The Wizard's Mask

Chapter Eleven

Her head throbbed abominably, and at the same time felt as large as a table. A table that hurt a lot. While one of her ears itched.

Tantaerra winced, watched half-seen tree branches in the darkness above her swim and mingle like schooling fish, and closed her eyes again. She was securely bound. Ankles, elbows behind her, and throat to a log her head was propped up against. At least some of her daggers weren't where they should be. Possibly-no, probably-all of them were gone.

Where …oh. Right. Dung.

"With us again, Tantaerra Loroeva Klazra?"

The face and voice were above but behind her. Ahrkholm, of course. "The man you hired made quite a bit of noise while I cut the arrow out of his shoulder, but you didn't seem to hear us."

"Where-?"

"Right beside you. Tied to the same log. Awaiting your …presence. He didn't want to hear what I had to say until you could hear it too. Such touching loyalty."

"What do you want with us?" Tantaerra managed to ask. She felt utterly drained, unable to move even if she hadn't been tied.

"I want you to listen to me. First, though, I want you to drink these."

"And what are 'these'? Drinks laced with hemlock, or something faster and more deadly?"

"No," the man who was calling himself Ahrkholm replied flatly. He unhooded a lantern sheathed in crimson smoked glass, that gave off a faint, ruddy light. Enough to show them his arms, reaching down. In one of his hands was a white ceramic vial about the size of his thumb. It bore a small sigil of a tankard-the sign of Cayden Cailean, the perpetually drunk, freedom-loving god so popular among the Nirmathi. Its cork stopper was securely sealed with a lot of red wax.

"This," Ahrkholm said quietly, waving it gently, "is the beginning of trust."

"As in, I have to trust that if I drink it, it won't harm me?"

"Yes, but more than that. I'm hoping that after you drink it, you will begin to trust me."

Tantaerra fought to control her face-it felt numb, and her vision kept sliding back into echoes and doublings. She managed to raise one eyebrow and give him a disbelieving glare. "After I drink it, I could be dead."

"If I wanted you dead, I could easily have killed you when you were lying senseless," he pointed out. "Instead, I only tied you up and removed your weapons. For my own protection."

"I take it you enjoyed searching me," Tantaerra spat.

Their captor sighed. "Not particularly. I know you mistrust me, but I want very much to be your friend-both of you. I …admire you. Nirmathas has need of you."

"So you serve Nirmathas, mystery man?"

"I do. I spy for them in Molthune-as I hope you will, in times to come. Which is why I want you to drink this." He held the vial closer.

"I'm aware that I haven't a lot of choice," Tantaerra told him, "lying here trussed like a fowl ready for the spit, but I do want to proclaim my dislike of being asked to do something by a man about whom I know nothing, who won't even tell me his name. Let our trust begin there, hey?"

"Very well. My name is Orivin Voyvik, not Ahrkholm. I spy for Nirmathas, and I want to recruit you to my country's cause. You've both been mistreated in Molthune-you, Tantaerra Klazra, were enslaved for years."

"I had not, in fact, forgotten that," Tantaerra told him. "Yet I am what minstrels might term 'bitter with mistrust.' For all I know, you may be asking me to trade one enslavement for another. After all, how do I really know what's in that vial?"

"You don't," Voyvik replied simply. "That's where the trust comes in. In this small measure, you have to trust me."

"My life may be a small measure to you," Tantaerra told him sharply, "but it's rather more than that to me, I assure you!"

"If I drink it, will you gentle your tongue for a bit?" The Masked rasped, from beside her. He sounded terrible, a hoarse, hissing whisper. "Or better yet, shut up?"

Tantaerra gaped. "Uh …ah …yes. I suppose." She looked at Voyvik, who shrugged, got up, and moved over to The Masked.

"Swallow it all. It will help, not hurt."

"If I do that, how will there be any left for her?"

Voyvik smiled, dug into a pouch, and displayed a fistful of identical vials.

