Curse of the Crystal Mask

By Bill Mays

Aton and Thadius are members of The Riders of Nelsbree, an investigator's guild with exceptional credentials. The riders are the best of the best when it comes to authorities and law across all of the Tarran Republic. These men, being two of the guild's finest, have been called to service by Lord Antendale, Governor of the free city of Elewyn. A string of deaths has the Governor and his officials baffled. Both gruesome and random, these murders have no clear suspects and no ties between victims. The investigators have dedicated themselves to solving this mystery and bringing the culprit to justice as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, the more they piece together the less they seem to know. The facts are simple. Every seven days a life is taken and they are slain in a brutal fashion. Similarities exits but no motive is clear. Whoever is behind these crimes remains one step ahead of the men. Magic is a viable factor since some of the deaths defy reason. The various rulers of competing factions scrambling to gain political control of the unstable country remain key suspects. Thus, discoveries must remain discreet. Tales of these tragedies are beginning to slip through the cracks and make their way to the general public. Stories of monsters and psychotic killers begin to stir. Aton and Thadius race to solve the case before it can cause more damage or claim more lives. Can they identify the murderer and bring him to justice? Join these Riders of Nelsbree for a race against time in this fantasy based murder mystery adventure set in the fantastic world of EL.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bill Mays III
• Release date: Oct 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370581153

Bill Mays

I currently live in Commerce City Colorado with my husband two dogs, and two cats, though my work carries me all across the country and beyond the borders as a flight attendant and an instructor for other flight attendants. I have a degree in studio art, have been an actor and professional artist, as well as many other things, but I have found my love for writing which stems from my love of role-playing games and reading. Fantasy adventure is my absolute favorite, though science fiction follows at a close second. I have learned that writing is good for my soul. I plan to continue writing fantasy books for many years to come! Feel free to contact me at [e-mail]

Book preview

Curse of the Crystal Mask

By Bill Mays

Copyright 2017 Bill Mays

Smashwords Edition

Prologue

Voices cut through the chill night air. Their intensity raised, undoubtedly an argument. One deeper voice and one with a sharper pitch went back and forth in rapid succession, reverberating down the derelict alleyways. What they were saying remained distorted enough to be unclear, but they sounded of desperation. That was not such an uncommon thing in these alleys at this hour. The higher pitched voice rose into a shout. Sounds of commotion in the darkness drew a pair of street urchins from their resting spot. These streets were known as the gutter. The city rose up in layer upon layer with lit walkways that left the shadowy ground level undesirable, a den for unwashed and unwanted things. A flash of lightning lit the area in white light for the briefest of seconds. The homeless pair lay atop one of three delivery carts abandoned for the night, one filled with hay. Waking so early in the morning caused one of them, the young girl, to groan. She expected another hour of rest at the least before the cart owners arrived to hitch beasts of burden and chase them away with angry shouts. No hint of the sun showed yet. The moon hung in the sky; its silver glow muted by drifting clouds.

Quiet Gwen! Someone’s coming this way, the boy hissed at his groaning sister.

He clamped a hand over her mouth before she could protest and then crouched beside her. The argument continued with more shouts and added noises of a scuffle. People were definitely fighting – two men from the sounds of it.

Gwen pried her brother’s dirty fingers from her face. He was only one year older than she was, and at twelve summers of age the girl possessed a wiry strength. I do have ears, Fletcher! I groaned because they woke me from my sleep. I’m tired! The flaxen-haired girl screwed her face in annoyance as she hissed back at him. Fletcher was always overly cautious.

He rolled his eyes and gestured for her to remain still. Every minor shift of their bodies caused the cart to creak. Fletcher realized a bit too late that the pile of hay might not have been the wisest of places to sleep, even if it was warm. On a chill night such as this in the city of Thunderhead, warmth could be hard to find. He gave in to the comfort. Another flash of lightning lit the sky. A rumble of thunder echoed out around them.

The men’s arguing voices continued to grow closer and more heated. They approached from the intersecting alley that ran between an abandoned brewery and shady tavern. At first, it sounded like they were shoving one another or perhaps wrestling intermittently with hurried footsteps as if in a chase. A sharp crack followed by a thud turned a drunken late-night brawl into a possible crime. The argument ended. Everything went silent. Too silent. Another flash of lightning overhead lit the area. The sounds changed to shifting noises, someone was dragging something heavy their way. It sounded as if someone might be talking to themselves or even sobbing.

