Mistress Of Masks (Book 1) Read online

  He heard Eydis shout at the beast and saw her boot lash out, kicking at the hound. The blow must have connected because the beast gave a startled grunt and the pressure of its vice-like grip on his shoulder was released. With a vicious snarl, the fiery hound leapt off its fallen prey and lunged for Eydis. They circled one another, she unarmed, the dog twice again her size. It was a moment without hope.

  But then Geveral’s ears picked up the sound of another’s swift approach. More hunger hounds? He tried to lift his head to look, but the effort was too painful. His vision was growing dark around the edges, as every heartbeat pumped a fresh spray of blood from the sliced artery in his neck. Life was ebbing away.

  Dimly, he was aware of a fierce figure springing onto the scene, swinging a sword at the massive hunger hound. Was it Orrick returned for them, or was Geveral dreaming? The figure of the barbarian beating back the hound was blurry. As was the form of Eydis backing away from the fight to position herself between Geveral and danger. An unexpected act of courage from someone he had only known for a day. But not one that had any chance of success. Orrick was dwarfed by the size and strength of the fiery beast he battled. Despite the Kroadian’s speed, the hunger hound was twice as agile, and always its teeth were there to block every swipe of the blade.

  A deep moaning sound came from overhead, followed by a sharp cracking noise. Thunder? No, it was the sound of a massive tree branch overhead. The thing broke free and fell, smashing through smaller branches as it tumbled down toward the group below. It hit the ground with a force that shook the earth.

  In the stillness that followed, Geveral realized the sounds of fighting had stopped. He wondered if his hearing was fading, as swiftly as his sight. His head felt light, as weightless as his body. Was this how it felt to die? Vaguely, he became aware someone was rolling him over. His view changed from leaves and earth to shadowy treetops. There was a broad patch of starry sky overhead, where a fresh hole had been ripped through the canopy of treetops. The faces of Geveral and Orrick bending over him were a blur. Beyond them lay the crumpled form of the hunger hound, lying crushed and lifeless beneath the expanse of an enormous fallen branch. No coincidence, that.

  Thank you.

  He stretched out a weak hand toward the ancient scarred tree that had sacrificed its branch to save them. But he could no longer see the tree or the forest around him, as the shadows overtook him. He drew a shallow breath and thought of home.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Eydis

  As she ran after Orrick, Eydis didn’t dare look back. Even with the unconscious Geveral slung over his shoulder, the big barbarian moved like the wind, and it was all she could do not to lose sight of him. They couldn’t afford to get separated again. Not with the remaining hunger hounds gaining on them with every step. So, gasping for breath, she scrambled over fallen logs and shoved through bramble bushes, praying Orrick actually knew where he was going. This was no time for stopping to consult her map.

  Bursting through a fresh curtain of vines, she stumbled to a sudden halt, nearly slamming into the wall of Orrick’s broad back.

  “What is it? Why are we stopping?” she panted, licking sweat from her upper lip.

  Then she saw the wide expanse of dark water stretching before them. Somehow they had reached the shores of the lake.

  But they weren’t the only ones. A backward glance showed the fiery forms of the hounds streaking through the trees, flying so fast they seemed as if their feet couldn’t be touching ground. Following them ran an indistinct figure, resembling a man but twice the size of most and bearing a spiked mace immense enough to smash boulders. Eydis shuddered to imagine what it would do to a human head.

  “Where now? It seems you’ve managed to get us cornered,” she accused Orrick. “You said the hounds wouldn’t approach water.”

  “I said they fear water,” he corrected. “And it was more an observation than a guarantee.” As he spoke, he waded into the shallows.

  Confused but unwilling to be left behind, she splashed in after him. He swiftly led the way to an inlet down-shore, where a clump of trees and vines overhung the water. Behind the screen of vegetation, Eydis could just make out the shape of a small rowboat bobbing on the waters. The barbarian must have night eyes like a wolf to have seen it at such a distance. Nearing the vessel, it became obvious the boat was unmoored and adrift. There was no time to contemplate why that should be or to wonder who had left it in such a place.

