Usually, though, these masks were made out of inexpensive materials like clay or wood.
Each mask's face wore a different expression denoting explicit emotions. As a Rethian noblewoman, Aralorn had spent many a dreary hour memorizing the slight differences between concern and sympathy, weariness and suffering, and other such nonsense. She found it interesting that the mask's face displayed the curled lips and furrowed brow of rage.
In one hand the slender man held a staff made of some kind of very dark wood. On the lower end was the clawed foot of a bird of prey molded in brass; its outspread talons glowed softly orange in the darkness of the cave, as if it had been held in hot coals. The upper end of the staff was encrusted with crystals that lit the cave with their blue-white light.
The staff made it obvious that this man was a magician. If he had spirited the merchant and his goods from the south as she expected, then he was a sorcerer of no little power.
Hmm, she thought, maybe this mouse idea wasn't such a good one. Magicians have this strange way of finding mice that weren't really mice and not being very pleasant about it. Even as she thought about this, the magician turned with incredible speed. She didn't even have time to squeak before she was stuffed into a leather bag that smelled strongly of magic.
She tried once to shift back into her human shape, but as she'd expected she was unable to do so. Rather than panicking she relaxed and thought wryly that at least she wasn't bored anymore.
"How much, merchant?" the magician asked in Rethian. His voice was distorted with a strange accent - or maybe it was just the leather bag.
"Fourteen kiben." The merchant too spoke good Rethian but his voice was hoarse and trembling. Still, Aralorn noticed, the price he'd quoted was at least twice what the items were worth, unless there was something extremely valuable amongst them.
"Six, merchant." The magician's voice may have had an odd slur to it, but it was still effective in striking terror into the heart of the merchant. Aralorn had the feeling that it wouldn't take much to strike terror into this merchant's heart.
"Six, I accept," he squeaked. There was the sound of money changing hands, then a distinctive pop, which Aralorn thought either signaled the merchant or the magician and herself being removed to other places. There was a moment's pause and then a third person's voice spoke.
"Thank you, my friend. It worked as you said it would." The voice was reserved and of courtly accents. It was also young and belonged to Myr, sometime king of Reth.
"Hopefully our friend will not think to question all of the merchants in Hernal." There was something about the tone of the magician's voice that was familiar, but the accent kept throwing her.
"He wouldn't learn much even if he did. The merchant doesn't know where you brought him to."
The magician grunted. "He knows that it was in the North, because of the cold. He knows that it was in the mountains, because of the cave. That is more than we can afford to have the ae'Magi know."
Myr gave no vocal reply, but he must have nodded, because when he spoke again it was on a different topic. "What was that you grabbed off the floor?"
"Ah yes, that. Just a ... spy. Small but effective nonetheless." Was that amusement she picked up in his tone?
The bag was opened and she found herself hanging by her tail for the perusal of the two men. She twisted around and bit the hand that held her, hard. The magician laughed, but moved his hand so that she sat comfortably on his palm.
"My Lord, may I present to you the Lady Aralorn, sometime spy of Sianim." She twisted about to look at him; just how had he known her name'? It wasn't as if she were one of the famous generals that everyone knew. In fact, as a spy she'd worked pretty hard to keep her name out of the spotlight. Her mouse shape now shouldn't make matters any easier. Then, without the additional muffling of the bag, she recognized the voice. It was altered through the mask and a human throat, but she knew it anyway. No one else could have that particularly macabre timbre. It was Wolf.
"So." Myr's voice was quiet. "Sianim spies on me now." Aralorn turned her attention to Myr. In the short time since she'd