He had.
At least until the end of her days.
The darker memories came then. The Mhalekite horde coming down from the Wilderland. The treachery at the foot of the Black Mountain, and the shattered armies rallying under Ridmark’s command. The great victory at Dun Licinia, and Ridmark’s pursuit of Mhalek himself to Castra Marcaine.
Aelia’s screaming, her blood pooling across the black and white tiles of the great hall.
No, Ridmark did not want to remember that…but he saw it every time he closed his eyes.
Then he saw again his long journey to Urd Morlemoch, the quest he had undertaken for the high elven archmage Ardrhythain in hopes of gaining enough renown to win Aelia’s hand. Suddenly Urd Morlemoch itself floated before his eyes, a vast, half-ruined fortress of white stone, its angles and lines pleasing to dark elven sensibilities but alien and strange to humans. Three ribbons of blue flame writhed around its massive central tower and lashed at the black sky, dancing across the darkness.
For it was always night near Urd Morlemoch.
The image blurred, and Ridmark saw the highest tower rising from the heart of the ruins, and atop that tower stood the Warden.
The Warden was tall and gaunt, clad in a long blue coat with black trim upon the sleeves over black trousers and a tunic. His head was hairless and bone white, elven ears rising alongside his long, lean face, a diadem of blue steel encircling his brow. His eyes were utterly black and empty, colder and darker than the eyes of the dvargir, darker than the shadows that had swirled around Jonas Vorinus. Rings of blue dark elven steel glittered upon his long, bony fingers.
The Warden stood in a ring of standing stones atop the massive tower, gazing into an archway of rough stone. Images flickered and danced within the arch, showing the past and the present and the future.
“Disappointing,” said the Warden, his voice deeper and more melodious than any human. He turned to regard Ridmark, his long blue coat rippling in the cold wind rising from the sea. “I thought you would be the one, Ridmark of the Arbanii. Instead you shall die in the darkness alongside your friends.”
“Tell me,” said Ridmark. “You said the Frostborn were returning, that the omen of blue fire was a herald of their return. Tell me how.”
The Warden laughed his wild, thunderous, mad laugh. “How should I know? This is only a dream, a mosaic of images dredged up from your memory. You are talking to yourself.” He walked to the altar at the center of the stone circle. A massive blue soulstone sat there, glowing and pulsing in time to the ribbons of azure flame dancing across the sky, a ring of lesser soulstones surrounding it.
“A very specific dream, then,” said Ridmark.
The Warden waved a dismissive hand, the rings of blue steel glinting upon his thin fingers. “Or the spell of that petty rodent of a necromancer disconnected your mind from your flesh, and since I was watching you anyway, we are having this conversation. Or you are simply dreaming. It is no concern of mine.”
“The Frostborn are returning,” said Ridmark.
“So determined,” mused the Warden. “Tell me. Do you think such dedication will bring back your dead wife? Or honor her memory? After all, even if you defeat the Frostborn and save the rotten shell of Andomhaim, she will still be dead and you will still blame yourself.”
“I asked,” said Ridmark, “about the Frostborn.”
“Such zeal,” said the Warden. “But I suppose I cannot blame you. Given that I planted the seed in your head.”
“Enough word games,” said Ridmark. “Tell me how they will return.”
“No,” said the Warden. “This is just a dream. If you want the truth, you shall have to confront me once more.” He looked at the black sky and the writhing ribbons of flame. “Meanwhile, you are about to wake up.”
“Tell me…” started Ridmark, and then golden light consumed the world.
###
Ridmark’s eyes shot open, the strange dream dissolving into nothingness.
He still stood within the entry hall of Thainkul Dural, curtains of ruby light blazing from the glyphs of Coriolus’s trap. Yet the ruby light sputtered and flickered, and a few heartbeats later it winked out entirely with a crackle and a puff of smoke.
And he could move again.
Ridmark took a deep breath and turned, his staff coming up as he prepared to attack Coriolus and Jonas.
But they were gone, as was Morigna.
Belatedly Ridmark realized he did not know how long he had been unconscious.