  Orrick dropped Geveral’s limp, blood-soaked body into the boat. “Get in,” the barbarian said gruffly and didn’t wait for Eydis to finish clambering over the side before he began towing the craft out from shore.

  Huddled wet and shivering over the seat, Eydis looked around for oars, but there were none. When the water reached past Orrick’s waist, he stopped pulling the boat along and climbed over the side. The vessel rocked wildly at his motion and, with the additional weight, settled lower in the water.

  A series of sharp barks drew Eydis’s eyes to the tree-line in time to see a pair of fierce hunger hounds burst onto the shore. As if infuriated to see their quarry out on the water, they raced up and down the shore, howling and snarling. Then the dogs’ master came into view. In the orangey glow put off by the hunger hounds, his terrible face was visible. The white of his bare jawbone glinted through rotting flesh, and in place of eyes, great spikes jutted from his sockets. Despite that, he turned his head with startling accuracy toward his prey. Eydis trembled, seized by the notion he could somehow hear the loud hammering of her heart and the harshness of her breath.

  With an effort, she dragged her eyes from the scene on the shoreline and focused on Geveral, who lay motionless at her feet. “I cannot wake him,” she told Orrick, giving the Drycaenian youth’s shoulder a gentle nudge. He didn’t stir. “Is he dying?”

  “Might not be such a great loss if he were,” Orrick grumbled, peering through the gloom at Geveral’s neck wound. Despite the harsh words, he ripped a strip off his tunic and packed the rag into the jagged wound. “Keep pressure on this,” he instructed, taking Eydis hands and pressing them over the gash. “I’ll fashion him a proper bandage later, if…” he trailed off.

  “If?” she repeated.

  “If any of us survive the night.”

  Looking up to see what had brought about the somber change of tone, Eydis froze. A pair of pale translucent hands were creeping over the side of the boat, sharp-clawed fingers clamping onto the edge. They were the slender, supple hands of a female, coated in iridescent green scales that glinted under the silvery moonlight. As Eydis stared, transfixed, another pair of hands appeared and then another, taking hold of the bow and stern of the craft and silently propelling it through the water.

  “They’re taking us somewhere,” Eydis murmured and would have leaned over the side of the boat for a better look, but Orrick held her back.

  “Stay away from the edge,” he warned. “We don’t know their intentions, but I’ll wager, whatever these creatures are, they’re fully capable of dragging all of us down to the depths.”

  Heeding the caution, she still managed to get enough of a look down into the waters to see the translucent hands attached to long slender arms that disappeared below the surface. Down there, she caught a fleeting impression of hair swirling like seaweed around glowing eyes. It was impossible to make out more through the dark and murky lake water.

  “They’re pulling us away from shore,” she observed, looking back at the receding shoreline. She could no longer see the threatening creature carrying the giant mace and could only make out the hunger hounds through the distance by their fiery glow piercing the darkness.

  Turning her attention ahead, she found they were sailing into a thick rolling fog. There was something unnatural about the heavy mist, and a strange coldness in the air that made goose pimples break out on her skin. As if he shared her unease, Orrick crouched in the bow and held his sword at the ready, clearly prepared for an attack from any direction. Their craft cut li
ke a knife through the water until they met the fog and it enshrouded them. Then there was nothing to be seen but roiling gray mist and nothing to be heard but the faintly eerie sound of the lake lapping against the sides of the boat. They sailed blindly, at the mercy of the ethereal hands from the water that guided them. Tension mounted.

  With the hand that wasn’t pressed over Geveral’s wound, Eydis reached for her belt-knife before remembering it had never been reclaimed from the Watchers of the Wood back in Treeveil. If these mysterious watery maidens were delivering them into a trap, she would be helpless to aid Orrick in their defense.

