. “It’s how they honour the trees from which they were made.”
“Truly?”
Notch didn’t answer, instead moving across the crowded room. The inn, such as it was, had curved seats with a long bar, though most people stood around tall tables with circular tops. Anaskari traders in their blues, yellows and oranges and even a few Shields from the city, mingled with paler Braonn, their blue eyes striking in large groups. Everywhere she turned, another face with clear blue eyes. Some were even green.
Instead of tension, the murmur of purposeful conversation filled the room. Expressions were calm, or if animated, it was with interest, even excitement. Trade – how swiftly it connected people.
She glanced back through a window at the horses. Both appeared safe.
Notch stopped before an old man drinking alone. He leant against one of the odd, tall tables. His hair was yellow but his face lined, as if every part of him had aged except his hair.
He blinked at first, then put his drink down with a smile. “Notch, what brings you to the thins of Demarc?” His accent was light.
Their hands met in a warrior’s grip. “We’re searching.” He introduced Sofia. “Gelehn here is one of the best hunters in the Bloodwood, though he’s far from his part of the forest.”
“As folks here on the fringes are quick to remind me,” he grumbled. He raised an eyebrow. “And what do you mean, ‘one of’?”
“Fine. The best.”
“Better.” He winked at Sofia. “How’d you get mixed up with Notch then?”
She laughed. “He seems a man of his word.”
“That he is, girl.” To Notch he said, “And what are you searching for here in the Wiraced?”
“A Mascare who fled the city. He’s an imposter and we’ve been given the job of recapturing him. He would have passed this way some weeks ago.”
Gelehn shook his head. “That I can’t help you with. Haven’t been here long, but I know someone who might have heard something – nothing gets by Pan.”
“I’d hoped you would.”
Sofia brightened. Notch was quicker than she gave him credit for, already they had something to go on. Good. Every clue, every advantage was vital. They followed Gelehn from the tavern and crossed the dirt to one of the smaller buildings, built up against the tree line. Beyond the screen of trunks a man toiled in a large, enclosed garden of dappled light. When he saw them the thin man straightened and wiped sweat from his brow. A dark streak of dirt was left behind.
Gelehn stepped over the low stone fence, switching to Braonn. “Pan, can you help us today?”
The farmer drove a hoe into the turned earth. “Might be, Gelehn. Who are your city friends?”
“This is Notch and Sofia. They’re chasing a fugitive from Anaskar.”
The man’s eyes widened. “In a red robe? One of them Mask-fellows?”
“Yes. Did you see him?” Sofia asked.
“I did. He damn near smashed through my fence, he did.” The man waved to a corner of the garden, its fencing newly tied. “Hope you have better luck than them others.”
Sofia straightened. “Others?”
“I’ll show you.” Pan took them to the fence, which he stepped over carefully with some show, as if to school them, and to a small clearing beyond a fallen trunk covered in moss. He pointed to a great heap of white ashes and burnt log endings. “There.” Within, hints of blackened steel poked through the ash, and something that might have been a skull. She looked away. It could have been Father in there.
“You burnt them?” Notch asked. His Braonn was passable but the farmer followed.
“After the fellow that was running burst my fence, he stopped here and killed them that was following him. He took off again, and more Shields and another Mask came through Demarc later, but by then, we’d already burnt the bodies. Bad luck to just leave them.”
Sofia turned to Pan as Notch knelt by the ashes. “But he was well, the man being chased?”
Pan pursed his lips. “Well, he looked tired but made short work of that lot.” He pointed.
Notch stood. “When was this, Pan?”
“Weeks back now. I’d just put the potatoes into the ground.”
Gelehn thanked the farmer and led them back to their mounts. “This Mascare you’re chasing, he sounds dangerous. At least, more than usual. Sure just the two of you are up to it, Notch?”
“Don’t worry about us, Gelehn. Sofia has hidden talents and I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve.”
He chuckled. “Well, good luck to you both. I’ve work of my own to be about. Be safe, Notch.”
“And you, Gelehn.”
The old man strode off and Sofia caught her saddle. A wave of dizziness stopped her words. Sweat had built up beneath her clothing.
Notch reached out. “The withdrawals?”
Her vision had grown foggy. She closed her eyes a moment and it passed. “I think so.”
“Can you stand?”
“Yes. I’ll put Osani on again later, when we’re out of sight.” She clenched her teeth. Damn you, brother. “It’ll pass.”
“Why don’t you wait here while I top up our supplies?”
Sofia murmured assent as she checked on the masks. How frequent the attacks had become. She’d used what little medicine Mayla had been able to provide mere days out of Anaskar. Only wearing Osani put a stop to the fever and side effects. Argeon would too...but how much of Tantos was in the mask now? No. Better to leave it in her bag, hidden away. Not that Osani was much better. If Argeon had been difficult to communicate with, Osani simply refused to acknowledge her.
But he protected her from the lenasi cravings at least. Better, from the pain too.
And at least they’d finally had word of Father.
“Ready?” Notch was stuffing flasks and packages into his saddlebags. How long had she stood by the horses?
