The Masks of Sentinel Chapter Seven (part 1 of 4)

  
          Crimson sky gave way to blue-green. Black monoliths evolved into ochreous castle towers. An empty waste closed in, became a walled battlefield. Dark laughter was replaced by the sounds of wounded men.
          Falk stirred. The acrid smell of pitch hit him, brought him to full consciousness. Slowly, painfully, he sat up. His contest with the berserker had left him with no more than scratches, bruises, a rhythmic pounding in the head. Counting himself remarkably fortunate, he struggled to his feet.
          The whirlpool of awareness that contained and connected the three healed itself in a timeless instant. Wolf came running, like a tame dog eager to greet its master. Hawk remained on its current perch, the face of the dead berserker.
          "None could approach you, either to help or harm - they wouldn't allow it."
          Lady Kaihima had been attending a wounded soldier close by. She moved towards Falk as she spoke, glancing uncertainly at Wolf and Hawk.
          "You've nothing to fear," Falk said.
          Stretching his cramped body, he noted the first silver streaks of the dusk probing the sky. Then he considered Kaihima as he worked his stiff muscles. "Armour becomes you."
          "Gallantry - if that's what you intended - becomes you also."
          "Compliments don't flow easily to my tongue. I'd make a poor courtier."
          "For which may the gods be thanked." She smiled. "You fought well. You'll be rewarded."
          Falk frowned. "I failed in my endeavour. I set out to slay a king."
          As his vision cleared, and the pain in his head abated, Falk surveyed the war-torn garden. The dead and the dying were everywhere. Black vapour uncoiled from buckets of cauterizing pitch.
          Frostmane's ship still dominated the heart of the field. The eagle-head loomed nearby; bristling with arrows, darkened by fire, blood and smoke, it gazed out over the carnage with blind unconcern.
          Falk's eyes narrowed. "Who's that woman standing in the prow?"
          "Ulainn, Starkad's sister." Kaihima pointed at the Tower of Masks with the light-lance. "Starkad's in there. I almost killed him. But my aim was poor, and I slew your opponent instead."
          A charred hole pierced the chest of the dead berserker, immediately above the heart.
          "He was the bigger target," Falk said. "And even though my salvation was not intended, I'm suitably grateful nonetheless."
          Kaihima lowered the lance. "It's fortunate for both of us that this weapon came into my possession."
          Falk grasped at once the full meaning of Kaihima's words. "It has a certain scarcity value?"
          "Unique."
          "Did it belong to Commander Bralud?"
          "Yes. Fear not: he is well."
          Falk nodded. "Good."
          Then he said, almost dreamily, "I wonder how the game will end."
          Kaihima eyed him curiously. "Aren't you interested in what else took place while you were unconscious?"
          Falk smiled despite himself; it might not be to his advantage to reveal the full scope of his senses. "Your pardon, but I'm still a fraction battle-dazed. Tell me, then, what happened after you killed the berserker."
          Gazing back at the eagle, Kaihima said, "Starkad was no easy mark, being obscured by attackers. Before I could take effective aim, the voice of the man we called king filled the air. It was strange, unreal; but then, the rest of the day could hardly be called normal .... In essence, he announced a truce, and offered to negotiate. This was accepted. Starkad took all of his able-bodied warriors with him. Before he left, the Skarnyr dead and wounded were carried aboard the ship. Naturally enough, he favoured the ministrations of his own holy men and physics. And I suspect that hellish vessel of having a battery of devices with which to protect itself."
          "Otherwise you'd be aboard it now," Falk suggested ironically, "ripping it apart, teasing out its secrets."
          "Of course," Kaihima cheerfully affirmed.
          Falk glanced again at the lonely figure of the Skarnyr princess. "So her name's Ulainn. She fought at her brother's side. Formidable."
          "Ah, yes .... There was some kind of disagreement between them. I gather she was opposed to Starkad entering the Tower of Masks. Anyway, she decided to remain with the ship - Is that a mirror she's holding to her face?"
          Instead of answering, Falk studied Kaihima's. "Two questions occur to me. Why did you refer to Xaltoran as the man we called king? And why, given that a false king established the truce, did you obey the terms and desist from killing Starkad when you had the chance?"
          Kaihima laughed. "I can see why the masked imposter took such an interest in you. I call him false because the real Xaltoran lies buried in the royal vaults. And I obeyed the truce and allowed Starkad to live for two reasons. First, because I felt certain that at least one of my problems would be solved during the course of the meeting now taking place. And second, because Erastor could not afford to lose more good men."
          "I think," said Falk, "you'll be the kind of ruler that's been needed here for a long time."
          They lapsed into silence, then turned to consider the Tower of Masks.
          While Falk and Kaihima could only speculate as to what was taking place in that baroque structure, Ulainn had the advantage of catoptromancy. True, the images glimpsed in the mirror were intermittent and imperfect; but she saw enough to realize that the ultimate stages of the contest between Starkad and the other had been reached at long last.
          Overhead, obeying an eternal ritual, the starsea advanced majestically across the sky.

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