  Ahead, a form began taking shape through the mist. Land, ringed by jutting rocks and the towering shapes of trees. It was a small island, one thick with vegetation, its shoreline dotted with boulders.

  “They’re taking us to the island,” said Eydis. “The water maidens want us to go ashore.”

  “A good reason to resist, I’d say,” answered Orrick, as the shore grew close.

  She considered. “No. I think they may be on our side. They did intervene to tow us out here when we had no oars.”

  “Took us prisoner more like,” he grunted.

  As if sensing themselves the object of discussion, the watery creatures withdrew their hands, disappearing into the lake. There was a grinding sound as the boat ran against the shallows, then Eydis leapt over the side into the knee-deep water. Of the water maidens there was no sign. Orrick joined her, and together they pulled the craft up onto the muddy shore.

  They surveyed their surroundings. The shoreline gave way to a grassy slope, scattered with large boulders overgrown by weeds and vines. At the top of the knoll was a stand of trees clustered around what first appeared to be a heap of rocks but on closer look revealed itself to be a manmade ruin.

  Orrick took command. “We will take shelter for the night among those trees. I don’t trust those lake creatures not to slither ashore and murder us in our sleep.”

  “We’ve got to make Geveral as comfortable as possible,” Eydis reminded him.

  Ignoring that, he cast a glance at the sky. “It will be dawn in about three hours. When daylight arrives, those of us who survive the night will look around and assess our situation.”

  She wished he wouldn’t speak as though Geveral’s death were all but a certainty. “Get him up,” she said. “I want to have a look at his wound. And we’ll need a fire to warm him.”

  “Can you heal him with your powers?” asked Orrick.

  She hesitated. “I don’t think so. I scarcely understand how the lifetouch works. The only times I’ve summoned it have been while I was angry. But we can at least keep him comfortable.”

  At her insistence, Orrick lifted the injured youth from the boat and carried him uphill. Once among the trees, they made camp in the roofless remains of the tumbled-down structure that appeared to have once been a temple or similar building. Ravaged by time and encroaching vegetation, the ruins still offered the partial shelter of a floor and several surrounding columns. Eydis settled Geveral against a low wall, while Orrick built a fire. With any luck the heavy fog would prevent their enemies on the far shore from seeing its light.

  Geveral’s bleeding had stopped, Eydis saw, as she covered the prone youth with her cloak. But he remained still and pale as death. Looking down on him, she felt a pang of guilt. He shouldn’t be here with them. If not for her foretelling and Orrick’s thoughtless actions he would be safe at home in his village tonight. Instead he was stranded on this island, grievously wounded, and hunted by enemies that were not his own.

  Orrick settled on a near boulder. The rasping sound of him sharpening his sword’s blade on a whetstone was harsh in the silence. “I’ll take first watch,” he said. “The island appears deserted, but I’ll not stake my life on that.”

  “Let me,” she said. “I won’t sleep tonight anyway, and I need to keep an eye on Geveral.”

  He sniffed the wind. “I smell no enemies close by, so suit yourself.” He set his sword within reach and sprawled before the fire. Within minutes he was snoring.

  Eydis rubbed her bare arms. How could the barbarian sleep so easily? Perhaps he was sufficiently accustomed to the nearness of danger to put it from his mind. But she could not rid her thoughts of the hunger hounds they had left behind. Or worse, of their gruesome master with his eyeless gaze. They were still out there somewhere in the night. What if they found a way to cross the lake? Or what if the birdmen descended on them again? She had no doubt the Aviads were minions of Rathnakar, but how had he known to send them to Treeveil? Was he somehow watching her across the distance, even now?

  Moving nearer the fire, she leaned against a broken column and gazed out into the darkness. She tried to keep her senses alert, but it had been an exhausting day and the warmth of the fire was comfortably lulling. Sleep beckoned. Beneath half-closed eyelids, she caught a glow of white moving among the surrounding trees. Shaking away her drowsiness, she stared harder into the shadows. There it was again. A faint glow, flickering like a pale flame as it weaved around the rocky ruins scattering the hillside. Sometimes the apparition disappeared, masked by a screen of trees or rubble. Then it reappeared, working its way in a circle around the camp.