The Masked chuckled, or tried to, but it turned into a racking cough. "Feed me the damned vial," he husked, when he could speak again.

Voyvik sliced away the wax with infinite care, using one of Tantaerra's smallest, sharpest knives, and poured the vial down The Masked's throat. When the prisoner erupted in coughs again, the Nirmathi spy clapped his jaw up and held his mouth closed with swift, deft strength.

Then he let The Masked sag back against the log-which the trussed man did with a long, shuddering sigh of relief.

"Another one?" Voyvik asked, holding up a second vial.

"See to the lady first," The Masked replied.

The clear, minty liquid was accompanied by a cleansing warmth, a tingling relief so immediate it was almost a rapture. Her aches faded, her pain was sluiced away, her headache vanished, and she felt strong and contented and …comfortable. Her vision was sharp and clear, the doubling and blurring gone.

She was fine. Just like that.

"Better?" Voyvik asked, as gently as any mother bending over a sickbed.

When Tantaerra nodded, he smiled as if he meant it and went back to The Masked. "Another, now?"

"Another," The Masked agreed, in a voice that held more satisfaction than pain, and received the contents of another vial.

Well, damn the man! He'd healed them both-using magical potions that likely cost more than a cottage and the farm that went with it. And he'd just expended three on the two of them!

It felt good to have the pain gone, and no longer be stiff and sick and hurting. She was whole, hale, hearty-and dumbfounded.

Tantaerra knew she should feel grateful that this Voyvik wanted to be a friend. Yet somehow, she couldn't warm to the man.

And they were still tied up, with their weapons taken from them. Lost in the dark heart of a night-shrouded forest, somewhere in Nirmathas.

"So," Voyvik asked her gently, "am I still a villain?"

"I …I thank you, Orivin Voyvik. I am …very grateful, and must confess I begin to feel I could trust you," Tantaerra said slowly, "but as my …companion here will tell you, I'm not easily convinced of matters new and strange to me. I like proof, and need convincing. So convince me."

Voyvik nodded, leaned close, and fixed her with intent eyes. They glinted like copper, as if there were a fire behind them, brighter than their usual brown. "If this healing counts for anything, let it persuade you that I am not a foe. I have never been your foe-or your foe, sir." His burning gaze turned to The Masked for a long moment, then returned to Tantaerra.

She tried not to shudder. That stare made her feel as if she were being transfixed on the point of a knife.

"What I have been, and am, is a man with a dream. A dream of Nirmathas strong and triumphant, free of war and mighty enough to dissuade Molthune from daring to make war across the Inkwater. Molthune can turn from endless warfare and soldiering to making a stronger, greater land of forges and building and innovation-while Nirmathas becomes the verdant garden it was meant to be, breadbasket to many lands, peaceful and beautiful and a haven from want and hunger."

He spread his arms wide, impassioned, and looked at The Masked again, then back at Tantaerra.

"This is a dream. There are years of work ahead to make it real, and it needs more than just me and the few hidden ones who work with me. It needs bold, trustworthy sorts who can make their own fortune, who can survive in the midst of strife, and win through danger without fleeing in fear or abandoning the cause. It needs heroes. And I believe you are two of those heroes."

"And I believe," The Masked said slowly, "that you've been drinking deeply from different vials than you offered us. I admire your zeal, and I think your dream is wonderful. Yet forgive me, Orivin Voyvik, but I cannot see the road from here and now to the dream you seek. Nor do I see how a rogue like me could ever help build one."

"Great achievements are seldom accomplished with single deeds," Voyvik replied quickly. "Such abrupt attempts are apt to be a bit …messy. For now, I seek only to recruit you. I know you've fought and slain both Molthuni and Nirmathi, but when every man's hand is raised against you, of course you defend yourself. I want you to be the strong hands at my side as I work for Nirmathas-and, in a way, for Molthune as well. I can train you, I can lead you, and although it will take many small steps, many missions, we can achieve this dream of mine."

