If Coriolus had indeed promised to pay the dvargir, and he had broken his word, they could use that to their advantage.
Suddenly Ridmark’s plan began to come clear. What was the proverb he had quoted? Safer to deprive a lioness of her cub than to cheat a dvargir?
“He seemed relieved, if anything,” said Ridmark. “He said the flood trap meant he would not have to deal with you.”
“What?” said Kzargar, his anger growing.
“Apparently,” said Ridmark, “he did not think the flood trap would drain so quickly. I suspect he plans to possess Morigna, take the soulstone, and depart before you can find him.”
“He betrayed us!” thundered one of the dvargir. “The wretch took our money and left! I told you, Dzark! I told you he would…”
“Be silent,” said Kzargar. “He could be lying to us.” His malevolent black eyes turned to Ridmark. “Are you lying to us?”
Ridmark shrugged. “You have no way of knowing. But you have eyes, and you can see the truth for yourself. We are here, and free of the trap. Coriolus and Morigna are gone. And there is no payment, and once Coriolus clothes himself in Morigna’s flesh, I somehow doubt he will descend into the Deeps to settle accounts with you.”
For a long moment Kzargar stared at Ridmark.
Then the dvargir spat a furious phrase in his native tongue. Calliande did not speak the dvargir language, but she could guess at the meaning easily enough.
“We have been betrayed,” said Kzargar to his warriors. “The wretched disciple has broken his contract with us.”
A rumble of displeasure went up from the warriors. Calliande wondered why Kzargar was still speaking in orcish. Then she saw that gleam in Ridmark’s eye.
Oh, but he was clever.
“I assume the dvargir kindred regard a betrayal of contract as a grave matter?” said Ridmark.
Kzargar growled. “Indeed we do, Gray Knight. The gravest matter. The dvargir are always true to their given word. And the penalties for betraying a contract are most severe.”
“Such as?” said Ridmark.
Kzargar’s smile showed teeth and absolutely no mirth. “Death.”
Calliande thought it ludicrous that Ridmark could turn Shadowbearer’s servants against each other so easily. Yet it made a twisted sense. Shadowbearer taught his followers to revere strength, that the strongest had the right to take what they wanted.
Little wonder Coriolus had been willing to deny the dvargir their payment.
And little wonder the dvargir were willing to kill Coriolus for it.
“So you’re going to kill Coriolus, then?” said Ridmark.
“We shall,” said Kzargar. “One does not betray a contract with the dvargir without the direst consequences.”
“As it happens,” said Ridmark, “I have a quarrel or two of my own to settle with Coriolus.”
Kzargar showed his teeth. “Do you propose to hire us, Gray Knight? That would require a contract, and we would expect payment promptly.”
“Not at all,” said Ridmark. “I have nothing to pay you with in any event. But since we are attacking the same man, we may as well cooperate. We tried to kill each other, true…but we have not broken contracts with each other.”
“True, you are an enemy of the great prophet of the void,” said Kzargar, “but Coriolus’s betrayal is a more serious matter. I see no reason why we cannot…stay out of each other’s way.”
“Very well,” said Ridmark. “Then let us proceed at once. The sooner we find Coriolus, the less likely it is we’ll have to kill him twice.”
“Indeed,” said Kzargar. “I assume you know where he is?”
Calliande started to open her mouth to answer, but Ridmark spoke first.
“I do,” said Ridmark, “though as you yourself have said, Dzark, everything has its price.”
Again Kzargar showed his teeth. “And what price might you require for this information?”
“Simply that after we slay Coriolus,” said Ridmark, “we agree to a truce. We shall not lift our hands against each other for three days after Coriolus falls.”
“Very well,” said Kzargar.
Calliande shook her head in stunned relief. She had thought that the dvargir would kill them, but instead Ridmark had talked them around into becoming tentative allies.
At least for now. They were still servants of Shadowbearer, and Calliande had no doubt they would try to take the soulstone for themselves.
