“Perhaps you have too much confidence in me,” said Ridmark.
She scoffed. “Perhaps you have too little in yourself.”
He stared at her, a tangled mass of memories and emotions churning through his mind.
“I suppose we shall put it to the test, will we not?” said Ridmark.
“That is so,” said Morigna.
He pulled her close and kissed her again.
“As pleasant as this is,” said Morigna when they broke apart, “you were correct earlier. We should return soon. One suspects that wandering the Torn Hills alone at night is rather unwise.”
“One would suspect correctly,” said Ridmark, adjusting his cloak. In truth, they had already lingered too long. Morigna extended a hand, and Ridmark took it. “Let us…”
A ripple behind Morigna caught his eye. It was a peculiar sort of ripple, like the heat rising from a slab of hot stone under the summer sun. Yet it was too cold for that here.
The ripple shot forward, and Ridmark’s brain caught up with his eyes.
Fool, fool, fool.
He shoved Morigna to the side, which meant that the urvaalg slammed into him and drove him backwards, its slavering jaws yawning wide to rip out his throat.
Chapter 3 - Things To Lose
Morigna hit the ground, rolled, and came to one knee, fury and pain roiling in her mind. For a mad instant, she thought that Ridmark had rejected her, that he had simply thrown her to the ground.
Then she saw the hulking thing atop Ridmark. The beast looked like a ghastly hybrid of ape and wolf, long limbs heavy with ropy muscle, greasy black fur hanging from its rangy form in lank ropes. Dagger-like talons jutted from its paws, and its eyes burned like dying coals in a blacksmith’s forge. Its misshapen muzzle yawned wide, jagged fangs reaching to crush Ridmark’s head in one bite.
It was an urvaalg, one of the ancient war beasts of the dark elves, a creature immune to steel and all but the most powerful magic.
An urvaalg had killed Nathan Vorinus on the very day that Morigna had decided to depart with him. The urvaalg had ripped out his throat, and now it seemed that Ridmark was going to die in the same way.
Sheer dread flooded Morigna, followed by molten fury.
She had lost her mother and father to the dvargir. She had lost Nathan to an urvaalg. But Morigna would not lose Ridmark, would not lose him as she had lost everyone else she had ever cared about.
She would not!
Her magic could not harm the urvaalg permanently, and she dared not strike at the creature when it was so close to Ridmark. Her magic gave her power over wind and earth, storm and stone, and she could use that to aid Ridmark. Morigna drew on all her strength and thrust her hands as she screamed her rage at the urvaalg, her mind reaching to command the earth beneath the urvaalg’s talons.
The ground rippled like a banner caught in a wind. Ridmark was lying on his back, and the force of the spell flipped him over onto his stomach. Morigna’s spell flung the urvaalg over and knocked it on its flank, its vile-smelling breath exploding from its lungs in a surprised wheeze. Ridmark rolled over and scrambled to his feet, and the urvaalg regained its balance with fluid grace. The beast surged at Ridmark with terrible speed, but this time the Gray Knight was ready for it. He yanked the dwarven war axe from his belt and swung the weapon, the glyphs upon the blade starting to glow, and severed the fingers from the paw that reached for him.
The urvaalg reared back with a scream of pain and fury, dropping to all fours, and Ridmark pursued. Yet his momentum would not last forever. One man was not a match for an urvaalg, and sooner or later the creature’s inhuman stamina would outlast him. Morigna summoned more power, drawing the magic from the earth beneath her boots …
“Morigna!” shouted Ridmark, dodging under a swipe of the urvaalg’s claws. “Behind you!”
Suddenly she remembered that urvaalgs almost always hunted in packs.
Morigna spun and saw the rippling blur of another urvaalg.
###
Ridmark attacked, pushing the urvaalg back, and the misshapen beast retreated to avoid the enchanted edge of his dwarven axe. He struck at its right side, forcing the creature to put its weight upon its maimed front left paw, and a spasm of pain went through its frame. He swung the axe for its chest, hoping to land a killing blow, but the urvaalg sprang aside, and Ridmark had to retreat. The edge of his axe opened a cut on the urvaalg’s right foreleg, but that meant little. The beast could heal wounds with uncanny speed, and was already regenerating the damage to its paw.