"Perhaps so," The Masked said slowly, "but our memories are not as bad as you might hope them to be. We've seen you in action. I'm not sure I can trust you to be our leader, to obey you without wondering always as to your true intentions."

Voyvik waved a dismissive hand. "I realize this is abrupt for you," he said, rising and starting to pace, "and that trust is never won so swiftly or easily. But what I have done, I've done for the cause. It justifies all!"

Justifies all, Tantaerra thought. Well, now. That really meant he'd do anything to them, to get closer to his dream, didn't it?

Tantaerra recalled Voyvik's smile as he'd brought the Telcanors across the rooftop to fall on the Watchswords, and the gleefully murderous look that had risen onto his face during his vicious battle with The Masked.

"How can we believe you?" she heard herself snapping. "How can you prove, or stand by, a single word you've said? No. A thousand times, no. If such as you serve Nirmathas, then I reject Nirmathas utterly."

Voyvik frowned. "Please understand," he said earnestly, "that I'd do anything for my cause. Anything. My life is dedicated to so weakening Molthune that it can no longer make war on Nirmathas, so we can build this land-a land at peace-into greatness. A Nirmathas free of tyranny, of oppression! You endangered all I'd worked for in Halidon, by killing the investigator the General Lords had sent there before I could mislead him into making real trouble for the fools who squabble in Braganza. That meant I had to get out of Halidon, and what better way to do so than to chase you? I had to learn who you two were-and whom or what you were working for. You are formidable. Nirmathas needs you. Surely you've felt the hard hand of Molthuni authority, time and again? Well, I work to weaken that authority, in ways large and small. Preventing Halidon from felling the Backar Forest at will is one-and bringing down Braganza, with its warring local families and insane governor, is another."

"Words, words," The Masked said dismissively.

"Deeds," Voyvik countered, snatching up the empty potion vials and waving them.

"Heal us so you can use us?" Tantaerra flung at him. "You want praise for treating your intended slaves well?"

"I want no slaves! I want to free all Nirmathi from the bitter choice of death or slavery!"

"That," The Masked said grimly, "sounded just a little bit rehearsed."

"Well, what can I do to convince you? Does the healing, your freedom from pain, count for nothing? You were dying. If you'd gone on walking and fighting and not resting, with that arrowhead still in you, festering …"

"I know," The Masked replied. "So I've listened, and largely kept quiet, and thought hard on this. And come back, again and again, to this: I don't trust you, Voyvik. I don't believe you. I don't know that you can change that. You wanted to kill me, on that rooftop. I looked into your eyes as we fought. I saw your eagerness to slay, your hatred. I see it now, even as you ask us to trust you. We, your bound captives."

Voyvik shook his head. "You misjudge me. I-"

He stopped speaking and cocked his head, listening intently.

Then he bent, plucked up the dagger of Tantaerra's he'd used earlier, sliced the ropes binding their throats to the log, then drove the dagger into the forest loam right beside one of her hands.

"We'll continue this discussion later," he breathed, "when there isn't someone creeping closer to interrupt it. All your other weapons are piled on the other side of the log."

The crimson glow winked out as the lantern was rehooded and snatched up.

And then he was gone, a few branches swaying in his wake.

Tantaerra allowed herself time to spit out just one heartfelt curse, before she snatched up the knife and rolled toward The Masked.

∗ ∗ ∗

"You move quickly when you need to," The Masked whispered approvingly, as they caught their breaths atop a rocky ridge well west of the hollow.

"That potion left me wide awake and full of verve," Tantaerra replied, "and I did not want to have to fight another Nirmathi warband. Or a Molthuni patrol. After all, one or more of them just might have decided to put another hole in you. Or me."

The Masked winced at the memory, shook his head to banish it, and admitted, "I feel fresh and full-rested, too. What say we devote ourselves to some serious travel? Quiet and wary, but getting ourselves a good long way away from here."

"Certainly," Tantaerra agreed, "after we stop over there, where the moonlight's strong, and have a good search and feel to make sure our Nirmathi zealot didn't put anything on us that he can trace us by. A magic pebble, or some such. I do not trust that man."

