The Bone Mask Trilogy: (An Epic Fantasy Boxed Set) Read online

  The Bone Mask Trilogy

  Copyright © 2017 by Ashley Capes

  Cover: Indigo Forest Designs

  Layout & Typeset: Close-Up Books

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

  www.ashleycapes.com

  Published by Close-Up Books

  Melbourne, Australia

  Contents

  City of Masks

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  The Lost Mask

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Greatmask

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  The Amber Isle Sample

  A Note from Ashley

  About Ashley

  City of Masks

  Bone Mask Trilogy #1

  Chapter 1

  The chill of prison bars against his temple did little to ease Notch’s headache. Decades of dank didn’t help either, nor snoring from another cell, where someone was impersonating a bear. Or dying. In the poor light it was hard to tell.

  Notch squinted. Noon sun barely crept through the small, grated windows on his side of the building. Even cells across the way were shadowed. Sunlight, in addition to a piece of bread and some water, were high points, while the straw ‘bed’ and stale body odour of criminals were typically unpleasant. Worse places than Anaskar City prison existed. At least he hadn’t been beaten yet – a twinge in his shoulder reminded him how much some guards enjoyed their work.

  His cellmate raised his voice and Notch turned. The man had probably been speaking for some time; his drawn face was expectant. Years of imprisonment had washed out his Anaskari tan.

  Notch leaned against the bars. “What is it, Bren?”

  “Did you kill her, truly?”

  “No.”

  Bren nodded. “Innocent then.” He knelt in the corner, his fine coat of blue long since gone to grime, his face pressed against the stone wall. “Listen to this one.” He scratched at an armpit with some vigour. “It’s hard to see but I think it says ‘death to the Shields of Anaskar’ and it’s got a signature, but I can’t make it out.”

  Notch grunted. Nothing special for a convicted man to write; since waking on a pile of old blankets that morning and meeting his cellmate, he’d heard a dozen similar sentiments. Through Bren’s meandering introduction, Notch had winced, probing his body. Both arms and chest were heavily bruised and his head so fragile he wouldn’t be surprised to learn a wagon rolled over it last night. Possibly twice. He wasn’t drunk, though the smell of ale was on his breath. One damn drink, that was all.

  And there was blood.

  His leathers and tunic were splattered a dark red. Not his own blood, the City Vigil told him as much when they hauled him off the street, as if he couldn’t figure that much out. But whose? His own memory was unreliable, which made no
sense. He hadn’t been drunk, truly drunk, since right after the war. When he bore another name. A name he left on some tavern floor, after making a convincing go of drinking the memories away. A good bath did for the sand on his body, but the blood-soaked sand in his mind? No amount of ale had washed that away.

  And now the Vigil were telling him he’d been so intoxicated he had to be dragged to the prison?

  Unlikely.

  “The Shields probably caught him doing something bad, that’s why he wrote this,” Bren continued, tapping on the wall. His too-bright eyes looked up at Notch.

  “I’d say so.”

  “Like us, Notch. We’ve done bad things, we have.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  Bren laughed, its shrillness cutting through Notch’s skull. If it hadn’t been unsettling, Notch would have thumped him, but there was something wrong with Bren. Any fool could see that.

  “The guards say you’ve got a few days. That they can’t hang you sooner, because there’s too many in the queue. Waiting to hang.”

  “Thanks, Bren.”

  A moment of quiet fell between them. Distant voices drifted from beyond the prison walls. Notch clenched his jaw. He should have been out there. On his way to another job. The Blue Lady, a fat merchant ship, would have sailed with most of his possessions on board.

  His father’s sword.

  No chance of seeing it again. He wrapped his hands around cold bars and squeezed.

  “The guards say it too, the guards say you killed her,” Bren said, unperturbed.

  “I know.”

  He crept forward. “So?”

  “So I don’t remember.” He frowned. “But I wouldn’t harm a child.”