If he did not end the fight decisively, the urvaalg was going to kill him.
Worse, one of the other urvaalgs from the pack was going to kill Morigna.
Ridmark’s dwarven axe could kill an urvaalg, and Morigna carried a dagger with a similar enchantment from Coldinium. But a dagger was a feeble weapon against an urvaalg, and her magic could not wound one of the creatures.
Without his help, she was going to die.
She would die in front of him, just as Aelia had.
The rage at that prospect gave him new strength, and he attacked the urvaalg with everything he could muster.
Yet still the beast eluded his blows.
###
Morigna cast a spell, purple fire blazing around her fingers. The ground beneath the blurred air rippled, and the second urvaalg appeared, roaring as it lost its balance and fell. Morigna began another spell, conjuring a column of acidic mist that rolled over the urvaalg. The beast screamed as the acid ate into its flesh, but the creature’s unnatural strength repaired the damage almost as quickly as she inflicted it. Morigna had to stun this one long enough to help Ridmark kill the first urvaalg, and then together they could dispatch the second.
Yet the urvaalg jerked and twitched towards her, its burning muscles clenching even as the mist ate into them. It was going to spring upon her, and once it got on top of her it would rip her to shreds. The dwarven dagger at her belt could harm it, but the wound would not slow down the urvaalg.
The urvaalg tensed to jump, and Morigna cast one last spell.
Her mind reached out, her thoughts sinking into the urvaalg’s mind.
Morigna screamed as pain flooded through her head.
Her magic let her touch the minds of birds and beasts. Some she could control with ease. Others she could influence, even persuade. But the urvaalg was no natural animal. Its mind was a hideous, nightmarish maze of bloodlust and cruelty. Other predators killed for food and had no interest in the suffering of their prey. The urvaalg killed for both food and pleasure, and delighted in the suffering of its victims. It wanted to hear her scream, to kill her as slowly and painfully as possible.
And that cruel, blood-drenched, primitive mind was ancient. The urvaalg had hunted the Torn Hills for millennia. Morigna could not command such a monster, could not even influence it.
She could, however, force it to stop.
The urvaalg roared, shaking its head back and forth as it fought against Morigna’s influence. Morigna gritted her teeth, sweat dripping down her face, both hands thrust out in front of her. The urvaalg began to inch towards her, one agonizing step at a time. Morigna could not hold it back.
She tried to find the power for another spell, but every scrap of her strength held the urvaalg back. She did not even have enough concentration left to draw her dagger and attack.
Still the urvaalg crept closer, the burns from the acid healing, its entire body trembling as it fought against her spell.
The Old Man’s sneering contempt echoed through her mind. If only she had been stronger. If only she had been stronger!
###
Ridmark dodged another slash and swung the axe, scoring a hit along the urvaalg’s ribs. The creature retreated a step, giving him an opportunity to glance at Morigna. She stood facing the second urvaalg, her hands outthrust, her arms trembling with fatigue. The urvaalg dragged itself towards her inch by inch. He understood what she was doing at once. She had done something similar against th
e mzrokar in the ruins of Thainkul Dural.
Yet sooner or later the urvaalg would overwhelm her control, and then it would kill her. Her blood would pool across the ground just as Aelia’s had, and then…
He threw himself at his foe, accepting a minor hit across his ribs in exchange for driving his axe into its shoulder.
###
Morigna’s heartbeat thundered in her ears, the sweat dripping into her eyes despite the chill of the Torn Hills.
The urvaalg was only a dozen feet away now. Soon enough it would be close enough to spring on her, and then the fight would be over.
Again Morigna tried to summon the strength for another spell, and again she failed.
How the Old Man would have mocked her weakness.
