The face was new to Tantaerra, yet reminded her of someone she couldn't recall.
He was shortish, wiry, and vigorous, thin on top but not yet balding, with a short gray-white fringe of a beard beneath a sharp-pointed nose and dark, glittering eyes.
That mouth shaped a sneering smile as Voyvik whirled, dagger flashing out.
"Don't do that!" he snarled, seeing who it was. He sheathed his dagger. "This is a land at war! I might've killed you!"
The old man shrugged. "You might have tried. Well?"
Voyvik sighed. "It's no use. They'll have nothing to do with me."
The man nodded. "So stop trying to recruit them. Kill them."
"But the halfling is Nirmathi! Was a Molthuni slave! Surely she should see the sense-"
The old man shrugged. "Do with her what you wish; she's nothing to me. The important one is the man who calls himself The Masked. You've brought him within my reach. Now kill him. And be sure to carry the gem I gave you when you do it."
Voyvik's hand went reflexively to his pouch. "Why?" he asked suspiciously. "What does it do?"
"It lets me see what happens, right after whenever you draw blood. Every time. The rest of the time it does nothing-I cannot trace it or spy through it. Worry not; I can't speak to you through it, or harm you, or send spells through it, or make it explode."
"How do I know you're telling the truth?"
"Trust, Orivin Voyvik, trust. You must trust someone-and Araungras Karm does not lie, or cheat, or indulge in deceit among those who enter his trust. Not every wizard is evil, or lacks all principles and scruples. The man you are to slay stole a mask from me, and has it yet. He must pay."
"Then why not blast him with your spells?"
"That would risk the mask. I need not gloat over his passing, nor slay him myself. I'll do it if I must, but I'd much rather have you do it, bring me the mask, and accept your rich reward."
"How do I know you won't suddenly learn deceit right then, and trick me out of my pay?"
"Trust, Orivin," the old wizard sighed. "Trust."
∗ ∗ ∗
"So if we see him again, he's been told to kill us." The halfling sounded bitter, as if she'd really been hoping Voyvik had been telling them the truth. "No matter what he says about recruiting us to help him pursue his dream."
Tarram nodded. "I find myself less than surprised."
Luraumadar, the mask murmured approvingly, inside his head.
"Let's get going," he told Tantaerra. "No doubt he'll try to ambush us, when he can catch us at a disadvantage."
"The wizard called himself Araungras Karm," the halfling muttered, "just like you said. I know I've never seen him before-but he still reminded me of someone. I just can't think of whom. It's driving me crazy."
"In my experience," Tarram said, "wrestling with memories is futile. Turn to something else, and the answer will unfold in your mind. Trying to hurry it won't work."
Tantaerra sighed. "True enough. So, how far from Hurlandrun are we?"
He shrugged. "Not far-but then again, in this forest and keeping off the roads, 'far' is a rather empty word, yes?"
"Yes," the halfling agreed-then hurled herself hard at the backs of his knees. He went over backward with a startled curse, a crossbow bolt humming through the air above his descending nose.
When he hit the ground, he wasted no time trying to see who was attacking, but rolled away from the source of that bolt, to where the land fell away in another rocky cliff-and over it, snatching at roots and clefts in the rock to keep from plummeting. Tantaerra was nowhere to be seen.
He clambered sideways along the cliff face to where he could get under an overhang, and clung there, waiting.
So, some Molthuni? Or Voyvik again?
Voyvik, for any coin he might wager. The crazed Nirmathi-or agent of Karm-had become far more than a passing annoyance. It was beyond time to deal with him.
"Tarram Armistrade, I have a proposition for you."
It was Voyvik's voice, of course, coming from around the bulge of moss-stained rock to his right.
The Masked smiled sourly. "Let me guess," he replied. "You want me to hand over the mask in return for some generous blandishment or other-so you can then kill me. Or has Karm something new in mind?"
"I've no intention of killing you."
"Are you aware that Karm probably intends to kill you? Through that gem he gave you. The moment he knows you have the mask, he'll set its magic on you."
Sheer bluff, but if Voyvik had dealt long enough with Karm or any wizard, its little worm of doubt should sink into waiting soil …
"So you eavesdropped on our meeting? Then I suppose the time for deals is past. Hand over the mask, and I'll let you live."
Voyvik's voice was closer now. The man had obviously been climbing cautiously along the rock face as they spoke.
The Masked backed into a cleft that he hoped he could sit in and keep his balance, if he had to hurl several daggers. One old root curved past him, and he drew a dagger and planted it in the spongy wood. Then he slid home another beside the first, lining them up ready.
He was reaching for a third as Voyvik came into view around the rocks. Climbing carefully, with no sign of a crossbow, but with daggers strapped to his forearms that hadn't been there before. Unsheathed daggers, their blades coated with something purplish, buckled to stout bracers.
Poisoned. So one scratch-even a clumsy throw-and death would follow.
Tarram deliberately drew forth his third dagger and held it ready, awaiting the right moment for a good throw into Voyvik's face. An eye would be best …
"Last chance," Voyvik said with a smile. "The mask, Armistrade."
The Masked hefted his dagger. Voyvik kept climbing closer.
Then things happened very quickly.
A flurry of dark cloth whipped around Voyvik's head from behind. Startled, he tried to turn, shaking his head to try to get clear-and a small hand clubbed his forehead with the pommel of a dagger, then slammed at his knuckles, twice and thrice.
Then the man was falling, clawing futilely at the rocks he was plunging from, snarling a furious curse as he left them. He slammed into an outcropping farther down, let out a roar of pain …and was gone, leaving behind only the whispering breeze.
That, and a halfling hanging one-handed over the same drop, rather critically inspecting a ragged piece of dark cloth transfixed on the point of her dagger.
"The old underkirtle over the eyes ploy," she commented, "is harder on underkirtles than I recalled."
"Where," The Masked asked her, "did you get a spare underkirtle?"
"I didn't," she snapped, "so kindly spare my dignity, and look elsewhere for a moment or two. I was getting so tired of that man."
Tarram chuckled. "You sound like a jaded lady of pleasure."
"You sound like the sort of pig who'd patronize them, so thank me nicely for ridding us both of Orivin Voyvik, and kindly rise out of your cesspool of lust and get us to the Shattered Tomb before we both die of hunger or a hail of Nirmathi arrows."
Luraumadar, the mask said gleefully, inside Tarram's head.
"I thank you," he told Tantaerra. "I'd thank you more handsomely if I could see Voyvik's body safely burned to ashes, his bones shattered and gone so no wizard could send him after us as some sort of horrid skeleton afire with deadly magic, but …"
"That'll do," the halfling replied, her voice more distant now as she climbed back to wherever she'd come from. "Tell me, how're you at sewing?"
Chapter Thirteen