  Bren grinned, as if he thought it all a joke, and went back to the wall. A scraping sound followed. “This one says ‘down with the Shields’ and has no name. I wonder how many people have been here before us, eh Notch?”

  “Maybe just you, Bren,” he muttered, rubbing at his temples.

  Bren prattled on. “I could deal with the Mascare too, you know. They aren’t so powerful. It’s just their precious bone masks. And their robes. All that crimson. They scare people, the faces. And the eyes too. Did you ever meet any, Notch, before you murdered that girl?”

  He ignored the last bit. “I’ve seen the Mascare plenty of times.”

  “And were they protecting ‘the city, the people and its history’ as they love to claim?”

  “Each time?”

  Bren laughed. “Ever ask them why they won’t show their faces?”

  “They aren’t very talkative, Bren.”

  Bren stopped scratching and moved to a spot beneath the window, running a set of cracked fingernails over the stone. “This is my favourite. I think it’s the oldest one.”

  The clank of a key in a lock did not deter Bren from his examination, but Notch took hold of the bars again, letting the man’s voice recede into the background. At the far end of their row, the guard, a scruffy man who’d made some effort to straighten his blue and silver uniform, led three figures toward the cell.

  “Quiet now, Bren,” he said as the group approached, their footfalls echoing. A slender woman – a Lady no doubt – stopped before Notch’s cell. She was accompanied by a girl and a stony-faced man with broad shoulders, the orange tunic and gleaming breastplate of a Palace Shield in stark contrast with the prison keeper’s appearance. The woman’s hair was pulled back from her face, fanning down around her shoulders and covering the collar of an impeccably clean white dress. Bone earrings swung when she turned her head. A sneer that must have been permanent marred her otherwise smooth face.

  Notch adjusted his grip on the bars. To come to Anaskar Prison in such clothing – she was either mighty vain or mighty important. Most likely both. Which meant trouble.

  The girl stood in similar attire and shared the sneer but had trouble meeting his gaze.

  “Here’s the mercenary, my lady.” The prison guard pointed with his key, making a low bow before scurrying off.

  The woman took a single step forward, glaring at him. Her footfall clapped. “Your name?”

  He blinked. Her distaste was like a battering ram. “Notch.”

  The palace guard bristled and she waved a clean hand at him. “Bring the torch, Holindo.”

  “Yes, my lady.” His voice was a rasp.

  Behind him, Bren shrunk back into the corner. He did not resume his scraping.

  The woman levelled a finger at Notch. “You will address me as ‘Lady Cera,’ or not at all. Now, do not move.”

  “Can I ask why, Lady Cera?”

  “Because if you do not I will have the Captain here gut you.”

  Notch did as he was told. The impulse to wipe her face clean of its expression was strong enough that he had to school his features. Palace folk. Even before he’d taken to the life of a hired sword, they’d looked down their noses at him. ‘Mountain Family’, they’d say to each other and snigger.

  When Captain Holindo returned, the soldier thrust the torch forward, catching Notch’s shoulder with his free hand. He narrowed his eyes but said nothing, only adding a crease to his brow. Did Holindo recognise him? Notch couldn’t place the man.

  “Be still now,” the solider said.

  The flames singed a little of Notch’s hair and he started to sweat. No-one moved or spoke, though the girl he took for Lady Cera’s daughter stared wide-eyed at the blood on his clothing.

  “Well?” The Lady snapped. “Look. Is it him? Is that the man?”

  “I… I think so, mother,” said the girl.

  Lady Cera and her captain shared a glance before she addressed her daughter again, her tones becoming honeyed. “Dear, are you sure? This is the man they caught by her body, in the street on our way from the harbour –”

  “It’s hard to tell. I didn’t see him that well.” She met his gaze. “I suppose it could be this man.”

  Captain Holindo withdrew the torch. “We have other witnesses, my lady. You’ve done far more than enough by coming here; it will satisfy the Justice. Furthermore, your own daughter identified the prisoner, that’s enough for any man of law.” Such a long string of words strained the man’s voice, and for the first time Notch noticed a long, faded scar crossing his throat.