###
Ridmark ripped his axe from the urvaalg’s shoulder, its black blood hissing and spitting upon the blade, and struck again. The impact of the heavy weapon knocked the urvaalg back, and it stumbled into a crouch, its glowing eyes fixed upon him.
It was going to jump on him.
Ridmark took several deep breaths, his side burning from the wound.
He decided to let the urvaalg jump.
The creature snarled and flung itself forward in a dark blur, and Ridmark charged to meet it. The creature slammed into him, its strength and power driving him to the ground.
The force of the blow also drove the axe blade into its chest with enough force to crack ribs and shred flesh. The urvaalg loosed a wheezing cough, black blood bursting from its mouth, its claws raking at Ridmark. He ripped his axe free and rolled, ignoring the pain of his wounds, and brought the axe down onto the urvaalg’s neck.
Three heavy blows later, the creature’s head rolled away from the spurting stump of its neck.
Ridmark ran. The second urvaalg twitched towards Morigna, and was almost close enough to strike.
He sprinted for them as fast as he could manage.
###
A spasm went through Morigna’s eyes as the horrible force of the urvaalg’s mind pressed against her. She swayed and almost fell, all her magic struggling against the malevolent weight of the urvaalg’s will. She closed her eyes to concentrate, trying to hold her spell in place as the urvaalg advanced.
Then, all at once, the malefic pressure vanished.
She opened her eyes and saw Ridmark standing next to the urvaalg, the blade of his axe buried in the creature’s misshapen skull. He wrenched the weapon free with a grisly crackling noise, and the urvaalg collapsed motionless to the ground, a pool of black blood spread around its cloven head.
Morigna let out a shuddering breath.
###
“You’re not hurt?” said Ridmark, breathing hard.
Morigna shook her head. Ridmark had been sure, so sure, that he would reach the urvaalg too late, that he would strike down the creature to find Morigna bleeding to death on the ground, just as Aelia had done in Castra Marcaine.
He could not have borne that again. Perhaps the urvaalg had killed Morigna, and he was only imagining her now, a hallucination as his mind refused to confront the truth.
His free hand closed around her arm. She was real, flesh and blood and bone. He hadn’t failed to save her as he had failed to save Aelia.
The relief that passed through him threatened to turn his knees to water.
He stumbled a bit, and Morigna grabbed his arms.
Now that he thought about it, it wasn’t the relief that was making his legs weak, it was likely the blood loss. Suddenly the pain from the wounds on his ribs and side flooded into him.
“I am not hurt,” said Morigna, “but you are.” She tugged up his tunic and the damaged jerkin and grimaced. “You will not bleed to death right now, but you must get this healed. We had best return to the camp and bring you to Calliande.” She shook her head. “How did you kill that urvaalg?”
“I cut off its head with the axe,” said Ridmark.
“Yes, I observed that,” said Morigna. “But…how? Urvaalgs are so strong…”
“It wasn’t going to happen again,” said Ridmark. “Aelia died in front of me. Not you, too.”
She went a little paler at that. “I…see. Well. Thank you for my life. Yet again.”
“Let’s go,” said Ridmark.
They left the hollow, making their way to the ruined tower and their camp. Morigna moved with her stealthy skill, but Ridmark found himself watching her.
He had spent the last five years risking his life over and over again. After the omen of blue fire, he had set out for Urd Morlemoch without hesitation, intending to go alone. He had done that because he did not care for his own life, because he had nothing to lose.
He still cared little for his own life, but as he watched Morigna, it occurred to him that he had something to lose.
###
Morigna followed Ridmark. She should have taken the lead, but she was afraid that he might pass out.
Fear and anger boiled within her mind.
Fear for what might happen to him, for what had almost happened to both of them.
And anger that it had been allowed to happen in the first place.
The nobles of Andomhaim had taken Ridmark’s soulblade. If he had still possessed the weapon, he could have made short work of the two urvaalgs. Without it, he had barely overcome them, and if the dwarven Taalkaz had not given him that axe, he would have had no weapon against the beasts.