He turned and saw the others. Calliande shook her head, blinking. Caius took a deep breath and looked around, while Gavin had his shield raised and his sword out as he looked for foes. Kharlacht held his greatsword ready, though he looked groggy.
“What happened?” said Kharlacht, blinking.
“Perhaps Shadowbearer has come to take us,” said Gavin.
“No,” said Ridmark. “He wouldn’t have released us from the spell.” He looked at Calliande. “You must have figured out how to break it.”
“No,” murmured Calliande, rubbing her face. “No, I did nothing.”
“Perhaps the trap was flawed, then,” said Caius.
“It was not,” said a tremendously deep voice, so deep that the floor vibrated beneath Ridmark’s boots. “This one broke the corrupted magic upon the sigils, man of water.”
Ridmark turned his head as the trolldomr Rjalfur rose from the stone floor like a man surfacing in a lake. The massive gray figure looked down at them, the golden fires in his eyes shining.
Golden fire, Ridmark thought, like the golden light that had dissolved the strange dream.
“You broke the entrapment spell,” said Ridmark. “Thank you.”
It was hard to read expressions on the alien, rocky face of the trolldomr, but Rjalfur seemed amused. “Of then ten lepers, man of water, you wish to be the one to give thanks?”
Ridmark shrugged. “What is the point of a lesson if you do not follow it?”
“This is so,” said Rjalfur.
“While we are grateful for your aid,” said Ridmark, “I am curious. Did you not say that your kindred refuse to interfere in the affairs of others, save for self-defense?”
“This one did say that,” said Rjalfur. “And it is so. But this one remains curious about your kindred, about why the orc and the dwarf carry the sign of the cross. So this one followed you, man of water, and watched as you were deceived. If the bearer of the great shadow kills you, then this one will never understand the mystery. So this one shattered the spell of the corrupted one and set you free.”
“Thank you,” said Caius. “I am pleased we have piqued your curiosity.”
“I would not want to fall into the hands of Shadowbearer once more,” said Calliande.
A deep rumbling filled the hall, so loud that Ridmark feared the ceiling was about to collapse.
But Rjalfur was growling.
“The trolldomr prefer to keep to themselves,” said Rjalfur. “But the bearer of the great shadow is the enemy of all. The trolldomr listen to the song of the earth, the groan of the mountains and the pulse of her molten heart. The bearer of the great shadow would end the song before its appointed hour, and bring darkness and silence and death everlasting. That is another mystery this one does not understand, the riddle of the corrupted one.”
“The corrupted one?” said Ridmark. “You mean Coriolus?”
“This one did not understand him,” said Rjalfur. “The Old Man dwelled in the hills for many years, and then he changed. But now this one understands. The spirit of the corrupted one entered him. But why?”
“He fears death,” said Ridmark, “and so will do anything to prolong his life.”
“But why?” said Rjalfur again, and for an absurd moment Ridmark felt like he was talking to a giant stone child, a child that repeated the same question over and over again. “It is the nature of mortal men to die, man of water. To deny this is simply absurd. As well say that the sun does not exist, or that the worl
d does not have thirteen moons circling overhead.”
“We men of water,” said Ridmark, “are quite good at deceiving ourselves.”
“And why does he choose to serve the bearer of the great shadow?” said Rjalfur. That seemed to agitate the trolldomr more than anything else. “The great shadow is the enemy of all things. Why would he serve it? As well might a sheep choose to serve a wolf.”
“Perhaps he thinks,” said Gavin, gazing up at the trolldomr, “that the wolf will eat him last. My father…I fear my father thought that way for many years.”
“It is folly,” said Rjalfur, “and this one does not understand. Nor does this one understand why you follow the Dominus Christus. Yet that inspires you to boldness and bravery.”
“Like the missionary you saw die,” said Ridmark.
“You understand, man of water,” said Rjalfur. “This one does not understand why you follow the Dominus Christus or why the corrupted one follows the great shadow…but his devotion inspires only treachery and death.”
