Mask of Swords Read Free

pens where Toric and his skythains kept their griffins. The griffins growled and roared, raking at their pens, their wings flapping and their claws slashing at the air.
    A furious melee swirled below the ruined church, Tervingi spearthains and swordthains battling a mob of valgasts. These valgasts seemed larger and better armored than the ones Mazael had killed outside the hall, and some of them even bore weapons of steel instead of bone. Both Tervingi men and valgasts lay dead upon the ground. Mazael spotted Toric leading his men in to battle. Toric was lean and weathered from years spent in a griffin’s saddle. He had once been a skythain of the Tervingi hrould Athanaric, and had later become a headman in his own right. 
    A glowing shape darted through the melee, a creature that looked like a wolf with a mane of razor-edged tentacles. Shimmering mist wreathed its form, and the creature looked vaguely translucent, almost ghostly. Yet the blows it dealt were real enough, and even as Mazael looked the wolf attacked a Tervingi spearthain, the warrior ducking behind his shield as he stumbled backwards. 
    Mazael had seen such creatures before. It was beast of the spirit world, summoned by a wizard to attack his foes.
    “Sir Hagen!” said Mazael. “Aid Toric. Find the wizard if you can. I will deal with his creatures.”
    “Take them!” shouted Hagen, raising his hammer, and the armsmen charged into the fray. The Tervingi fought with renewed vigor at the sight of allies. Mazael cut down a surprised valgast and sprang at the wolf. The creature turned away from the wounded spearthain and snapped at Mazael, its tentacles lashing like whips. Mazael slashed with Talon, severing the tentacles, and the spirit creature reared back in pain. He drove his curved blade down, slicing through the wolf’s body, and it dissolved into gray mist, disappearing back into the spirit world. 
    The wounded spearthain staggered to his feet, and Mazael waded into the battle. A blow from his shield snapped back a valgast’s head, and two spears pierced the creature’s chest. Talon ripped across a valgast’s throat, greenish-black slime spattering across the blade, and the creature joined the others upon the ground. A second spirit beast bounded through the fight, and Mazael took its head off with a powerful blow, both head and body dissolving into mist. The valgasts were quick and deadly, but Mazael’s armsmen and the Tervingi thains were better armored. The fight was turning their way, unless the valgasts’ wizard did something…
    A bolt of flame erupted from the darkness of the ruined church and struck the ground with a roar. The blast killed one Tervingi spearthain, the man’s charred husk tumbling to the ground, and threw a half-dozen more men from their feet. The valgasts closed around them for the kill, and Mazael hewed his way through the creatures. A bone dagger shattered against his armor, and Mazael killed the valgast that had struck him.
    He cut down one more creature, and then he was through, running for the yawning, empty door to the ruined church. Half of the dome had fallen in, filling the empty space with rubble. Mazael’s eyes scanned the darkness, seeking for a wizard.
    Firelight flared in the gloom.
    A valgast stood atop the rubble in the center of the church, fire playing about its clawed hands. Compared to the others, this valgast was enormous, standing nearly five and a half feet tall. The others were various shades of venomous yellow or sickly green, but this valgast was bone white, its huge black eyes like bottomless pits. Elaborate scars had been cut into its pale hide, various magical sigils shimmering and glowing with sullen flame. 
    “Ah, I see,” said the valgast wizard in the Dark Elderborn language, “the tainted one. One of the last tainted ones, it seems.”
    “Who are you and what do you want?” said Mazael.
    “I am merely a priest and a servant,” said the wizard. “I wish to harvest your people