The Old Man had been wrong about so many things, but he had been absolutely correct about one matter.
Power was the foundation of all things.
If they lived through this, she would encourage Ridmark to take enough power among the nobles of Andomhaim that no one could ever threaten him again.
And she would acquire magical power enough to ensure that no one could harm either of them.
Chapter 4 - Memories
Calliande sat atop the ruined wall and gazed into the darkening Torn Hills, lost in thought.
She had no right to feel sad, she knew, but she did nonetheless.
Though there were many things to concern her, certainly. Her memory only extended back seventy-nine days, to the moment she had awakened beneath the ruins of the Tower of Vigilance. She did not know how long she slept in the darkness.
Centuries, most likely.
But she did know other things. She could command the magic of the Magistri, the powers of defense and knowledge and healing. The words of a dozen different languages filled her head, along with the skills of a capable physician. She knew histories and secrets of the ancient world. In her dreams a spirit called the Watcher spoke to her, urging her to seek the hidden place called Dragonfall.
For all her knowledge, she remembered nothing of the past. Calliande suspected that she had been a Magistria of the Order of the Vigilant, dedicated to preventing the return of the Frostborn, but Shadowbearer had arranged the destruction of the Order decades ago. The Frostborn were returning, and only Calliande was left. It was up to her stop them.
But she could not stop the Frostborn unless she knew who she was, or the actual method of their return.
The Warden of Urd Morlemoch, the oldest and greatest of the dark elven wizards, knew the answers to both questions.
She rested against the eroded stump of the wall, drew her knees up to her chin, and wrapped her green cloak around her. A pair of ravens flew overhead, cawing, and vanished to the north. Calliande wondered if Morigna had bound the birds, and decided against it. The ravens had a sickly, unhealthy look. Likely they had been twisted by the tainted magic of the Torn Hills, making them too unnatural for Morigna to control.
Thinking of Morigna made the sadness redouble.
Calliande had so many reasons to be grateful. The Watcher had sacrificed himself to save her, and his spirit had guided her. Shadowbearer had intended to kill her upon the altar of the Black Mountain, yet Ridmark had saved her. The powers of a Magistria had returned to her, and capable friends surrounded her. Ridmark Arban was the strongest warrior and the
boldest leader she had ever seen, and Kharlacht and Brother Caius were deadly fighters. Even Gavin was becoming a skilled swordsman. Caius was wise, Jager was clever, and Mara was brave and calm. Morigna…well, even Morigna was valorous, if rash and arrogant. Calliande would have died on the Black Mountain without Ridmark’s help, and she would have died any number of times since without the aid of the others. Certainly she was grateful to them all, and she had no right for her heart to be heavy.
Nonetheless, it was.
A boot scraped against stone.
“Brother Caius,” said Calliande.
The dwarven friar pulled himself up and sat next to her, his brown robes stirring in the wind. “My lady Magistria.” The head of his mace clanked against wall. “Might I join you at watch?”
“Please,” said Calliande. She peered into the tower. “Where are the others?”
“Mara is keeping watch to the south,” said Caius. “Jager, Gavin, and Kharlacht are playing at dice. Jager is teaching Gavin to cheat. Kharlacht does not approve.”
Calliande laughed. “You sound as if you do not approve, either.”
“Gambling is a sin,” said Caius, “though I suspect I have been gambling with my life for weeks, and therefore I am not without sin and cannot cast the first stone.”
“No one is perfect,” said Calliande, looking at the darkening hills.
“Something troubles you,” said Caius.
Calliande shrugged. “Well, I cannot remember anything that happened before three months ago. I am carrying an object of immense sorcerous power that could bring back the Frostborn, and Shadowbearer is hunting us to take the soulstone and kill me. Meanwhile, we are about to walk into the stronghold of an ancient wizard of immense strength and demand that he answer our questions. I have no shortage of things to trouble me, Brother.”
“This is so,” said the dwarven friar. “But I suspect whatever troubles you cuts a little closer to the heart.”
The Dark Warden (Book 6) Page 4
