Read Before The Mask for Free Online Page A

that had come to Aglaca on the Bridge of Dreedthe pale, muscular
     young man . .. the mace descending.
    So it will be, unless you take this matter in your own hands, Aglaca Dragonbane, coaxed
     the Voice, low and seductive, neither man nor woman.
    It came to him as always, with murky promises and dire threats. As always, he ignored its
     urgings.
    But he did speculate until the last hour of the night, after the long dinner that was his
     uncomfortable welcome to the East, to the Khalkist Mountains, and to his new family.
    Daeghrefn was the first to be seated, as was his custom. Ignoring his standing gueststhe
     small party of family, servants, and courtiersthe knight slumped into the huge oaken chair
     at the head of the table. He was distracted by the flicker of the fire in the hearth, the
     rustle of pigeons in the cobwebbed rafters of the hall.
    It was a shabby chamber indeeddusty and disorderly, inclined toward ruin. The Lord of
     Nidus had only a small staff of servants, and attended more to his falcons and wine than
     he did to the upkeep of house and grounds.
    The wine, poured by the steward into a faceted crystal goblet, was a vintage from a dozen
     summers past. The
    goblet was the last of ten, a wedding gift to Daeghrefn from Lord Gunthar Uth Wistan, its
     nine mates broken in neglect over the twelve years since the death of Daegh-refn's wife.
     Last of a line it was, and when the knight lifted it and the light glanced off its facets
     and sparkled through the amber wine, Daeghrefn remembered a night more than a dozen years
     earliera night of fires and wine and
    a hundred reflecting facets....
    It was bad almost from the start. The smell of a blizzard in the foothills, and cold
     daunting all but the hardiest travelers. Laca's wife, a bit further along than
     Daeghrefn's, was in her quarters, attended by midwives and physicians as the awaited day
     drew nigh. Daeghrefn had been glad of the extended visit, of Laca's warm guest hall, of
     reunions with his old friend after seven months' absence, and of the eager anticipation
     with which both men awaited the births of their children, most especially Laca's first.
    Over dinner, with the wine abundant and the conversation ranging, Daeghrefn had almost
     forgotten the unsettling weather and wind and the strange disruptions among the castle
     servants.
    Four-year-old Abelaard was sprawled over the knee of the man he called “Uncle Laca.”
     Daeghrefn's wife was reserved and quiet as usual around the outgoing Solam-nics, and she
     was heavy with his own childthe second-born, whom he intended to raise toward Paladine's
     clergy. After a few cups, the words had come forth idly Laca's speculation that in some
     families hair and eyes “turned sport,” that despite Daeghrefn's dark coloring and the
     night-black eyes of his wife, the child she was carrying could be "as fair as ... a thanoi
     hunter ... a high elf....
    “As fair as Laca himself.”
    Daeghrefn had laughed and pointed at Abelaard's dark hair and brown eyes. “I suppose that
     is 'turning sport,' ” he joked, and Abelaard looked up at him curiously, his face a clear
     reflection of his father's.
    But Laca kept with the issue, spoke of blondes and of fair eyes and of sport and sport
     until the wine and the turning of thoughts brought Daeghrefn to the one conclusion that
     the sly, teasing words could mask no longer.
    “What are you saying, Laca?” he had asked finally, quietly, full knowing that the knight
     could give him no real answer.
    “Tis only a talk of generations,” Laca murmured, his pale gaze and crooked smile
     flickering toward Daeghrefn's terrified wife.
    Daeghrefn stood, overturning his chair, his wineglass. The golden wine spilled generously
     over the table, onto the woman and Laca, and a servant rushed for water and cloth. Laca
     stood as well, more slowly, his hands extended, a look of puzzlement on his face.
    “What have you made of ... my idle