Mask of Swords Read Free Page B

army of valgasts was about to descend upon the Grim Marches, just as Ultorin had led a horde of Malrags from the Great Mountains? 
    The valgasts had known that he was Demonsouled, but they had been surprised to see him. Why?
    Boots slapped against the ground, and Mazael saw Rudolph Larsar hurrying towards him. The boy was a bit pale, but otherwise none the worse for wear. Most of those struck by the darts had recovered, with the younger men and women awakening sooner than the older. A few of the older men and women had not awakened at all, their hearts stopped by the drug. 
    “The bondsmen have finished counting, my lord,” said Rudolph. “Five men and three women dead. They never woke up from the drugged darts.”
    “Seventeen dead in the fighting,” said Toric. “It could have been worse.”
    “Aye,” said Mazael with a scowl. It could have been worse, true, but it should have been better. 
    “I don’t think the valgasts expected to find us here,” said Sir Hagen. “They weren’t prepared for us to put up a fight.”
    “We shall be more vigilant in the future,” said Toric. “The valgasts do not seem to like bright light, so I fear we shall need to keep bonfires going at night. I suspect…”
    A rasp of stone against stone within the ruined church caught Mazael’s attention.
    He turned just as the valgast wizard staggered out of the church, fire crackling around its claws. Mazael snarled and yanked Talon from its scabbard, the symbols upon the curved blade pulsing with golden light, but the wizard let out a watery groan. The wound Mazael had carved into its chest still pulsed with black slime, and the wizard fell to its knees. 
    Mazael, Toric, Hagen, and Rudolph all stared at the wizard, their weapons in hand.
    “I thought,” said Mazael at last, “that I had already killed you.” 
    “You have, tainted one,” snarled the wizard. “My magic was…not enough to heal me. Soon I shall perish.” The valgast glared at him with unblinking black eyes. “But it matters not. My death will not save you from what is to come.” 
    “And what is to come, hmm?” said Mazael. “A tide of valgasts sweeping across the land like a storm?”
    The wizard croaked a ghastly laugh. “Hardly. We are the masters of the deep places. What would we want with the surface? Gah! The sun is too bright and the air too cold. No, we shall merely come when we wish to harvest you as cattle. For that is all you are. Cattle, even if you knew it not.” The wizard snarled, baring its fangs. “Even the tainted ones. The Old Demon harvested for centuries, and the fools never knew it.” 
    “It is neither midsummer nor midwinter,” said Mazael, wondering if he could coax the dying wizard into revealing more information, “and yet here you are.” 
    “Do you not understand, fool?” said the wizard. “The pact was broken. Long ago the Old Demon imprisoned our goddess and bound us beneath the earth, permitting us to come forth only two days a year. But now the Old Demon is dead, and there is no one strong enough to stop us. Our goddess shall rule over mortals as a wolf rules over sheep. Marazadra shall rise again! And I may not live to see it…but you shall, tainted one, and you shall curse the day you were born.” 
    The wizard shuddered once and went limp, bubbling black slime dripping from its fangs and onto its white hide. Mazael jabbed the creature with Talon, but the wizard showed no response. Just to be sure, he took off the wizard’s head. Had the wizard been a little stronger, it could have killed them all with a blast of flame before they even noticed. 
    “What does that mean?” said Toric.
    “I don’t know, not yet,” said Mazael, though he suspected more. He would not share those thoughts with anyone but his wife, his daughter, and her husband. “But I am certain it means there is more fighting ahead of us.”
    “What shall we do now?” said Hagen. 
    “It is simple,” said Mazael. “If more