Morigna bristled. “And if you had killed the urvaalg, he would still be alive!”
“We mean no harm,” said Ridmark.
The Old Man turned to face him. “Whether or not one means harm is irrelevant. Intentions do not matter. Results do. You have brought danger to me by coming here…to say nothing of the risk to yourselves.”
“There are undead loose in the marshes, and they have attacked the town of Moraime,” said Ridmark.
The Old Man scoffed, his expression almost identical to Morigna’s. Ridmark saw where she had learned much of her truculent posing. “This is not my concern. The superstitious, petty fools of the town and monastery can deal with their own problems.”
“Very well,” said Ridmark. “Then permit us to ask a few questions of you, and we shall be on our way.”
The Old Man drew himself up. “And just who are you to ask me questions, young man?”
“I am Ridmark Arban,” said Ridmark. The Old Man blinked once, but gave no other sign of recognition. “This is Kharlacht of Vhaluusk, Gavin of Aranaeus, Brother Caius of the mendicant order, and Calliande of the Magistri.”
The Old Man deflated a bit. “A Magistria? Truly?”
Calliande nodded.
“Prove it.”
She smiled, raised an eyebrow, and lifted her hand, white light glimmering around her fingers.
“Oh,” said the Old Man. He closed his eyes and rested his head against his staff. “Have you come for me? After all these decades, have you finally come to make me pay for my crimes?”
“What crimes are those?” said Calliande.
“We did not even know you existed until yesterday,” said Ridmark. “Who are you, truly?”
“My name,” said the Old Man, “is Coriolus.”
“Your name!” said Morigna in fury. “For fourteen years I have lived with you, and you never told me your…”
“You lived with me for six years at best,” said Coriolus with a snort of derision. “By twelve years of age, you came and went as you pleased and spent more time with the beasts of the marsh, save for when you wanted to learn another bit of magic.”
“Fine,” spat Morigna. “Then I have known you for fourteen years, and in all that time, you never once told me your name?”
Coriolus shrugged. “You are not a Magistria, and you never well be.”
Morigna glared at him, but Ridmark saw a flicker of pain go across her face. He could not blame her. This strange old man had taken her in after her parents’ death and had taught her magic, but seemed to hold her in contempt. Little wonder she was so prickly and hostile.
He felt sorry for her.
“Well,” said Coriolus, ignoring Morigna, “you are here about the undead, I assume?”
Ridmark nodded. “Someone has been raising undead from the orcish burial mounds and the crypts below the monastery.”
“Ah,” said Coriolus. He grinned. “And I suppose you think I’m behind it, hmm? The crazy old wizard lurking in the hills, raising corpses to terrorizing the pious local villagers, is that it?”
“You must admit,” said Ridmark, “it is a most believable story.”
“Hardly,” said Morigna, “given how lazy you are.”
Coriolus ignored her. “I admit, it is plausible. I suppose I could raise corpses as undead, if I could be bothered to learn the necessary necromancy. But why should I? I care nothing for the villagers, to be sure, and would not lift a finger to come to their aid…but nor would I lift a finger to harm them.”
“Convince me of that,” said Ridmark.
“Why should I?” said Coriolus with a sneer.
Ridmark remembered how Rjalfur had called the Old Man a coward. “Because I travel in the company of a Magistria. She might not know you, but if we return to Tarlion and tell the Masters of the Order that a renegade named Coriolus is lurking in the hills north of Moraime…tell me, how would they react?”
“You wouldn’t,” said Coriolus, a muscle twitching near his eye.
“On the other hand,” said Ridmark, “if you answer my questions freely, I will forget where I obtained the answers.”
For a moment the Old Man stared at him, trembling with fury. Ridmark wondered if he had pushed him too far, if Coriolus would indeed attack. But the Old Man only sighed and looked away, shaking his head.
Coriolus was indeed a coward.
“Fine,” spat Coriolus. “I suppose you had better come inside, then.”
###
Morigna watched the Old Man with disdain.
