Ed Greenwood - The Wizard's Mask

"Madness!" a soldiers shouted, realizing his superiors were all down and dead. "We need reinforcements!"

"Archers!" another agreed, and the pursuit of the masked man became a general rush back to the horses, the wide circle collapsing into a flood of men heading straight for their mounts.

"Magic to fight magic!" another Molthuni panted, as men sprang into their saddles and spurred hurriedly away.

Tarram crouched low to confound any last-second spear casts, but none came. Freed of their officers, the Molthuni were in haste not to fight, but to gallop back to Braganza.

Tarram watched them go, feeling much better. Now that all echoes of the stunning lash of the wizard's destruction were done, he felt alert and stronger. Using the gauntlet seemed to have driven away his dazedness and a lot of his aches and pains, too.

He looked at Tantaerra, sprawled and senseless. Could it do the same for her?

He bent over her and concentrated on the gauntlet, trying to get it to leak just a little power into her. Enough to invigorate, not sear or harm.

The gauntlet on her hand pulsed with light, then rippled.

Yes. Envisage that bright white light, lapping rather than flowing or rushing, creeping …

The halfling stiffened, and her eyes flew open.

And fixed on him with blazing anger.

" What are you trying?" she snapped. "I felt it! This-this violation you're-"

Furiously she pointed the gage at him. Tarram could feel that she was trying to slap him away, to sunder his link with it, but if that dread bolt struck him …

He overrode her, and saw the horror dawn on her face as she realized she couldn't break his control.

Frantically Tantaerra tried to snatch the gauntlet off, fumbling because her stump lacked fingers to grasp it.

Tarram hastily snatched off his mask and let it fall, breaking contact. The reek of cooked meat grew suddenly stronger.

"I–I was only trying to help," he told her, sudden tears spilling from him as he saw the look on her face. "I'm sorry. I …I did not mean to give offense."

Tantaerra's glare had fallen into open-mouthed, dumbfounded revulsion. She screamed now, loud and long and raw, as she scrambled up and ran wildly away.

The Masked bent to pick up the mask. He could put it on and stop her, through the gauntlet …

Then he straightened, wearily, without touching the mask. And stood watching his partner flee.

∗ ∗ ∗

Breath failed Tantaerra, and she stumbled in mid-sprint and almost fell. Catching her balance by staggering almost to a stop, she fought down her fear.

He had used her-had crept into the gauntlet-her body -without her permission. Had used her to kill soldier after soldier.

And look what that cursed mask of his 403

had done to him. It had melted away the ragged cloth undermask beneath it, and all the underlying skin, too. His freshly ruined face was now two eyes-one of them protruding, almost dangling, on a stalk of muscle-a hole where his nose should be, and a lipless ruin of a mouth, in a glisteningly smooth nightmare of crawling veins.

The backlash of the sword exploding had probably done it. Not that knowing that made him look any better.

Fearfully Tantaerra looked over her shoulder.

The Masked-the Unmasked? — was standing dejectedly alone in the trodden grass. She saw him bend over, slowly pick up the mask, put it on with obvious reluctance-then fling up his hands in horror, and clutch at his head with both hands.

Frightened anew, she started to run again.

Away, just away …

She ran out of wind again, staggered, and fell.

Tantaerra got up, shaking her head. She was fleeing to she knew not where, trying to run from the vivid image that would not, would not go away.

Tarram Armistrade was a monster. Truly a thing . He'd tried to control her again, to enslave her. In the end, he was just like everyone else.

Yet with every step her resolve and strength ebbed, and her anger and horror too, until she stopped, turned around, and looked back.

The Masked was still standing there, a tiny figure in the distance. Alone, his hands empty.

Tiny. Alone. Empty.

Just like her.

Tantaerra drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Then she gathered her courage and started the long, long walk back to him.

∗ ∗ ∗

"Tarram," she began, to his unmoving back. "I…I'm sorry. I reacted poorly."

The Masked stood like a statue, facing away from her, looking out over the rolling hills of Molthune. She waited, but he said nothing.

"I'm sorry," she said again, hesitantly walking around to face him. Forcing herself to walk close to him, to reach up her hand to his.

"I should have trusted you," she whispered, finding herself again on the verge of tears. "After all we've been through, after what you've done for me …I should trust you."

She reached for his hand.

He did not take it, but merely looked at it, his face unreadable again behind the mask. Not that there was much of it left to read if it had been bare.

"But you didn't." he said softly.

Tantaerra felt tears begin to leak down her face. "No, I didn't." She gripped his hand. "But I can learn."

The Masked looked down at her, blank. At last, with a great sigh, he hauled her up into his arms. " I'm sorry, Princess Tantaerra. I'm used to working alone. I shouldn't have tried to control you. Not even to help you."

Tantaerra nodded, but their heads were so close to his that she merely bumped his chin.

"I forgive you," she said, "if you'll forgive me. Will…will you take your mask off now?"

"You don't really want to see that, do you?" he asked.

"No," she admitted. "But maybe it's time we both started getting used to it."

Tarram held her silently for a long time, then told the darkening sky, "Well, this is awkward."

"Agreed," Tantaerra said. "So will you unmask?"

Tarram sighed again. "In time. Not now. I don't think Braganza is ready for what my face looks like-and neither are you, just now. Later, when we've both eaten and stepped past worry and danger, and you're bored again and back to carving me with your tongue. Then it will be time."

"I don't carve-well, I do, don't I?"

Tarram laughed. "You do. You most certainly do. And the mask stays on."

Tantaerra found herself chuckling as well. "Then put me down, please. I've been humbled enough."

Tarram Armistrade set Tantaerra gently on her feet, and bent over so they could hold hands.

They walked on together.

∗ ∗ ∗

Silence had fallen between them, but it was an easy, companionable silence again.

They walked and walked, through the now still and deserted night. It was getting darker as the moon sank low and clouds stole in, heading for the handful of lights on the horizon.

Lights that seemed somehow to have very quickly multiplied, atop walls and towers looming over them in the night.

"Braganza," her masked partner pointed out, unnecessarily.

In reply, Tantaerra waved her hand back behind them. "The inevitable pursuit," she said dryly. Then she pointed at the gates ahead. "And the inevitable armed welcome."

The Masked chuckled mirthlessly. "Let's get this over with."

"Let's," Tantaerra agreed.

The gates were closed and guarded, and in response to the sharp challenge, they demanded entrance in the name of the General Lords.

This met with the usual disbelief, but The Masked merely took a confident step forward, drew himself up to his full height, and waited in expectant silence. Tantaerra stole a quick glance at him, then did the same.

After a few cold, slow breaths of waiting, toe to toe with the commander of the guard, one of the other guards rather doubtfully pointed out, "There're only two of them. Once they're through the foregate, we have them penned, and can find out what they're really up to."