Mask of Dragons by Jonathan Moeller

charisma within him, in much the same way a hunting predator had charisma. 
    Some of it was his reputation – the man had been known as a fell knight and a fearsome commander even before Ragnachar had forced the Jutai to follow the Tervingi to the Grim Marches. 
    Some of it was the things he had done since becoming liege lord of the Grim Marches. Once the runedead had threatened to overrun the entire world, and the Justiciar Order had promised to drown the Grim Marches in blood.
    There were no more runedead, and the Justiciar Order was extinct…but the folk of the Grim Marches, the Tervingi, and the Jutai were still here. 
    That was in large part because of Mazael Cravenlock. 
    Sigaldra needed to trust someone. The Jutai were only a remnant of the nation they had once been. They needed a protector, and Sigaldra needed someone to help her rescue Liane. Mazael might be that man. The fact that the Jutai were still alive at all had a great deal to do with Mazael. Another man, she knew, might have had no qualms about exterminating the final remnant of the Jutai and taking their lands. Ragnachar would have done it. Perhaps even Lord Richard Mandragon might have given such a command to ensure peace between his vassals and the Tervingi. 
    Mazael hadn’t. Sigaldra wondered why he had not. For all his charisma and authority, he was clearly a man who loved war, which made his restraint all the more unusual. He was a fascinating man, but dangerous, and Sigaldra always thought there was something strange about him, something uncanny. 
    Sometimes he reminded her of Ragnachar. 
    An odd thought, that, given that Mazael had killed Ragnachar at Sword Town. 
    Still, she would have preferred that someone like Adalar ruled the Grim Marches. He reminded her not of Ragnachar, but of her father and brothers and so many other of slain swordthains of the Jutai nation. They had been men who did not love war for its own sake, but who had been skilled at it nonetheless. 
    She put aside such musings. She was the last holdmistress of the Jutai, and the final responsibility for their defense lay with her, not with Mazael or Adalar or anyone else. 
    “Lord Mazael,” she said in a quiet voice. 
    Mazael looked back at her, his eyes the color of cold steel. “Aye?” 
    “Have you decided the punishment of Earnachar son of Balnachar yet?” she said. 
    “The Guardian will decide his fate,” said Mazael.
    A flicker of anger went through Sigaldra. “He betrayed you and made war upon the Jutai.” 
    “He did,” said Mazael. “He was not in control of himself at the time, though. The heart spider was commanding him.”
    “He cooperated with the Prophetess at first,” said Sigaldra. “If he had not done so, much evil would have been averted.”
    “He claims that he planned to turn the Prophetess and Rigoric over to me,” said Mazael. 
    Sigaldra scoffed. “He is a liar.” 
    “Maybe.” Mazael considered that. “Probably. Though if I were to execute my lords and headmen for being ambitious liars, I’d have neither nobles nor Tervingi headmen left.” 
    “The Grim Marches might be well improved for it,” said Sigaldra. 
    Mazael snorted. “Perhaps they would. Still, I will leave Earnachar’s fate in the Guardian’s hands.”
    Sigaldra glanced back at Riothamus. The Guardian was a starkly handsome man, with thick black hair and deep blue eyes. Right now the entirety of his attention was upon Molly Cravenlock, and the Lady of Shadows laughed at something the Guardian said. Riothamus had a good reputation, even among the Jutai. 
    “He will spare Earnachar,” said Sigaldra. “Yet Earnachar deserves death.” 
    “Maybe he does,” said Mazael. “I don’t like the man, and he has caused me a great deal of trouble. Yet he did most of that trouble while he was under the control of the Prophetess’s pet heart spiders. I cannot determine what effect that had upon him. So, his fate is in Riothamus’s hands.” 
    Sigaldra