Fourteen years she had known him, and he had never once told her his name. She had asked, repeatedly. At first he had merely hit her for asking. When she had grown too strong for that, she had still asked, but he put her off with inane answers.
And he had never told her.
But had he not taught her that strength ruled and weakness served? Sharing his name with her would have been a weakness.
Yet it still made her feel cold and empty.
Ridmark and the others sat at the long table in the cottage’s main room. Morigna stood near the wall, as far from the Old Man as she could get, though she took care not to touch anything, since the cottage was just as filthy as she remembered. Wooden plates covered the table, some covered with chunks of rotting food. Shelves lined the walls of the cottage, holding books and scrolls and various curios. A thick coating of dust covered everything, and if the Old Man had indeed lived here for ninety years, surely the floor had not been cleaned in that time.
“Thank you for inviting us into your home,” said Ridmark. His expression was its usual calm mask, giving no hint of the thoughts behind those icy blue eyes.
Coriolus snorted. “Bah. You bullied your way in here, Ridmark of the House of the Arbanii. I met your grandfather, you know, old Dux Rience. I wonder what he would think of a grandson with a coward’s brand.”
“Doubtless he would be disappointed,” said Ridmark. “However, he would take comfort in the knowledge that I had never wielded dark magic to raise undead.”
Coriolus coughed and spat in the hearth, his spittle sizzling against the coals. “Like me, you mean?”
“Well?” said Ridmark. “Did you?”
The Old Man was silent for a long time.
“No, I did not,” he said. For the first time Morigna heard something like contrition in his voice. “I have made many mistakes, but that was not one of them.”
“Tell me about these mistakes,” said Ridmark.
Coriolus sighed. “A long time ago…a very long time ago, I was a new-made Magistrius of the Order in Tarlion.” He smirked at Calliande. “I was little different than most young Magistri. So proud, so arrogant, so sure of myself. I thought the world was mine to reshape as I liked. For its own good, of course, but mine to reshape nonetheless.” He sighed, his eyes growing distant. “And then I met her.”
“Who?” said Ridmark.
Coriolus’s smile was both sad and bitter. “My downfall.”
Despite her anger, Morigna was intrigued. The Old Man had told her little about his past. Coriolus had spent a great deal of time complaining about the Magistri and the Swordbearers and the church, claiming they had failed to understand his genius, but had never given her a straight answer.
“Victoria,” said Coriolus. “The bastard daughter of the High King’s younger brother.”
Ridmark and Calliande shared a look.
“I take it,” said Ridmark, “that you were fond of her.”
“I was,” said Coriolus. “We met, and it was…ah, to be young again. We were quite taken with each other.”
“And then you took her into your bed,” said Ridmark.
“Yes,” said Coriolus. “It was necessary to keep it a secret, of course. I might have been a Magistrius, but I was of common birth, and she was the High King’s niece, even if she was a bastard.” He spat into the fire again. “Pendragon blood does not defile itself with the touch of a commoner,” he smirked, “but she was glad to defile herself with me.”
“Please,” said Calliande with a hint of disgust, “if you carried on an affair with this woman, there’s no need to gloat over it.”
“Oh?” said Coriolus, leering at her. “How would you know, my pretty little Magistria? So pretty, and so cold. What would you know about the pleasures of the bedchamber?”
Caius and Gavin bristled. Morigna expected Calliande to wilt beneath the mockery, but the Magistria only offered a chilly smile. “I confess I cannot say for certainty. But given your advanced age, sir, I fear I shall not learn any of those pleasures from you.”
The Old Man cackled. “Quick-witted. I like that. A good quality in a Magistria. But while your dwarven monk and your young squire bristle in outrage over my adulterous sins, we have lost the main point.”
“You and Victoria,” said Ridmark. “What happened?”