Gwen sprang to her feet with a gasp. She thought to catch a glimpse at the next stroke of lightning. The cart creaked in protest of the sudden movement. Fletcher’s instinctual reaction was to protect his younger sister from harm as he had been doing for years now, ever since their parents were lost to disease. He moved to jerk her back to a crouch. His sudden lurch brought forth a second, louder creak. The shifting sounds coming towards them stopped. The mumbles stopped too. The darkness went silent again. Too silent. Everything felt still, paused, as if the night waited to exhale. Gwen and Fletcher could see the whites of their wide eyes reflecting the dim lantern light from above. The light on the higher walkways was so very far away. Frightened, each could hear the other’s shallow breathing. Gwen jerked suddenly when something touched her fingers. A sigh slipped past her parted lips when she realized it was Fletcher taking her hand in his. He tugged at her, gently guiding her after him. The brother and sister crawled from the cart as carefully and quietly as they could manage. Their eyes darted about the dark alley, futilely squinting to see something in every shadow. They knew someone was out there.

A soft scraping sound froze them in place. Fletcher tilted his head, angling his ear towards the source of the noise. He heard nothing but crickets and the distant coo of pigeons. Thuderhead had far too many pigeons. A silent debate expressed through gestures and looks decided their course. Together they crept towards the initial source of the disturbance. Curiosity got the better of them. The pair moved slowly between the cart and the building wall. They had just enough space for the waifish siblings to slip through unhindered. If anything were to go wrong, Fletcher hoped the narrow path might offer them cover from pursuit.

A total of three carts sat abandoned in the alleyway. Usually, such vehicles were stabled overnight but it was not uncommon for a tavern to offer weary travelers use of these spaces for short periods despite the minor infraction with the city’s laws. There were few spaces to park vehicles in the crowded city. The wooden carts blocked most of the intersection between the tavern and the brewery. Apartments stacked upon the businesses created a maze of towering walls in every direction. Random walkways stretched between some levels. The lantern light above did not reach them here save for the slightest dappling. The alley was dark. The homeless pair of siblings came here hoping to find scraps of discarded food, they did. The bed of warm hay proved to be an added bonus. Now it seemed as if one night of comfort might cost them dearly. What had they stumbled into? Crimes came in a steady supply in the city of Thunderhead, especially in areas like this away from prying eyes in the back alleys of the gutter.

A sharp caw cut through the silence piercing their ears and causing them both to jump with a gasp. Winged shapes darted through the air above them, flying over the buildings. They were so black as to stand out against the night sky. A flash of lightning lit the backdrop, clearly defining the murder of crows. Fletcher paused to watch the figures soar past them while Gwen continued to creep along the tavern wall. Another tremble of thunder shook through them. Rain would fall soon. She reached the corner, crawling around an overturned barrel and glanced back at her lagging brother. She wanted to see what happened in the alley between the two arguing men. Fletcher’s face stared back at her in shock, and she went ashen. His eyes were wide, and his head shook ever so slightly from side to side in warning. The blond boy looked as if he wanted to say something but was afraid to do so. His eyes focused above her head.

Gwen, reading his expression, immediately spun to face the corner of the building before her. Her breath caught in her throat. There stood a tall man concealed in the shadows by his black garb. He wore the dark covering from head to toe and a full beard, his dark hair matted against his head by sweat. Silver buckles accented his clothes in many places. Those buckles were attached to straps that held various barbed instruments, both tools and weapons, securely in place. His face appeared inhumanly pale. His milky eyes were slightly aglow with an eerie shade of blue. Another flash lit him clearly. His nose looked broken and bled freely, as did other cuts, though the blood seemed thin, watery. The dark clothing masked the blood. His face held a shimmer as if covered by something transparent. He was on her in an instant as everything slipped back into darkness. Gwen screamed. She lashed out at the man's head in a wild slap. Her hand connected with the side of his face as her fingernails dug into his cold skin, drawing forth more thin blood. Fletcher watched in horror as the big man lunged for her and they fell backwards with the bearded man atop of his screaming sister. When they collided with the cobblestones, the man’s weight knocked the air from Gwen’s lungs ending her shouts abruptly. Fletcher was there, kicking and screaming at the attacker frantically to get him off of his little sister.

A pained shout, coming from the other direction, stole his attention. A second man, this one very lean and much shorter but still dressed in similar black body wrappings and a beard, rushed towards them. He was forced to navigate around and over the carts blocking his path. The man moved fast. He leapt atop and across them like a demonic shadowy acrobat.

Stay away! Don’t touch him! the man shouted like a lunatic with spittle flying from his lips. His eyes were hard, bulging, his hair wild. He looked mad in the glimpses Fletcher caught of him.

