Mask of Dragons by Jonathan Moeller Page B

the rest of the way to the tent housing Earnachar, Adalar walking at Sigaldra’s side. The spearthains guarding the tent stepped aside at Mazael’s approach. He nodded to them and threw open the tent’s flap. The furnishings within were austere – a cot, a table, and a stool, light coming from a lantern upon the table. 
    Earnachar son of Balnachar, headman of the Tervingi hold of Banner Hill, sat at the table, scowling at an open book.
    Adalar had met him a few times, and the man always scowled, save for when he talked about the deeds of mighty Tervingar in ancient days. He was a balding keg of a man without much fat, his arms like tree trunks, and Earnachar was a formidable warrior. Certainly he commanded the loyalty of his spearthains and swordthains and horsethains, and Adalar wondered if there was a kernel of truth in Sigaldra’s accusation that Mazael had not executed Earnachar because the headman was too influential. 
    Or perhaps Mazael did indeed think Earnachar had been under the Prophetess’s control. 
    Earnachar looked up at them. 
    “You can read?” said Sigaldra, incredulous. 
    Earnachar shrugged. “Not well.” 
    “Tervingar of old did not read,” said Sigaldra. 
    “The Tervingi nation have come to a new land,” said Earnachar. “We must learn new ways. So I hired one of the Amathavian priests to teach me.” He turned a page of the book, and Adalar saw it was a history of the realm, describing the wars between the ancient Roland kings and the necromancer-lords of Old Dracaryl. “It seems a useful tool, and it helps a man to pass the time.” He sighed. “So, I suppose the Guardian has decided to kill me. That is why the Jutai woman has come, to watch my death, and her pet knight has come to deal the blow.”
    “Pet knight?” said Sigaldra, her anger plain. 
    “He follows you around like a trained puppy,” said Earnachar. “Perhaps you have seduced him…no. You haven’t seduced him yet. It is the hope of your favors, such as they are, that compels him…”
    “You, sir, will hold your tongue,” said Adalar. “I have fought runedead and mad wizards, and I will not be insulted by a man who betrayed his lawful lord to side with a renegade sorceress and her pet spiders. Perhaps she rewarded you with some of her favors, or maybe you preferred the spiders instead of a woman…”
    Sigaldra let out a shocked, angry little laugh.
    Earnachar scowled, but sighed again. “I am in no position to argue. I certainly underestimated that damned woman.” He looked at Adalar. “Well, be quick about it. That greatsword ought to take off my neck in one blow if you do it properly. Though you might want to make…”
    “Earnachar,” said Mazael, “shut up.” 
    Earnachar blinked and fell silent.
    “Let us be candid,” said Mazael. “The Prophetess controlled you with her heart spider, but she inflamed what was already there. You want to be hrould of the Tervingi nation, and perhaps rule the entirety of the Grim Marches yourself. Good sense kept you from acting on those ambitious, but I suspect the heart spider’s influence removed that inhibition.” 
    “It is as you say,” said Earnachar. “Though in your position, I would have killed me already.” 
    “True,” said Mazael. “But, I am not you. I put your fate into the Guardian’s hands, and the Guardian has decreed a trial for you. Succeed, and you shall live and return to your hold of Banner Hill. Fail, and you shall die.” 
    “Very well,” said Earnachar. “What is the trial, then?” 
    “To test your motives, you shall undo the damage you have wrought,” said Mazael. “We’re going to go to Armalast, kidnap Liane to ruin the Prophetess’s plans, and return to the Grim Marches.” 
    For a while Earnachar said nothing. 
    “Very well,” said Earnachar at last. “I owe that bitch the Prophetess a debt of pain anyway. When do we leave?”

Chapter 6: Messengers of the Goddess
     
    At noon on the next day, Mazael