“The inevitable,” said Coriolus. “She became pregnant. I urged her to purge the child from her womb, or barring that, to wed me. But she so feared her father’s displeasure…and she lacked the necessary steel to rid herself of the child. A common weakness in the female sex, alas. We quarreled on the wall overlooking the harbor of Tarlion. She ran from me, tripped upon her skirts, fell down, and cracked her head.” He sighed, and to Morigna’s astonishment there was a glimmer of pain upon his face. “I rushed to help her…but it was too late. Not even my healing magic could aid her.”
“So you carried on an affair with an unmarried woman,” said Caius, “and then just she happened to accidentally die when she became pregnant?”
“Of course you do not believe me,” said Coriolus. “Why would you? I realize that no one else would believe me, and the High King would have me beheaded for murder. I had no choice but to flee. At first I settled in the Northerland, as far from Tarlion as I could go without leaving the realm of Andomhaim entirely. But as the realm’s population grew, more settlers came to the Northerland, and so I fled into the Wilderland. Eventually I came to Moraime and settled here.”
“Why here?” said Ridmark.
Coriolus spread his bony hands. “Why not? The hill is defensible, even without my wards, and commands an excellent view of the countryside. The town is a convenient place to obtain tools I cannot make myself. If I went any further north, I would risk venturing into the realms of the remaining dark elven princes. Any further west, and I might draw the eye of the Warden of Urd Morlemoch. Sometimes the Warden sends his servants to abduct people he finds interesting, and I have no wish to share that fate. No one who enters Urd Morlemoch ever comes out again.”
“Indeed not,” said Ridmark without a hint of expression.
“And there is one other reason, though I doubt you will believe it of me,” said Coriolus.
“What is that?” said Ridmark.
“There is an entrance to the Deeps a few miles north of here,” said Coriolus, “and it leads to one of the dvargir cities. The dvargir come forth and raid every few years, but I turn them aside when they do. Why do you think Moraime still stands? Why do you think no one has burned it to the ground and carried its people off into slavery? Because I have kept watch over it.”
Morigna laughed. “Do you expect them to believe that, Old Man? That you have been the secret guardian of Moraime for all these years? I have never seen you lift a finger in defense of the town.”
“Dear girl,” said Coriolus, “just because you are too dense to have observed something does not mean it did not happen.”
She started to snarl back at him, but Ridmark answered first. “So you have kept watch over the town of Moraime. How else have you passed the time in your exile?”
“By studying the secrets of earth magic, of course,” said Coriolus.
“That is forbidden to the Magistri,” said Calliande. “The power of the Well cannot be used to kill and harm mortals, but earth magic can. The Order has banned its study and use, as part of the Pact with the elven archmage Ardrhythain.”
“The Order of the Magistri is a collection of musty fools, young lady,” said Coriolus, “and they are idiots to forbid themselves the study of earth magic. There is great potential in it, potential to make Andomhaim strong.” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “But that is no longer my concern. I left Andomhaim long ago, and the realm and the two Orders may do as they wish.”
“How did you meet Morigna?” said Ridmark.
His watery eyes shifted to her, cold and indifferent.
“A praefectus appointed by the abbot governs Moraime,” said Coriolus, “but sometimes a man finds the praefectus’s rule chafing. Morigna’s mother and father were such – hunters, trappers, and poachers. Though I suppose since no King, Dux, or Comes rules in Moraime, it hardly counts as poaching. They made their home in the hills not far from here, and sold pelts to the traders who sometimes come from Coldinium.”
“A home too close,” said Ridmark, “to the entrance of the Deeps.”
Morigna remembered the house burning, her mother screaming, the dvargir mantled in shadow as they approached.
Her magic rising up in wrath…
“I am unsure exactly what happened,” said Coriolus. “I suspect the dvargir came to take her parents as slaves, and they fought back and were killed. When the dvargir tried to take Morigna, they encountered more than they expected. You see, she was born with a natural connection to earth magic.” His tone grew drier, more lecturing, as it often did when he discussed the intricacies of magic. “Such a thing is becoming more common. When humanity first came here from Old Earth, the only magic we possessed was that borne by the Keeper of Avalon. Later Ardrhythain of Cathair Solas gave us the magic of the Soulblades and the Well. I believe that the longer humanity has lived upon this world, the more attuned we have become to its native magic. Hence the increasing number of children born with innate magical ability…”
“That is fascinating,” said Ridmark, “but it doesn’t explain how you found Morigna.”