“Because he serves himself, perhaps?” said Calliande. “He wants to live forever. Most likely he sees his service to Shadowbearer only as a means to an end.”
“But he will not live forever,” said Rjalfur. “He may extend his life for many centuries, but all things mortal one day end. Surely he must know this. Man of water, can your kindred deceive themselves so thoroughly?”
“We can, alas,” said Ridmark.
“And the mystery of evil is a great mystery indeed,” said Caius. “All mortals have evil in their hearts, yet we must resist it. The great saints and the great tyrants are made from the same material.”
“A mystery indeed,” said Rjalfur. “This one will watch you further, and perhaps gain wisdom. What course of action will you take now, man of water?”
“I shall go after Morigna and Coriolus,” said Ridmark, “and stop Coriolus, if I can.”
“And we must retrieve the empty soulstone,” said Calliande. “It cannot fall into the hands of Shadowbearer, for if it does, he will use it to work tremendous evil.”
“The one you call Morigna is a child of dark magic,” said Rjalfur, “and while saints and tyrants may both be made of common men, this one suspects she has more of the tyrant within her.”
“Nevertheless,” said Ridmark. “She is what she is because Coriolus made her that way. I will not let Coriolus destroy her, not while it is in my power to stop him. And Jonas Vorinus is a traitor to his family and his neighbors. They must be warned against him.”
“The corrupted one is far stronger than you, man of water,” said Rjalfur. “You may not be able to defeat him.”
“He might kill me,” said Ridmark, “but perhaps I will take him off guard and kill him. But I will not abandon Morigna to him.”
“Then you believe,” said Rjalfur, “that your strength gives you a duty?”
“It does,” said Ridmark.
“This one understands,” said Rjalfur, “and your words have given this one much to consider.”
“Before you go,” said Ridmark, “how long were we imprisoned?”
“Not long,” said Rjalfur. “Perhaps five of your hours. Go, man of water, and face the task to which you have set yourself. Perhaps your God will indeed watch over you.”
He turned, sank back into the floor, and vanished as quickly as he had appeared.
Silence fell over the hall.
“Well,” said Gavin at last. “It’s a good thing that he likes us.”
“Truly,” said Calliande. “If he had not freed us, we would have been helpless before Shadowbearer.”
“Then let us depart before Shadowbearer arrives,” said Ridmark. He thought for a moment. “Coriolus will likely have taken Morigna back to his cottage to prepare his spell. If not, perhaps we can follow his trail to…”
“That will not be necessary,” said Calliande. “I know where he is going.” Ridmark looked at her. “He will have to perform the spell at the standing stones north of his cottage.”
“As Vlazur tried to do with you,” said Kharlacht.
“Aye,” said Calliande. “He’ll need the standing stones to focus and summon the amount of power he needs to work the spell. I am certain he is there.”
“And I am certain,” said Ridmark, “that he will have guards. More undead, and Jonas and his tricks with shadows.”
Kharlacht grunted. “Walking corpses and a mad wizard. It cannot be any worse than walking into a dark elven ruin ruled by an urdmordar and her spiderlings.”
“We had best hurry,” said Calliande. “Coriolus will likely start the spell when the moons reach a specific position in the sky.”
Ridmark nodded, turned toward the doors, and stopped.
“What is it?” said Kharlacht.
He heard the clatter of boots upon the stairs leading back to the barracks. But how? The flood trap had sealed off the gallery, and nothing could get past it, unless…
“Caius,” said Ridmark. “How long did you say it would take to drain the flood trap?”
“I don’t know,” said Caius. “But depending on the design…five hours might have been enough.”
“Then defend yourselves,” said Ridmark, gripping his staff. “Kzargar and his warriors are coming for us.”
And this time, they did not have Morigna to detect the invisible warriors.
Chapter 20 - Breach
Calliande braced herself, summoning magic to dispel the shadow-granted invisibility around the dvargir. Without Morigna’s ability to detect them, Calliande would not know where to direct the dispelling magic. She would have to guess, would have to cover as large of an area as possible…
But her worries were unnecessary.