  Eydis didn’t realize she meant to go for a closer look until she found herself standing. Glancing at her sleeping companions, she had a fleeting thought of waking Orrick to tell him where she was going. Strange that he hadn’t heard or smelled any sign of a near presence. Perhaps it was a ghost out there?

  Anyway, it was not as if she were going far. Outside the ring of firelight it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The pale apparition paused, seemingly waiting for her, and now its features were more distinct. No longer a shapeless blur of light, it had taken on the form of a woman. One clad in a trailing white shroud with a silvery circlet resting atop her loosely flowing hair. As Eydis drew near, the ghostly woman turned and walked away through the trees.

  “Wait!” she called after the retreating figure. “Who are you, and why do you watch us?”

  Instead of responding, the apparition shifted and disappeared into nothingness, leaving her alone in the shadows. In the distance the campfire and the safety of Eydis’s companions beckoned. But she wasn’t ready to go back yet. How could she relax even for a moment, now that she realized they were on an island inhabited by a ghost? Or, for all she knew, many ghosts. Goose pimples stood up on her arms at the thought. Suddenly every tree trunk looming out of the darkness took on threatening proportions. Every subtle whisper of wind stirring through the tall grass sounded like a ghoulish murmur.

  Fighting her unease, she continued in the direction where the apparition had disappeared. On the other side of the trees she found herself amid a ring of stone monoliths. The manmade stones looked as if they might predate even the temple ruins back at camp. At the heart of the ring stood what might once have been a fountain but it was dry now. Despite the fissures down its sides and the wild vines creeping over its edges, the fountain’s ornamentation suggested it had once had significance to whoever constructed it.

  “Death nears for one of your party…”

  At the sibilant whisper, so soft yet so near, Eydis spun, scanning the surrounding shadows.

  “The end of life is as inevitable as its beginning,” continued the whisper. “But all mortals resist this.”

  She saw it now. The ghostly figure in white was creeping about behind the obelisks. It kept distant enough not to expose itself but threw its voice to sound as if it were right over her shoulder.

  Eydis refused to be intimidated. “Enough of your tricks,” she said, standing still. “Tell me who you are and what you want with us.”

  “Is that fear in your voice, Eydis Ironmonger?” hissed the apparition. “Do you weaken so easily when not shielded by your sell-sword?”

  Eydis hesitated. How did the ghost know her name? But clearly it did not know everything. She answered, “Our sword is in the hands of a barbarian. Ignorant and vi
olent he may be, but a mercenary he is not.”

  “So certain are you? Yet what do you truly know of this Kroadian?”

  Eydis followed the apparition’s slow circuit of the ring. “I know he is fated to help save the world. More than that I do not need to know.”

  “Other facts do not concern you? Not even the betrayal of his own kin at the battle of Endguard?”

  “He denies that charge.”

  “All villains protest innocence when it is to their advantage. Do not be too quick to trust the betrayer of blood.”

  Eydis narrowed her eyes. “Right now I’m more concerned with you than with threats from within my party. You seem to know a great deal about me and my companions. How is that when I know not even your name?”

  She heard rather than saw the ghost’s sardonic smile. “I have been called The White Lady.”

  “An apt name, but it is little more. It tells me not who or what you are.”

  The white lady drew a little nearer, making her lovely yet haughty features more clearly visible. She said, “I was once a lady of noble birth, until I and my family were betrayed and murdered by the then inhabitants of this island. There is nothing more you need know about me.”

  “That doesn’t tell me how you know my name and other details about my companions,” Eydis pointed out.

  The white lady lifted a pale shoulder. “I have been watching you since you landed on my shores. This island belongs to me, and power is given me to see the histories of all trespassers who lay foot upon it.”