“I came across the scene as I returned from a journey,” said Coriolus, “and killed the dvargir. I found Morigna weeping over the corpses of her parents, and intended to deposit her with the monastery. Then I saw that she possessed magic strong enough to have killed two of the dvargir. So I took her to study her magic further.”
Calliande frowned. “Not to…raise her? You only took her to study her magic?”
“Do I need to repeat myself?” said Coriolus, irritated. “Of course I fed and clothed and housed her – a drain upon my resources, I might add. And I taught her how to use and control her magic. Not that she ever showed any gratitude for anything I did for her. Willful, rebellious child. When she turned twelve, we quarreled fiercely, and she left. She returns every few weeks, of course, when she has a question about magic. But the ungrateful, feral little child does not obey me.”
“Indeed,” said Calliande, her tone frosty. “Why should she? Given that you clearly care nothing for her.”
A mixture of fury and embarrassment filled Morigna. What right did the Magistria have to feel sorry for her?
But a tiny part of her appreciated it.
“I taught her to use her magic,” retorted Coriolus. “And more importantly, I taught her to be strong. The world respects strength alone and nothing else. I owe her nothing. She owes me a great deal.”
“And what, precisely, is that?” said Ridmark.
Coriolus opened his mouth, closed it again, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “As I said, a great deal.”
“I see,” said Ridmark. “Thank you for your candor. I am grateful.”
Coriolus sniffed. “As you should be.”
“Though I do have one more question,” said Ridmark.
“Of course you do,” said Coriolus.
“You didn’t raise the undead that attacked Moraime,” said Ridmark. “Who did?”
“I know not,” said Coriolus.
“Yes, the vast wisdom of the Old Man of the hills,” said Morigna.
“I know not,” said Coriolus, “but I strongly suspect the dvargir
. They’ve been active lately, quite active. There is a ruined dwarven outpost a few miles into the Deeps. The dvargir have fortified it, and have sent scouts regularly into the countryside, using their power to cloak themselves in shadow.”
“You have the ability to detect them?” said Calliande.
“Yes,” said Coriolus with a smirk. “A spell of the earth magic you despise so much. The dvargir and others who manipulate shadow magic can make themselves undetectable to spells drawn from the Well. However, their weight still presses upon the earth, and a practitioner skilled with earth magic can detect their presence.”
“You never taught me that,” said Morigna with a frown.
“I saw no need,” said Coriolus.
“Teach her the spell before we depart, please,” said Ridmark. “I suspect we shall find it useful.”
“If it removes you from my hill all the faster, I shall not object,” said Coriolus.
And perhaps the spell would let Morigna detect the presence of Jonas.
“One final question,” said Ridmark. “What do you know of the Enlightened of Incariel?”
“The what?” said Coriolus.
“The Enlightened of Incariel,” said Ridmark. “A secret society that wishes me dead.”
“A charming young man such as you?” said Coriolus. “I can’t imagine why anyone might wish you harm.” He spat in the fire again. “But I have never heard of them. The term Incariel I recognize. It is one of the names given to the void the dark elves worshipped in ancient days. Allegedly it was a fallen angel or demon imprisoned within the core of this world. Whether such a being actually exists or not, I do not know. Most likely it is a myth the princes of the dark elves invented to control their subjects, just as the lords of Andomhaim invented the myths of the church.”
“An invented myth?” said Caius. Morigna expected him to leap to the defense of the church, but he did not. “The dvargir and the dark elves derive their powers of shadow from something. Clearly there is more to Incariel than mere myth.”
Frostborn: The Undying Wizard Page 15