"I'd gathered that-and it's just possible, after all you said to him, that he might have gathered that," The Masked joked, heading for the moonlight.

They spent some time at it, keeping low so they'd not be seen from afar, but couldn't find anything new, or that looked amiss.

"He does know where we're headed," The Masked pointed out, and Tantaerra granted that point.

"Haul out that map," she ordered. He obeyed, displaying it with a flourish. Whereupon she was forced to admit that not having the slightest idea where they were now made it less than useful.

The Masked circled an area with his forefinger. "We're somewhere hereabouts," he murmured, "and have to get to there." His finger pointed out Hurlandrun. "Not all that far off."

He lifted his hand to indicate the rocks around them. "And I can't help but notice," he added, "that this ridge curves a little north of true west, taking us more or less toward where we want to end up. So, it being a nice starry night, and that star marking north to tell us where we're heading when we get down into the trees again …"

"Such a clever masked man," Tantaerra told him. "Lead on."

The Masked gave her a little bow, the first she'd seen from him in a while, and did so.

∗ ∗ ∗

The sun was low in a golden sky, a few fingers of cloud near the horizon but nothing overhead, when Tantaerra and The Masked paused wearily in a clearing in the seemingly endless forest, looked at each other, and agreed it was time to seek somewhere to hide and sleep out the night.

They'd walked all night, and now all the day after that, finding many clear springs and fast-flowing streams to drink from but little beyond a few unripe berries to eat. Now it was almost sunset, and they were tired and growling-stomach hungry.

It seemed they'd come far beyond where the boldest Molthuni had penetrated into this part of Nirmathas, right now-and past most of the Nirmathi warbands, too, into a backland area where there was still farming going on, and some measure of peaceful daily life. A countryside of small clearings and valleys amid the deep forest, linked by cart-tracks that still hosted creaking carts, and not just men stalking along with swords and bows looking to deal death.

The armies of Molthune had reached this far in the past, they could tell. More than one burned homestead had been reduced to a fire-blackened chimney standing half-cloaked in vines amid the trees, and they passed slightly less ruined homes standing abandoned, with once-tilled fields rapidly disappearing under saplings, high bushes, and creeping vines.

The Masked pointed to one derelict house, ahead. "Let's pass that, then circle around it and have a good look before it gets too dark."

"I'm not sleeping in there," Tantaerra told him. "Humans and halflings aren't the only critters that like being sheltered from the rain. Most of the forest ruins I've poked through have been full of snakes. And spiders, some of them bigger than my head."

"I wasn't thinking of spending the night inside," The Masked told her. "I was thinking of sleeping up on the roof. If it's still sturdy enough."

"Now that," Tantaerra agreed, "is a notion that has promise."

There didn't seem to be anything either lurking or lairing in the house. It was an overgrown but sturdy skeleton of its former self, cloaked in all manner of leafy bushes. The roof was rotten and canted in at one corner where beams beneath had given way, but in the main looked strong enough to sleep a large Molthuni patrol. Several pines growing up one wall made a dark rampart of sorts that concealed the highest corner of the roof from anyone on three sides of the ruin, so they settled down on their backs in that corner and tried to ignore their hunger by chewing spruce needles and the green underbark of certain trees The Masked had sampled before.

"My, what an interesting life you've led," Tantaerra told him, as the sun slipped below the horizon. It started to grow cool, and the tapestry of stars shone clearer overhead. "If we both survive into our dotage and end up bored by the same hearthfire, suppose you tell me how you came to sample tree underbark. Tell me then, not now."

The Masked chuckled. "Then it shall be. Yet you always want to talk, so what would you prefer to converse about now, Tan?"

"'Tan'? Not 'little one'? Who is this 'Tan'?"

"Lady Halfling Patron," came the reply, "I await the telling of what you're interested in discussing-so long as it not be food." The masked man's stomach promptly growled. Loudly.

