Ed Greenwood - The Wizard's Mask

"He lets them all kill each other to keep them from challenging his authority?" Tantaerra asked. "And to see if Lord Ravnagask is any good at his job?"

"I see," Tarram replied slowly. He looked at Tantaerra. "Well? What do you think?"

"Becoming a Lord Investigator?"

"Yes."

"What do you think?"

"I believe I'd enjoy it very much. If we're together."

Tantaerra's smile was slow in coming, but dazzling when it arrived.

"Then, Tarram Armistrade," she announced, "I believe I feel the same way."

∗ ∗ ∗

It was another clear, dry night, of a steady breeze and bright moonlight.

Tantaerra looked back, but Braganza was lost behind the hills, a good day's ride west of them now, on good, formerly Telcanor horses.

She and Tarram had eaten dinner and banked their fire, and were about to bed down. First watch was his.

She raised the dregs of her last mug of broth to him. "All hail Tarram Armistrade, newly ordained investigator for the General Lords."

He gave her back the same toast, and they drained their mugs in unison.

Tantaerra reached for her blanket, then stopped and turned back to her partner. He was wearing a new mask.

"Tarram," she asked quietly, "won't you take your mask off?"

He looked at her. "Would you go naked if I asked you to?"

She blinked. "Yes. Yes, I would." She started to pull off her jerkin.

He put out a hand to stop her, shaking his head.

"It was a metaphor! I was asking about your limits, not making a request."

She looked at him, then murmured, "Unhand me, you fool." Then she unscrewed her metal hand and held up her stump, thrusting it challengingly into his face.

He regarded her silently, then pointed at his mask in a silent question.

"Please," she whispered.

He reached up and took it off. Eyes steady, she took a good long look at his ruined face.

Then carefully, deliberately, she caught hold of his hand, drew him down to her height, and kissed him.

When at last their lips parted, he was the first to speak. "Tantaerra-"

She thrust her empty mug into his hands, then spun away and returned to her bedroll. "You have first watch," she reminded him. "Good night, friend."

"Good night, little one," The Masked replied fondly.

"Little one?" she snapped.

He chuckled. "Little one," he proclaimed, pointing at her, then pointed at himself. "Faceless one."

She snorted. "Good night, jester. Or rather, Lord Investigator!"

"At least until we're safely across the border," he agreed, and they laughed together.