Ed Greenwood: The Wizard's Mask

No doubt their Molthuni pursuers were still right behind them, and probably gaining, too. It was only in bardic ballads that heroes ever outrode anyone.

They veered around the next hill, The Masked forcing their mount up a little valley into rising land of more rolling hills and sharper ridges. It was almost sunset, but this was all open grasslands, halfway from here to Lake Encarthan. There was nowhere to hide-and no way in all wide Golarion that their horse would be able to outrun the Molthuni forever.

A mere moment later, that was proven true. Their mount stumbled on something, faltered-and they were flying through the air, hooves flashing past their ears in a welter of dust and screaming, thudding horse, as their mount fell and rolled past them.

Tantaerra slammed into thankfully soft earth with teeth-jarring force, rolled over with her head swimming, and saw The Masked wincing and clambering back to his feet.

Then she saw what he was staring at.

The Molthuni were galloping right at them, a score of men or more, in full plate armor and with long lances lowered to spit them. Coming fast, the earth thundering now under the churning hooves, the horses snorting and tossing armored heads, the men snarling through their opened helms. Close enough now that they could make out individual faces.

Tantaerra heard her partner chuckle bitterly. A moment later, she saw why.

One rider had familiar face. It was the Mereir recruiter who'd confronted them in their room at the Hearth, back in Braganza.

"Well, this is it, my little pacifist," The Masked growled. "Where we die valiantly." He cast a longing glance at the Fearsome Gauntlet on her hand, but rather than grabbing at it, he did something that astonished Tantaerra. He hooked his arm around her, pulled her close, and kissed her.

His mouth was by no means as foul as she'd feared.

"Well, now," she grinned at him, when their unhurried kiss ended, "we'll have to talk about your aggressive advances upon my person, after."

"You think there's going to be an after?"

"Oh, yes," she replied, holding up the gauntlet and awakening it with her will. It suddenly glowed from one end to the other-a glow that spilled into her eyes, making them literally blaze. "Yes, I do. I kill when I must."

The Molthuni were almost upon them, the din deafening. She leveled her arm at them as if aiming a crossbow, pointing at that Mereir, and-

Another band of mounted Molthuni burst into view over the crest of the ridge beside them, and spurred down the slope to crash into the first band of riders, swords out and hacking hard.

Horses went down and rolled, lances splintered or flew loose into the air, and men died.

"Telcanor!" the riders of this second force shouted, as they slew. "Telcanor forever!"

Tantaerra and her partner gaped in astonishment. Not one of the riders who'd charged them reached them.

Very swiftly, not a soldier of the first force was left alive.

The triumphant Molthuni shouted in glee and lifted their swords. Then one waved his hand in a signal, and that chaos of mounted men funneled into a trotting line that encircled Tantaerra and The Masked. They recognized one face among these riders, too: the Telcanor who'd fled from them after his colleague had tried to use his crossbow to kill them both.

The one who'd signaled the others stopped his horse to grin down at Tantaerra and her partner, and announce cheerfully, "We're here to see you safely back to Braganza. I hope you'll accept our escort willingly and peacefully. There's a lot of danger between here and the city."

"Our peace and willingness," Tantaerra replied quickly and firmly, before The Masked could utter whatever he was starting to say, "depend on who your master is."

The leader's grin widened. "Prudent of you. Know, then, that we're soldiers of Krzonstal Telcanor's personal guard, sent secretly out of Braganza by our lord's head bodyguard, Onstal Zreem, to wait for you near the Inkwater. To ensure that if you got back across the river, you'd make it the rest of the way to Braganza safely."

"'Telcanor forever'?" The Masked inquired mildly.

The leader shrugged. "We were ordered to shout that whenever we went into battle. Our lord desires to get proper credit for seeing your treasure home to Braganza, if there are any witnesses or wizards spying from afar."

Tantaerra lowered the arm she still had aimed at a foe that was no longer there, the glow from the Fearsome Gauntlet softening. "We accept your kind aid and escort."

"How did the ruler of Braganza take matters," The Masked asked, his voice genuinely curious rather than confrontational, "when a score of fully armored men rode out of his city without him giving any orders or permission?"

"Lord Ravnagask never knew. We went out by threes and fours, for our usual mounted training drills, only one or two coming back, for days and days. No one noticed-except Lord Telcanor, who was told we'd died from poisoned wine."

Tantaerra frowned, and raised the gauntlet again. "So he doesn't know you're out here now?"

"No, no, this is no treachery!" the leader said quickly. "Our orders are to keep you safe and conduct you to the gates of the Telcanor mansion in Braganza, see you let through them, and depart."

Tantaerra and her partner exchanged long, silent looks. Then The Masked shrugged.

Tantaerra shrugged back, turned to the Telcanor leader, and nodded. "Do so, then," she said crisply.

The leader waved his hand in another signal, and his Telcanors formed a two-rider-thick ring around Tantaerra and The Masked, giving them quite a bit of clear space. Horses caught from those left riderless by the slain Mereirs were brought to them, one each, and before Tantaerra could protest or attempt a running leap into the offered saddle, The Masked lifted her onto it with the deft dignity of a royal servant.

The leader rode to take rearguard, waved his hand again, and the mounted Molthuni started to move.

The sun had set, and the moon risen. Inside their defensive ring of warriors, The Masked and Tantaerra rode on steadily across Molthune's grasslands, heading for Braganza.

Whether we want to or not, Tantaerra thought to herself. The rolling fields were coldly beautiful under brightening moonlight, and she and Tarram rode side by side and close together, talking quietly of what they would do when delivered into Telcanor's clutches. The Telcanor leader had pointedly dropped back so they could have privacy.

Not that they'd decided anything useful when the inevitable interruption came.

The foremost riders slowed, then called back, "Dweomercats ahead! Heading the same way we are."

The sharpest-eyed Telcanor promptly added, "There's a patrol-soldiers of Molthune, in proper uniform-riding in the midst of them."

The leader promptly ordered, "Hard right, everyone. Whatever's going on, we don't want to get mixed up in it."

The Telcanors veered right to give the dweomercats a wide berth, though in this open country, under bright moonlight, the cats and the Molthuni among them couldn't help but see the Telcanors.

Eventually the two bands were abreast of each other, the Telcanors well to the south of the dweomercats they'd overtaken-which was when the cats and their Molthuni turned sharply south, as if to intercept the ring of Braganzans.

"Halt!" the Telcanor leader called, and his men reined in, their ring tighter around Tantaerra and her partner, and watched the dweomercats. Who turned more sharply, to come right at them.

As another mounted Molthuni force appeared over a hill behind the dweomercats and galloped right at them, shouting in challenge.

A glow flared up from these new riders; someone among them had cast a spell. It washed over the dweomercats-and suddenly the cats were upon the newcomers, squalling and leaping at horses. The Molthuni that had been riding at the heart of the dweomercats all wheeled around to ride toward the source of the spell.