It was her turn to chuckle, a little ruefully. Looking up at the stars rather than at the man beside her, she murmured, "I think we need to decide some things. Such as whether or not we should just forget this 'quest' Lord Telcanor sent us on. I don't trust him to treat us well, even if we should somehow succeed and bring him this Fearsome Gauntlet. And who calls their enchanted bauble a 'Fearsome Gauntlet,' anyway?"

"Agreed," The Masked muttered back.

The stars were bright and glorious now, the moon not yet full-risen. They looked up at them in companionable silence for a time until he added, almost grudgingly, "Then again, he just might be telling the truth about having some sort of magical hold over us. I doubt he does-but he might have a pet spellcaster who could strike at us from afar. We both had our hair washed, which meant he has some of our hair from the combs, and I've heard of spells …"

Tantaerra sighed. "Me too." She stretched and changed the subject. "This Nirmathas is a beautiful land. Though I mistrust Voyvik as the sort of utterly ruthless zealot who would slice his granddam's throat."

She let her words trail off, but The Masked picked up the sentence very much as she would have continued it. "His dream of a free and peaceful Nirmathas still seems worthwhile, doesn't it?"

Tantaerra gave him a smile.

And discovered that he'd fallen asleep, there in the moonlight, mouth still open.

She regarded him thoughtfully, her smile not leaving her. Not a bad companion, for a human. Not bad at all …

∗ ∗ ∗

It was his bladder that woke him.

The Masked blinked up at a sky that was no longer clear and star-girt, but a great sheet of mottled gray cloud from horizon to horizon, the sort of dour overcast that could easily persist all day. It was a bright enough gray that dawn must have come, but the chill in the air was still as sharp as a knife, as a bard might say.

Right now, he needed to set aside such lyrical prattle, find a handy bush, and let fly.

He raised himself on one elbow, and discovered he was cramped and stiff-and that a whisper-snoring Tantaerra was once more curled up against him like a cat.

Ah. That would be why the cold hadn't roused him before his need to relieve himself. The Masked shifted away from the sleeping halfling as gently and quietly as possible, stretched, then stood up, swaying for a moment, and looked around.

The birds had awakened long ago, and their calls reassured him that no one was on the move immediately around their ruin. He'd water the greenery just there …

He took two stiff strides, planted himself, and-

The roof gave way beneath him.

He barely had time to go from upright to falling onto his back before he was plunged into the damp green gloom of the empty rooms they'd explored the night before, rotten beams disintegrating around him in a swirl of dust, as he slammed down onto-

Something large and meaty and alive, that convulsed beneath him with a great gasp and emitted a wild shriek.

The Masked bounced and rolled off whoever it was, ending up with his feet thrust up into the air and his neck in the dirt where the floor had once been, one of his shoulders against a support post that now leaned alarmingly, as wood groaned overhead.

He found himself staring across the windowless, overgrown rooms at a tousled, staring Orivin Voyvik, daggers in both hands and looking very much like he wanted to bury them in someone.

He blinked, focused on The Masked, then let out a rising snarl of rage and stalked forward. "So! You try to kill me! Wel-"

His words were lost in a sudden tumbling roar as a lot more roof fell-and Tantaerra tumbled helplessly down on Voyvik's head, smashing him to the floor and sending one of his daggers tlanging off a post.

He roared, this time with real pain, and staggered to his feet to face a tousled and furious Tantaerra, with two of her daggers raised to menace him.

He blinked at them-and then whirled and fled, out through an empty window frame and into the forest, at top speed.

The Masked looked at Tantaerra, and she looked at him …and then they both burst into laughter, shouting out helpless mirth that left them doubled over, before hastily departing the ruin to relieve themselves.

It was some time before they could cling to silence again, and join each other with attention for anything else. The Masked produced the map, and Tantaerra held up Voyvik's lost dagger, arching an eyebrow.

"My first trophy."

The Masked shook his head. "Drop it. Or leave it thrust into a post or beam for him to find. He might be able to trace his own weapons, from afar."

