Masquerades - Kate Novak [157]
Jamal was left facing her own reflection. There was probably nothing she could do, she told herself. She wasn't much of a fighter, and she doubted very much there would be any call for an actress wherever the mirror took her. "Some cheap hero you are," she said, glaring at the aging face glaring back at her. Taking a deep breath, she leaped into the mirror, thinking, I know I'm going to regret this.
Darkness seemed to fill the other side of the mirror. After a few moments, however, Olive's eyes adjusted to the dim light cast by a brazier. She stood in the center of an underground cavern containing items removed from the lair of the Faceless-most notable were the remaining iron golems, the empty rack for the masks of the Night Masters, and the skull of the dragon Mist, with the red lights spinning in its eye sockets.
"Where are we?" Jamal whispered.
"The Faceless's newest lair, I'd guess," Olive replied. "Winterhart, how'd you get a magic portal mirror into here? What's going on, woman?"
Winterhart held up a finger to indicate Olive should wait for a moment. The younger halfling stood before Mist's skull, holding a small golden wand.
"Your associate is in the chamber above with the Night Masters and their followers," the dragon's skull was saying to Winterhart. "There are over two hundred Night Masks waiting for the Faceless to lead them to Verovan's hoard."
"Verovan's hoard!" Olive gasped in astonishment. "But where are Lady Thistle and Lord Victor?" she demanded.
"Lord Victor has taken Lady Thistle to the top of the southern tower," Mist reported. "With no idea that her lover is the Faceless, Lady Thistle is showing him how to open the portal to Verovan's treasury."
"Dhostar is the Faceless?" Jamal gasped.
"Of course," Olive said. "That explains how he managed to make it look like his father was the Faceless."
Mist growled at Winterhart, "I've fulfilled all my promises to you, warrior. Free me now, as you promised," the dragon's spirit demanded.
Winterhart stepped forward and tapped the golden wand on Mist's disembodied skull. "Rest now, wyrm," the halfling said.
The light spinning about in the skull's eye sockets seemed to flow toward Winterhart's golden wand, then vanished. The bone of the skull crumbled into dust. An eldritch wind blew through the cavern, blowing the dust about in a cyclone. By the glow of the brazier the dust seemed to take on the shape of a red dragon.
"Farewell, you red-headed witch," Mist's voice whispered, "and farewell to you, Olive Ruskettle."
Then the wind increased, knocking Winterhart to one knee before carrying the dust away to some far plane.
Olive had her sword pointed at Winterhart before the other halfling could rise to her feet. "You've known all along that Victor Dhostar is the Faceless?"
"Of course," Winterhart replied. In the blink of an eye, the prim halfling had drawn her own sword and crossed the blade against Ruskettle's. "That is why I led you here, so you could witness his moment of triumph."
Twenty-Three
Battle With the Night Masks
With Winterhart on one knee, Olive pressed her advantage before the other halfling had a chance to demonstrate her superior skill with a blade. Olive circled to Winterhart's left side and lunged with her blade, but the younger halfling switched her sword to her left hand and parried her opponent neatly. "Ruskettle, you're making a mistake," Winterhart declared. "I'm not working for the Faceless."
"Oh, no," Olive replied sarcastically. "You just have a secret entry to his lair so you can come for tea."
As the two halflings faced off against one another, Jamal looked around for something, anything she might use to help Olive fight Winterhart. A two-handed broadsword hung on a wall behind the iron golems. The actress grasped the weapon by its hilt and slid it from the hooks that held it in place. The sword was unbelievably heavy, and Jamal was unable to raise it without her arms shaking from the exertion.
"Perhaps you would care to try something smaller, Jamal," a man whispered behind her.
The actress swung around, trailing