Mask of Dragons by Jonathan Moeller Page A

he’s dead now,” said Mazael. 
    “Yes,” said Marazadra, “and with his death at your hand, the bindings that held us have been broken.”
    It made a grim amount of sense. The Skuldari had not ventured outside of their borders in generations. The valgasts had only raided the surface twice a year. Yet now both considered themselves free to do as they wished. Fear of the Old Demon had kept them in place, but now the Old Demon was dead. 
    Unease spread through Mazael. He did not regret killing the Old Demon. 
    Yet he wondered what he might have unleashed upon the world with the Old Demon’s death.
    “You begin to understand,” murmured Marazadra. “You made a new world, Mazael Cravenlock. Many things begin to awaken that once slumbered. And of the old powers that now stir, I must be victorious.”
    “Why?” said Mazael. “So you can devour the world?”
    “Of course,” said Marazadra. “But you misunderstand. I do not want to destroy the world. I merely want to feed upon it, just as humans feed upon their sheep and cows. You should side with me, Mazael Cravenlock, before it is too late. I merely want to feed upon the world. The others wish to destroy it.” 
    “Perhaps I would prefer that no one conquers or devours the world,” said Mazael.
    “That is not your choice to make,” said Marazadra.
    “Isn’t it?” said Mazael. “Then why waste all this effort in trying to recruit me?” 
    “I’m giving you a chance, child,” said Marazadra. “My rivals shall not be as generous.” She looked towards the sky. “As you may learn soon enough.” 
    “What do you mean?” said Mazael, and the ground lurched beneath his feet. 
    The temple collapsed, the colossal walls falling, the megalithic pillars weaving and stumbling like drunken men. Mazael stumbled, catching his balance, and as he looked at Marazadra, the guise of the Prophetess shredded and unraveled, revealing…
    A creature from a nightmare. 
    It was like a spider the size of Castle Cravenlock, its legs like towers, its mandibles like the blades of some titanic siege engine. Its eyes blazed like furnaces that threatened to devour anything their light touched.
    The huge spider reared up before Mazael like a mountain wall, the true form of Marazadra revealed at last, and everything went black. 
     
    ###
     
    Mazael sat up with a jerk, reaching for the dagger next to his bedroll. His eyes darted back and forth through the tent, seeking any sign of the huge spider, as if the creature would somehow squeeze its vast bulk into the small tent.
    But there was nothing, save for the sounds of the camp settling down for the night.
    Mazael’s next thought was for Romaria. He had set up so violently that he must have flung her off. He looked around, fearing that he had thrown her into the chair, but instead he spotted her squatting near the flap to the tent, still naked, her braid like a coil of dark rope against her pale back, her head titled as if listening, her eyes narrowed. 
    She hadn’t even noticed that he was awake. 
    “What’s wrong?” said Mazael.
    “You should get dressed,” said Romaria in a distant voice. “Something…the Sight.”
    “Something’s wrong,” said Mazael, getting to his feet and reaching for his clothes.  
    “Not yet,” said Romaria. She straightened up and stretched, a sight which Mazael would have enjoyed in less ominous circumstances, and then began getting dressed. “It was hard to say. Like ripples in the Sight.”
    Mazael nodded and reached for his sword belt. He remembered Marazadra’s threats from the dream. Were her servants about to launch an attack? Or were they about to face an assault from some other dark power, one of Marazadra’s rivals? The San-keth, perhaps? Mazael had driven them out of the Grim Marches, but he had always known the serpent priests would come slithering back one day…
    The tent flap jerked open, and a squire stuck his head inside.
    “My lord?” said the boy.
    “Aye, what is