“Ready.” She mounted up. “Where to now?”
“To Irihs.” He kicked his horse into a trot, leading them deeper along the leaf-strewn trail. “I’ll bet my sword that your father passed by, maybe even through. He’d need supplies, possibly medicine if he was wounded. Even a small cut can sometimes turn into a problem if not tended.”
“Think we’ll be lucky there too?”
“The Braonn know their forest, Sofia. Someone will help us.” A slight frown crossed his brow.
“Notch?”
“Folks in Ihris might not be as welcoming as they were here. Resentment lingers.”
“So we’re going to be in danger.”
“No more than on any other day of your life.”
“I’m looking for something more specific than philosophy right now.”
He grinned. “Sorry. Just keep a closer eye on those masks perhaps, and leave the talking to me.”
“Fine, but I speak better Braonn than you.”
“That’s a relief.”
“What is?”
“To spend time with someone so refined in manner.”
“But it’s true, Notch. And I have a larger vocabulary.”
He laughed. “Well, leave the sword play to me at least. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Chapter 5
The council wore near identical looks of shock at his robes, the hems covered in webs and dust of the ways and filth from the prison. Seto bit his tongue to keep from sighing as he paced before the fire, its warmth soothing his bones. They weren’t listening; that old busybody Nemola was the worst. The man’s eyes tracked every swish of Seto’s robe from where the advisor sat at the grand table, its polished surface catching the firelight.
Seto stopped before a painting – one of many that towered over him from the walls. Menfolk of the Sword-Fish line. This man, dressed in full armour and his dark eyes brooding, was all-too familiar, especially for someone Seto so rarely thought of before taking the throne.
Father.
Seto spoke without turning. “Nemola, my robe isn’t going anywhere.”
The councillor cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, I –”
He waved a hand as he returned to his seat. “No matter, Nem, old boy. What matters is that we return our focus to the future. Or rather, the present. I need reports, after which Flir ought to have arrived to update us on remaining acor deposits in the city and the palace.”
The council exchanged glances. So similar, robes trimmed in royal orange, faces lined, brows furrowed. More than one member swallowed. Only Brunetti appeared unperturbed – an ex-soldier, he was used to such tension. And living in the palace had its share of tense moments, now that any portion of it could explode. Not only were the poor fools adjusting to the new order – a much more efficient order if the truth were known – but they had to live in constant fear. Tempers frayed as easily as the cheapest, dockside linen.
Even Captain Holindo was not immune to the tension. He barely acknowledged Solicci whenever the two shared a room. But then, perhaps that was no surprise, after what Solicci had been part of. The Captain’s shock at Solicci and Cera’s scheming had been genuine as far as Seto was concerned. Surprising too.
The scarred Captain spoke first. “King Oseto, I regret to report little progress in tracking down Vinezi. Early this morning we captured one of his lackeys, but the man died from his wounds. The good news is that we believe Vinezi has not left the Second Tier yet.”
Seto tapped the arm of his chair. No need to immediately share what Luik had discovered. “You found nothing on his body?”
He shook his head.
“And word from Wayrn?”
“Returned to his search for trails beneath the city.”
Seto turned to Solicci. The man had lost weight since his brief interrogation and release, his cheeks sinking and his nose becoming an even sharper hook. Seto had him watched constantly of course. So too the man’s nephew, who’d replaced Sol as head of House Cavallo, but so far, Solicci had proven a useful administrator and interim head of the Mascare. The man’s outrage at Tantos’ false Mascare had seemed genuine too. Was he trustworthy? He was certainly useful. Seto had mined the traitor for insights into the subtler relationships in the palace as much as he had any other man in the room.
“No word on the whereabouts of either Danillo or Sofia Falco, nor Captain Medoro. Not from my earlier party, nor from Captain Emilio. It has nearly been two weeks, I doubt we will catch up to them. Maybe if Emilio had left the same day...”
“We had to search the city too,” Holindo added, not quite addressing the man, but rather the space between Solicci and Seto.
“Of course, Captain.”
Seto exhaled slowly. To avoid thinking on Notch and Sofia, and the masks...it took some effort. He’d been doing well up to that point. Inevitable, really. Those two...they’d have to talk fast indeed when they returned. Or better, were dragged back.
Possibly in chains. “Send more men.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Next was General Tadeo. Hailing from the edge of the Bloodwood, the man’s partial Braonn heritage found him exiled by Otonos until Seto ordered him back from the Far Islands. His brother had many failings, chief among them an inability to recognise – and make good use of – talent. “Tadeo? News from the eastern seas?”
“No big storms as yet, but it was a comfort to have your Storm Singer along, Your Majesty.”
Abrensi inclined his head, a half-smile on his face. That one bore watching. Ever since Abrensi ‘saved the city’ he’d been enjoying his new-found fame a little too much. But then, Abrensi had been the same, even before Father ‘put him out of sight.’ For an undisclosed reason at that. How reliable was Abrensi truly?
Seto accepted a drink from a servant. “Then you both feel that the sea is not impassable yet? You saw no ships from Renovar?”
_preview.jpg)
