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 …
Chapter Twelve
Wizards, Scripts, and Secrets
Tarram Armistrade cleared his throat, looked at the halfling who'd hired him seemingly half a lifetime ago, and warned, "After I finish telling you this, we should move. Far from here, and fast."
Tantaerra looked disgusted. "Magic."
He nodded. "Wielded by one who can kill us as easily as snapping his fingers."
"Say on," the halfling commanded, giving him a shrug to let him know what she thought of his warning.
The Masked grinned. Feisty to the last, this one.
"Mahalagris had an apprentice," he told her. "Araungras Karm, a younger and more ambitious man whose spells were paltry compared to those of his master, but who learned fast, and was bold beyond prudence. Not to mention greedy."
"He wanted the magic Mahalagris had, and killed him for it," Tantaerra said flatly. "Not a unique tale, Tarram."
"He wanted power over men, and wealth, and all the good things in life," The Masked continued patiently, "the very things Mahalagris scorned in favor of isolation and study and the crafting of new magic."
"This Karm wanted it all, without having to work for it."
"He did."
"And so?"
"And so, when Mahalagris stayed in his backland home and refused to involve himself in the strife between Nirmathas and Molthune, Karm met secretly with Molthuni who paid him well-and went to war on behalf of Molthune."
"Starting by murdering his master."
"I see you're familiar with minstrels' scripts. Karm's first strike against the foe was indeed to treacherously murder Mahalagris, in hopes of gaining his master's power-but his first mistake was to think that the Nirmathi regarded Mahalagris with the same fear and contempt he did."
"Oh?" Tantaerra looked up, and her eyes held real interest at last.
"Wracked-and pursued-by the spells loosed by his dying master, Karm managed to bear away from his master's abode just one thing. This mask."
The halfling's full attention was on him now.
"It took months before Karm was healed in body and confidence, and well-girded enough in replenished magic to dare to return. When he did venture back into Nirmathas, well disguised, he hoped to gain the spell-tomes of Mahalagris and his master's things of power, including a blade that whispered and a gauntlet that blasted men in battle. The first had been borne by a loyal bodyguard who died in Karm's attack, and the second by the wizard himself, though Karm's swift savagery robbed him of any chance to use it. There was much wealth, too."
"So did Mahalagris rise from his grave and murder this Karm, or did Karm replace him and become the same fell and mighty wizard his master had been?"
"Who's telling this tale?"
The halfling rolled her eyes, but nodded and waved at The Masked to continue.
Bowing his head gravely, he did. "Karm found his master's abode much changed. The Nirmathi had interred Mahalagris with honor-possibly out of respect for what good he'd done Nirmathas, but more likely out of fear of reprisals from his ghost. And they were right to be afraid. Mahalagris's spirit had indeed risen as a mighty undead creature, adding his own magic to the tomb's already extensive defenses. Karm's second attempt failed as well, and he had to flee for his life, leaving Hurlandrun a smoldering ruin behind him."
"Just how do you know all this?"
"Some I learned by listening late on nights when drink had loosened tongues, but most of it I've had from the mask itself. Visions, unexpected and beyond my bidding. I've paid attention, in hopes of staying alive a little longer. And there's more."
"I'm sure. Say on."