Congratulations to the winning Author: absterak

Kaza crouched on the ledge overlooking the guards stationed at the posts below, his muscles wound tight. He drummed his fingers silently against the smooth stone and waited for the nod from his friend perched across from him. 

Alrid motioned for them to go. They pushed off, dropping down onto two of the six guards. Kaza landed with a thump on top of one of the unsuspecting soldiers, both of them grunting on impact. The crack of the guard's helmet and the clatter of the pike on the floor echoed throughout the tall, empty cavern. Another guard raised his voice, but his alarm was cut off by Alrid's knife.

Kaza winced at the gurgle of blood and the guard hitting the ground, then focused on his other opponents. Alrid was taking care of the other one, and there were three guards felled already. Two for Kaza, then.

A pike swung at his head. He ducked and kicked at the guard's stomach. His boot connected with the hard breastplate, sending a jolt of pain up his leg. He stifled a hiss, remembering how much he hated armor and masks. Unfortunately, the guards wore both.

"Kaza, watch out!" Alrid's shout registered the same time he noticed the flash of a pike from the corner of his eye.

Kaza threw himself back. His heel caught, and he tripped over one of the bodies, landing awkwardly, half-sprawled across the guard. Alrid launched a pike. The point found its mark, sending the guard toppling down. A final slash from Alrid's knife, and he was dead.

Pulling himself off the ground, Kaza cast a glance at the fallen figure. "Alrid, was that necessary?"

Alrid wiped his knife on the edge of one of the guards' cloak. "It was. Besides, is this what I receive in thanks for saving your life?"

Pushing away his queasiness, Kaza shook his head and clapped Alrid's shoulder. "That was ungrateful. Forgive me."

"The throne room is up ahead," Alrid said, shrugging away the apology. "Let's go."

• • •

"Come to kill me, have you?" The voice wasn't what Kaza expected. It was soft, raspy, calm. Its owner, a dark figure with his back to them, stood on the balcony off the throne room. The fortress was carved into the side of a mountain, a stronghold of stone that somehow Kaza and Alrid had managed to breach.

The cloaked figure turned his head, exposing the smooth, black, metal mask covering his face. Kaza had seen others like it, on display in the throne room. "That's what the prophecy says, isn't it?"

Alrid muttered something under his breath while Kaza shifted in discomfort. The confrontation was supposed to end with the Mask defeated. How they would reach that end, he did not know.

"You should have been quieter," the Mask said, turning. "Discretion is not your strong point, I see."

"Look out!" Kaza shoved Alrid down as a spray of objects shot over their heads and lodged in the wood behind them. Heart thumping, Kaza crouched and clutched his weapon, raising his arm when another object—throwing stars?—streaked toward him. It deflected off his blade with a ping, nicking the stone floor.

The Mask strode toward them, cloak fluttering behind, and brandished two long knives. Kaza scrambled to his feet and raised his weapon just in time to block the strike.

Sweat trickling down his face, Kaza defended himself against the Mask's furious onslaught. As metal met metal, Alrid joined in and helped put the Mask on the defensive. Soon they'd backed the ruler to the opening of the balcony.

With a shout Kaza jerked his blade up and sent one of the Mask's knives flying. Metal glinted in the sun. The knife clattered on the floor and went skidding across to disappear over the edge of the balcony.

Surprise lit the Masked Ruler's eyes, which were visible through the narrow slit of his mask. With only one weapon, and two attackers, his time was up. Still, Kaza couldn't help but feel anxious as he fought. Where was this ruthless magic, the dark powers the Mask was said to possess?

Kaza's knife ripped dark fabric and caught. The Mask twisted, and in an instant Alrid's knife was lodged deep in his chest.

Kaza stilled.

The Mask stumbled back, the knife slipping from his hand. He hit the rail and grasped it for support. Alrid sprang forward and snatched up the Mask's fallen knife. He grabbed the Mask by the arm and yanked the blade across the ruler's neck.

Blood poured out. The Mask fell to his knees, one hand clutching his throat, the other going to the knife in his chest. But he was unable to stop the blood.

It was over. The Tyrant Mask was defeated.

Easy, Kaza thought. It was too easy.

Alrid tossed his knife to the ground and strode away, back toward the masks in the throne room set on a series of podiums, like items in a museum on display.

A rumble of laughter drew Kaza's attention, pulling him from his shock. The sound came from the Mask.

"Why are you laughing?" Kaza demanded, tempted to go rip the mask off the collapsed figure's face. But he didn't; he would allow the Mask his final moments of dignity, if it could be called that.

"Don't you realize?" the Mask cackled, sinking to the floor of the balcony in a pool of his own blood. "I'm not who you think I am." With those final words, he stilled.

Dead.

Dare he?

Unable to ignore his curiosity, Kaza knelt beside the body, wondering what exactly the Mask had meant. With tentative hands he tugged the covering off the fallen ruler's face. What he found made him pause, for the man behind the mask was not a man at all.

"Alrid," he said, his gaze fixed on the feminine features of the smooth, striking face. No wonder the Mask had kept his—her—face covered. She was remarkably young, and in her position youth would be seen as a weakness.

When Alrid didn't respond, Kaza checked again and was assured of the Mask's gender. "The Mask was a woman, Alrid," he called. "The prophecy remains unfulfilled. It specifically stated the tyrant ruler would be a man."

"Does it matter?" Alrid asked, not even bothering to glance Kaza's way.

"We killed the wrong—"

"Evil is evil. Does it matter which one as long as they're dead?"

Then who was the prophecy talking about? All the signs were there... A tyrannical rule, a ruthless masked ruler, a rebellion on the rise and the chosen who would lead them.

Kaza lifted his eyes and saw Alrid standing there, contemplating one of the masks. Alrid lifted an iron mask off the stand and slid it over his head before Kaza could protest. He adjusted the iron piece over his face, making a satisfied noise when it seemed to fit perfectly. Even Kaza could

see it, and the thought made him sick.

"Everything we've been through," Alrid said. "Everything you asked me do. All the things I did—for you. How many times did I have to get my hands dirty in order to keep yours clean?

"What do you think, Kaza?" Alrid asked, turning. The lines of the silver mask were hard, angles molded to fit his face. It seemed a different set of eyes than Kaza remembered—harsh, brutal—peered hawkishly out the eye slits.

Kaza repressed a shudder. He rose and took a step away from the body, his legs unsteady. "Alrid?"

"I think," Alrid said, tilting his head and studying his reflection in the looking glass mounted on a podium, "it's fit for a king."

Kaza felt the blood drain from his face. He looked down at the Mask and then at the new Masked figure in front of him, the one who was his friend. Or was he?

What had he done?

Alrid tilted his head the other way. "Answer, Kaza. What do you think?"

"It...fits you well, Alrid. But you should take it off."

Alrid turned slightly. "No, I would not give up an opportunity like this, my friend. We will give the people a king, Kaza. A Masked King."

And Kaza knew in that instant that the events of the prophecy had just begun.