Tantaerra nodded soberly, then flung the dagger away across the room, to thunk into a post. "So," she asked, "did he track us here, or can he trace us-or did he just happen upon the same ruin, through sheer happenstance?"

The Masked spread his hands in a helpless shrug.

Tantaerra sighed. "Show me the map and let's get walking. To someplace where food hangs ready from the trees, cooked and plentiful."

Both of their stomachs rumbled then in loud complaint, which set them to chuckling again.

"If he's out there listening to us, he's going to be furious," Tantaerra warned.

The Masked shrugged again. "True, but that's far from the greatest of my worries."

"Oh? Am I the greatest of your worries?"

"No. Not anymore."

∗ ∗ ∗

Tarram Armistrade knew he shouldn't show himself on this lofty height of rocks, but he was long past caring. This was not a mission either of them was going to live through. What he needed was a wagonload of riches to pay some wizard he could trust-if all Golarion held such a thing-to make sure he and Tantaerra were free of spells that would locate or kill them if they just walked away from this fools' task.

So they could do just that, and at least save their necks.

They'd been stealing food and skulking, then trudging, for days now. Hurlandrun was less than a day away-if they'd been able to fly, rather than clambering through trackless forest trying not to be seen or heard by anyone, while at the same time trying to steal food.

Nirmathas, green and rolling, stretched away below him in all directions. It was a beautiful country, but deadly; after all these years of war with Molthune, the Nirmathi treated every stranger as a spy or invader to be killed on sight or led into prepared traps. When he and Tantaerra weren't being shot at-every local seemed to have a bow, or at least a crude crossbow-people were trying to draw them into snares, pit traps, or ambushes. Even the damned innkeepers.

And Tantaerra was in a particularly foul mood this morning.

"Finished gazing out over your domain? Or are you contemplating leaping off, because death will be just so much easier than what we're going to have to try to do?"

When he didn't reply, she added tartly, "May I remind you, masked man, that you still owe me my ten silver weights back-as you've done such an execrable job of hiding me and abetting my escape."

The Masked rolled his eyes. "And have we not escaped Braganza? After escaping Halidon? I'd say you owe me another ten silver weights," he replied, not turning.

The halfling sputtered at him, one of her sudden rages choking her so severely that she fought to find words.

He ignored it, turning and transfixing her with a steady gaze.

"Seriously," he told her quietly, all playfulness gone from his voice. "If anything happens to me, do not try to loot the Shattered Tomb by yourself. You'll die. Horribly."

"You think so little of my skills?" she flared, predictably enough.

The Masked quelled a sigh. "It's not what I think, it's what I know. I know you don't have the magic, or the familiarity with the ways of magic, you'd need to stay alive."

"Oh? And just how do you know this so unerringly?"

Beneath his mask, Tarram smiled. "Magic."

"Ah. Of course. How convenient. Magic, that splendidly glib explanation for everything!"

"Tantaerra Klazra," he said patiently, "let me tell you a story."

"Why not? Deceitful men always do! Pray make it a good one, Sir Armistrade, for I have heard a fancy-tale or two before in my time."

Ignoring her scorn, he chose a sloping rock to sit on, waved her to another that faced it not far away, and began. "Far away and long ago," he said, "I was once as brashly confident as you. If a little taller."

"Until you stole a certain mask," the halfling retorted.

That earned her a glare, but she merely said, "Suppose you begin with this tomb and how it came to be, back when the world was younger and a certain masked man was still brashly confident. Tell me a fireside tale. After all, it's about time."

The Masked nodded. "Very well. Once there was a mighty wizard named Mahalagris, who dwelt where we're headed. He was known for transforming squirrels and rabbits and the like into ferocious beasts under his command, and summoning monsters to do his bidding. He was not a nice man."

Tantaerra's lip curled. "They never are, are they?"

But The Masked wasn't listening to her. He was thinking about Karm, and masks, and his greatest mistake …