  She gave a short nod. “Truly. I’ve had more than enough of this stench in any event. Take my daughter back to the palace.”

  “Of course, Lady Cera.”

  He ushered the girl toward the exit. Lady Cera did not follow. “I don’t know the whole truth of what happened. But you are a criminal, of that I have no doubt.”

  “Mercenary, Lady Cera.”

  “Do you think there’s a difference?”

  “There can be.”

  “Well, Notch the Mercenary, I will ensure you hang for this. The girl might have only been a pale-skinned, half-blood brat, but I can ill-afford to replace her.”

  Notch sneered. “That all she was to you? Something to be replaced?”

  She raised her arm but he stepped back.

  “Fool.” Lady Cera spun and stormed off.

  Notch spat. He was already going to hang, what did it matter if some bone-headed noblewoman wanted him dead? Bren shuffled forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. Notch had forgotten him. “She knows what you are. What we are.”

  “You might be right,” Notch said, sitting on the floor and scratching at a new, disturbingly persistent itch in his hair. “But I didn’t kill that girl.”

  Chapter 2

  “Listen. Footsteps.” Bren mimed a soldier’s march, managing only a few steps before having to turn. “Coming to hang you. Early too.”

  Notch straightened on the straw. Three days of Bren’s prattle disappeared between one breath and another. He could have raged at the injustice of it, that his final days had been pointless. That stepping into the Iron Pig, the inn near the harbour, got him killed. And just a haze of useless images to take with him to the grave. The inn’s floorboards. An ale mug. Black w
ater sloshing on stone. Ship masts. A fat beggar? None of it made sense, so what did it matter?

  And worse. Otonos’s betrayal would go unanswered.

  “Doesn’t matter now.”

  Bren continued to march. “Matter?”

  The footsteps paused at another cell and Notch stood. His pulse quickened but he didn’t flinch or make a sound. No true soldier would. The dull jangle of the jailor’s heavy key neared and he made a fist. If only he’d been able to remember what really happened. It wouldn’t matter to the poor girl, but it mattered to Notch. He’d never killed a child.

  “I’ll miss you, Notch. You’re a good one.”

  Notch didn’t reply.

  He’d witnessed a hanging as a boy. There was no black cloth for the criminal’s head and the man’s face soon turned purple. Eyes strained from their sockets and the kicking went on a long time. Someone stole the man’s boots afterwards, bare feet hanging over the grim-cart’s tailgate.

  Whoever got Notch’s boots would have to make do with scuff marks and a thinning left sole.

  A scraping sound rose from below his feet. He listened and it came again.

  “Bren, did you hear –”

  The floor gave way, dumping him several feet below. Stone crashed around him, straw and dust swirling as he scrambled to his feet, blinking when he found himself eye to eye with the edge of the floor. Bren gaped down at him.

  “Come on,” a voice hissed.

  Shouts filtered down from the guards, but Notch was already being pulled into a crouch, then dragged along a pitch tunnel. The grip on his hand was strong, almost enough to break his fingers, and he coughed in the dust, unable to ask a question or even call to Bren. His knees smacked on damp stone and his free hand scrambled to keep pace.

  Several turns later, lost, blind and trembling with adrenaline, Notch stopped, dragging back whoever held him. “Flir? Is that you?”

  A small hand patted his cheek and a woman’s voice whispered. “Of course. Now keep moving. I’ve got something for the guards.”

  She led him round a corner and pushed him up against a wall. “Stay a moment.”

  “Wait, I can’t see.” His chest still heaved but his heart rate slowed.

  “Then don’t move,” she called as her footsteps slipped away.

  “Good advice,” he said to the dark. Soon after, a crack echoed and the crashing of stone rumbled the tunnels.

  Flir returned, sounding satisfied. “That should stop them.”

  She led him on a steady descent, the floor uneven. He at least had control of both hands, using the damp brickwork as a guide. The scraping of their feet filled the quiet until he spoke. “Where are we going?”