Kzargar of the Great House Tklathar of the city of Khaldurmar walked into the hall, followed by seven of his warriors. The Dzark carried a fearsome-looking war helm under his right arm, wrought in the shape of a snarling, fanged skull. His warriors had already donned their helms, and looked like short, solid statues of black steel.
Ridmark stepped forward, and Kzargar stopped a dozen paces away. Calliande’s mind worked, wondering what spell to cast. She could ward her friends against attacks, but dvargir steel was more resistant to magic than normal weapons. Perhaps she could make her companions stronger and faster instead. But the dvargir were skilled and strong, and used to fighting in a group. They had almost lost to Jonas and the Red Brothers below Coriolus’s cottage, and only Ridmark’s cunning had snatched a victory from certain death.
Did he have another trick up his sleeve?”
“Dzark,” said Ridmark at last.
“Gray Knight,” said Kzargar in orcish. “You killed my mzrokar.”
“I did nothing of the sort,” said Ridmark. “I walked into the flood trap, and your pet followed me in. It is hardly my fault the beast triggered the trap.”
Harsh laughter came from a few of the dvargir warriors, and even Kzargar smiled. Briefly.
“True,” said Kzargar. “And the beast was an expensive nuisance to maintain. Useful in fighting in the tunnels of the Deeps, though.” His smile returned. “And it was most enjoyable to watch you flee in terror from my mzrokar.”
“I’m sure,” said Ridmark.
Kzargar craned his neck. “I see no trace of Coriolus. Am I to assume that you actually managed to slay the disciple of the prophet?”
“Maybe,” said Ridmark. “How much did you know of his plan?”
“All of it,” said Kzargar. “We have come at his bidding before, for the prophet commanded it of us. Yet the disciple is an odious, cringing fool, arrogant and brash. We dvargir are the strongest, the worthiest, yet the disciple had the temerity to treat us as lackeys.”
Ridmark took another step closer, and Calliande saw that familiar glint in his cold blue eyes.
He had an idea. She hoped it was a good one.
“I take it,” said Ridmark, “that you did not approve of his plan?”
“And why should I tell you?” said Kzargar.
“Because,” said Ridmark, “you want to know what happened here. Perhaps we can trade information before we kill each other. A man should not die curious.”
“True,” said Kzargar. “Very well. I thought that the disciple’s plan was idiocy. The prophet of the void wanted the empty soulstone and the rest of you dead, and the disciple wanted his foolish apprentice so he could transfer his spirit into her flesh. So the disciple concocted this ridiculous scheme with undead and false trails and a trap upon the floor. Better simply to enter Moraime unseen at night, murder you in your sleep, and take the soulstone. Then the prophet could receive the soulstone, and the disciple could take his new body at leisure.”
“That…would have worked,” said Kharlacht.
Kzargar made an impatient gesture. “Obviously. I told him, but the proud fool would not listen. He was too ambitious. He thought to trap you alive and present both you and the soulstone to Shadowbearer. So he hired us, and raised the undead to lure you in here. We were to let you pass. Once you entered Thainkul Dural, the disciple would come and activate the trap. Then we would drive you back to the entry hall, and you would blunder into his spell.”
“I see,” said Ridmark.
“Now,” said Kzargar. “What happened here? Where is Coriolus?”
“He left,” said Ridmark. “We blundered into his trap, as you said. Coriolus gloated for a few moments, then took Morigna and left.”
“He left?” said Kzargar, and for just a moment his voice rose. Then he mastered himself once more. “How did you get out of the spell?”
“I’m afraid,” said Ridmark, “that information will cost you a bit more.”
“He left,” said one of the dvargir warriors to the Dzark. “He left without paying us a single copper coin!”
“Did he leave payment?” said Kzargar.
Calliande could not believe that the Dzark had actually just asked Ridmark that. But it matched what she knew of the dvargir. They were merciless and ruthless, worshipping strength as fervently as did any other servants of the great void. Yet they admired order, and enforced laws with just the same fanaticism as their dwarven cousins.
Frostborn: The Undying Wizard Page 24