It was then that Gwen and Fletcher came to a realization. The large man lying atop the girl was not moving at all. Apparently, he was unconscious or worse. Even her vicious scratch-slap and Fletcher’s kicks did not rouse him. His body had been propped there at the corner of the building against a stack of crates. Gwen’s blow knocked him from his precarious perch causing him to tumble in her direction. None of this made any sense to the siblings unless the man was the one who lost that scuffle they overheard. That would suggest that the slender man in black was the culprit. He must have slipped through the alley searching for them after hearing the noise the girl made and fearing witnesses to his crime. Now, the crazed maniac raced towards them screaming and flailing his arms about. Strange weapons and tools glinted across his body in the dim light. They looked like torture devices.

The siblings worked together, quickly rolling the body off Gwen. When the still man tumbled away, Fletcher grabbed her by the hand and hauled her back to her feet. Gwen hesitated. She heard something hit the cobblestones nearby. It sounded like glass or perhaps pottery bouncing but it did not shatter. A shadow darted past her and disappeared from sight. Probably an alley cat, rat, or even a gremlin, there were many of them running loose in this part of the city. Those were the things one found in the gutter. She caught a whiff of brimstone and thought of the tavern. A quick scan spotted an object shimmering like silvery water in the moonlight. Without giving it a second thought, the girl snatched up the object in one hand and followed her brother into an all-out dash to escape the shouting lunatic chasing them.

Brother and sister ran for what seemed like an eternity, pausing only long enough to catch their breath. The psychotic man gave chase for quite some time. Fear of the unknown fueled their flight. What would the murderer do to them if he caught them? Technically they had seen nothing. They were not true witnesses to his crime. But would he hear those words? They thought the idea very unlikely. He was relentless, but no match for the crafty street urchins in their native terrain. To his credit, it took effort to lose him in the twists and turns of Thunderhead’s back-alley maze. The siblings knew these alleys well, but the crazed man proved a committed tracker.

Once they were certain the murderer was gone, the pair fell to rest back-to-back on the rear steps of a local house of worship. It was a temple to Aethine, Goddess of Luck, but the symbolism was lost on the siblings. Something in Fletcher’s subconscious brought them here in hopes that the holy sight might ward away the scruffy, crazy-eyed man wrapped in black. A lit lantern hung by the door to chase away the night. The temple acolytes left it here to guide random visitors seeking aid. It only succeeded in creating a bubble that ended in stark shadow. Gwen leaned against her brother, panting heavily. Sweat dripped from their brows. The boy let his head fall back to rest on her shoulder. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Another moment of heavy panting passed before she removed the found object from her waist pouch where she hastily stuffed it for safe keeping. She took a better look at the item. The texture was smooth and cool to the touch. It was not glass or pottery, but solid crystal, instead. The weight corroborated that theory. Constructed of a polished blue-hued stone that carried the light of the moon, it appeared to be a delicate face covering designed to rest on one’s nose and brow with oval holes for the eyes.

The only relation the homeless girl had for the mask is of a costume piece she once witnessed ladies and lords of the high court wearing in a grand parade. Those ones had been black and purple with feathers and jewels but were nowhere near as beautiful as this one. The crystal treasure was a true masterpiece. Delicate runes scripted around its edges lent even more credit to the sculptor. Those runes appeared to catch the moonlight and reflect it back with a faint glow. The craftsmanship was exquisite. The crystal mask was nothing less than a gorgeous work of art. There was no question in her mind that it was valuable. This must have been the cause of the spat that left the big man dead in the alley. The only imperfection was a crack running down the left side. A clear liquid, like thick water trickled from the break, almost like a tear falling from the eye of the mask. It must have been damaged when it fell to the cobblestones. She held it aloft and Fletcher marveled at its appearance.

Where did you get that? he gasped in awe.

It fell from that dead man, I think, she replied with uncertainty. He was dead, wasn’t he, Fletcher? Her brother shook his head mutely as he whispered a prayer. They were probably fighting over it. I’ll bet it’s worth a fortune!

The girl wiped away the trickling condensation, no doubt collected from the cool night air. The water was thick and surprisingly warm. A voice in the back of her mind told her to try it on. She lifted the mask to her eyes, setting it into place as it was meant to be worn. The cool surface felt good resting on her cheekbones. It was a much better fit than she anticipated, almost as if it were crafted just for her. She did not even need a ribbon to secure it. Fletcher smiled at the sight of his sister peering back at him through the crystal mask. It looked good on her. He reached for her face. Now, he wanted to try it on. Fletcher moved to remove the item, but a ragged voice pierced the night. The murderer found them, and he was furious.

