Mask of Dragons by Jonathan Moeller Page A

pressed her lips together. Earnachar had more than earned death in her opinion. 
    Perhaps she would yet have the chance to give it to him…
    She shook her head. In the end, it hardly mattered. Earnachar had committed his crimes, and they had allowed the Prophetess to take Liane. Getting Liane back was more important than vengeance. 
    But if the chance came to make Earnachar pay for his crimes…she would not hesitate to take it. 
    They reached the center of the camp. Their one remaining pavilion had been raised to house the maps, and Mazael ducked inside, Sigaldra and all the others following him. The lords and knights and headmen crowded into the pavilion, and Sigaldra quickly took a place near Mazael. But not too near – a charismatic lord like Mazael would have a wandering eye, and Lady Romaria seemed like the sort of woman who would deal violently with any woman who showed too much interest in her husband. 
    Someone bumped into Sigaldra. 
    “I apologize,” said Adalar. 
    She offered him a quick smile. “Do not fear. We must make do with close quarters.”
    “Indeed,” said Adalar. 
    His eyes met hers. This close, they were more of an amber color, and…
    A wave of some strange emotion went through her, and Sigaldra looked away. 
    “My lord and knights and headmen!” said Mazael his voice cutting through the noise. At once the others fell silent. “It seems the Skuldari interpreted the defeat of the runedead as a sign from their goddess, and have come forth to conquer the world in her name. The valgasts and the soliphages worship the same goddess, some dusty bitch named Marazadra, and so fight alongside the Skuldari. They’ve decided to attack the Grim Marches first. So we’ll chase them back into the mountains of Skuldar and burn their city down around their ears. Let’s see if Marazadra will save them. When we’ve finished, the Skuldari will wish they had stayed hiding in their mountains.” 
    The men cheered, the noise tremendous in the confined space of the pavilion. 
    “A good plan,” said Arnulf in his dry voice. “Just how are we going to do that?” 
    “Armalast,” said Mazael. “It’s the chief city and stronghold of Skuldar. Some Skuldari chieftain named Basracus has proclaimed himself the high king of the Skuldari, and has raised his banner within its walls. Additionally, the Prophetess fled to Armalast after her attack at Greatheart Keep was repulsed.”
    Sigaldra scowled. The Prophetess’s attack had been repulsed, but she had not been defeated there. No, there entire reason the Prophetess had gone to Greatheart Keep had been to capture Liane, and she had succeeded. 
    “No one here has ever been to Armalast,” said a middle-aged knight that Sigaldra did not recognize. “The Skuldari slew all who ever passed their borders. How will we find it?” 
    “True,” said Mazael. “The Skuldari have slain all who crossed their borders…almost all of them. Romaria?” 
    Romaria Greenshield Cravenlock came to her husband’s side, her cool blue eyes sweeping over the pavilion. The lords and knights and headmen seemed uneasy around her, and Sigaldra could hardly blame them. She never knew quite what to make of Lady Romaria. Sigaldra would have expected a man like Mazael to either have a small army of concubines, or a pretty, empty-headed wife with wide hips for birthing many children (or, more likely, both the empty-headed wife and many concubines). Romaria could have been anywhere from fifteen to forty, depending on how the light struck her, and her eyes were a little too blue and her face a little too angular to be human. She had the pointed ears of her Elderborn blood, and various rumors claimed that she was a sorceress or that she feasted upon the flesh of the innocent while in her wolf form. The stories may have been inconsistent, but they all agreed that the wife of Mazael was mad and dangerous and not someone to cross. 
    Come to think of it, Romaria might have been the