Don’t touch that!

He sprang from the shadows like a living nightmare wrapped in black straps and silver buckles. His crazed eyes glared from the dark fur of his bearded face. He rushed the boy. Various blades and weapons also wrapped in black swung at his sides, their sounds muffled by the straps. The crazed man raced at them with something barbed and writhing in his hand. It looked like a snake covered in thorns with blood trickling from the severed end. He raised it to strike. Fletcher and Gwen both screamed…

Annals – Day of the East Wind

This is year four of my time among the chosen, among the esteemed Riders. As we embark on yet another adventure, another morbid case to be studied from every angle with every facet scrutinized, I wonder. I wonder not what will this next step bring, but what part it may play in the script that is my life. Every man or woman must play their part on the stage as it is written for them. I am witness to heinous scenes and crimes best not described, and yet this is my gift, my place in the world. I am an investigator, some say one of the best, a famed Rider of Nelsbree. Yet for all the bluster and praise, affirmation and successes, I feel as if mine is more the path of one who is cursed. What man in his right mind would choose to see and hear and feel the tales that I do? What sane man would seek to surround himself with such trials and grief? I right that which is wrong, justify losses and deliver that justice unto those that deserve it. But who am I to decide? I am no god, no angel. I hold no delusions of my purity. Am I a saint in the mortal realms or simply a mad man that has been gifted with authority? I suppose only time and those that record history will decide.

- Chapter 1 -

Elewyn – The Beginning

Weeks earlier…

The impromptu council gathered about a huge table laden with musty dust. This gathering chamber had not seen such use in several years. Once a frequent sight for meetings of import, now it sat abandoned for months on end. The Tarran Republic suffered numerous shifts of power, insurgence, border conflicts and internal struggles over the last two decades. The noble houses and royalty that once lay claims to the county had been all but eradicated. A day without discourse and setbacks was long forgotten. The times for collaborative efforts and joint decisions seemed few and far between. Without the unity a single governing body or royal figurehead could offer, this was as close to a ruling group that could be gathered in one place. Every person here held substantial influence within the republic’s borders. Some thought they held too much influence. The two heads of the mage guild houses, Jerthrice Spyre and Daphnia Ghregorich, and the High Septum Father Bhoris Vaugh and Matron Superior Mother Wretta Quis of the religious rights guild houses all stared at each other with distrust. There was something out of balance in the land, a terrible evil released or called for revenge, but no one took credit for the deed. Whether it was an internal or external threat, on purpose or an accident, had yet to be decided. Lord Mallik Kross, the head of the investigator’s guild, often known as The Riders of Nelsbree, shook his head in annoyance. Tasked with the maintenance of law throughout the republic, his stewards held a difficult position. With times as they were, his men were stretched thin.

"We know someone is behind these murders and Governor Antendale has requested assistance in the matter. This has the potential to spread panic among the masses. Rumors are already surfacing in the neighboring communities. If credible word reaches any of your ears, I’d appreciate notification. It is in all our best interests to get this murderer off the streets. I have two of my best men on this matter, but we’ve been warned by a seer that something evil is at work here. Something blocked the complete vision, but that could have just been distance or lack of skill. My gut tells me this killer is not completely natural. I’ll let my men uncover the truth, and they will uncover the truth." He eyed the two men and two women skeptically. He did not mention the fact that his seer suspected a magical block shielding this criminal. That was the primary reason he gathered these four here. In addition to managing the biggest unified factions in present day Tarran, they each held the power and magical prowess to block a seer’s gifts.

Jethrice Spyre, head of the Primordial Sorcery Guild, reclined in his chair with his pointed chin held high. The slender, youthful man reminded most of a snake with jet black hair and a thin line of a goatee traced around his thin lips. He wore the ornamented robes one expected of a wizard. He also acted as if he were above this discussion. But Mallik noted the twitch in his left eye and the tapping of his pinky on the table that suggested his interest.

Daphnia Ghregorich leader of the Progressive Wizard’s Guild was his opposite in most ways, much like their views on the study of magic. She was old, dark-skinned and portly. She dressed in the fitted gowns and copious jewelry one might expect on an exotic dancer less than half her age. Her thick make-up and mountainous wig made it

Reviews for Curse of the Crystal Mask

[BillMays · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Suspenseful and exciting! A great blend of detective meets fantasy adventure and magic.