“Of course,” said Kzargar, “for all his folly, the disciple has considerable magical power. He might well kill us all.”
Ridmark shrugged. “Everyone dies.”
The dvargir laughed, and they strode from the entry hall.
###
A short time later Ridmark stepped back into the valley, his friends and the dvargir following him.
He let out a long breath. They had almost died in the darkness below the hills. Ridmark had no fear for his own fate. But he did not want to lead Gavin and Kharlacht and Caius to their deaths. And he did not want Calliande to fall. If he could have left her behind in Dun Licinia, he would have. Dying without ever learning the truth of her past seemed a particularly cruel fate.
He remembered Aelia’s death. He had failed to save one woman, and he had no desire to repeat the experience.
Of course, if Calliande had stayed behind at Dun Licinia, then Ridmark would likely have died at Urd Arowyn.
He pushed the tangle of thought and emotion out of his mind. He could brood upon it later, assuming they survived the next few hours.
“Too damned bright,” muttered Kzargar, shading his black eyes.
It was, in fact, almost sunset, the light fading and shadows falling over the steep hills. Ridmark saw no trace of any watchers upon the rocky hills or hiding among the pine trees lining their slopes.
Coriolus had not bothered to leave any guards behind. Not surprising, given that he thought Ridmark and the others imprisoned within his spell and the dvargir sealed behind the flood trap.
He doubted the standing stones would be left unguarded.
“The ring of dark elven standing stones to the south of here,” said Ridmark. “That is where we are going. Coriolus will need to cast his spell there.”
Kzargar grunted. “Very well. Watch, Gray Knight, and learn the consequences of betraying the dvargir.”
Ridmark nodded. Given word or not, he strongly suspected that Kzargar planned to kill both him and Coriolus, and then to take the empty soulstone and present it to Shadowbearer.
So be it. Ridmark doubted he could defeat Coriolus without help, and Kzargar was willing to fight against the ancient Eternalist.
“He will likely have raised undead to guard the hill,” said Ridmark.
Kzargar laughed. “The dvargir are no strangers to necromancy. Our weapons are proof against undead, even immaterial undead. Coriolus’s walking corpses will not save him.”
“I hope not,” said Ridmark, and he led his friends and the black-armored dvargir from the valley.
###
Morigna could not stop shivering.
The air grew colder as the sun vanished behind the hills to the west, but that was only part of it. Coriolus had covered every inch of her exposed skin with those painted sigils, and they crawled with dark magic. That chill she felt against her mind and heart, not her flesh, and she shivered beneath its touch. It felt horrible, and she could only imagine what it would feel like to wield that dark power.
“How can you do this to yourself?” whispered Morigna through her trembling jaw. “It…it…”
Coriolus glanced down at her. “One final lesson, child. There is no power without pain.”
He lifted his hands and began to speak a spell, his voice rising into a chant. Green fire burned around his fingers, and Morigna felt the dark magic swirling around him, stronger and stronger. His voice echoed across the circle, as if the standing stones were chanting a counterpoint to his incantation. Morigna felt as if some malevolent, malignant presence
had awakened within the stones, a cruel will that now regarded her with unseen eyes.
The Old Man’s voice rose to a shout, and he clapped his hands.
Green fire blazed to life upon the menhirs, illuminating the glyphs and reliefs carved into their sides. The dark magic around Morigna doubled, and then doubled again, and she felt like a fly pinned within a web of spells.
“Excellent,” said Coriolus, his lined face ghostly in the green light. “Only a few more steps, now.”
He stepped to his table, raised his hand, and cut his left palm with a dagger. Blood dripped from his hand, and he caught the droplets in the golden chalice, the rubies adorning its sides gleaming sickly in the light of the menhirs. Coriolus healed the wound upon his hand, and then cut Morigna’s palm. The pain burned through her arm, and her blood fell into the chalice to mingle with his before he healed the wound.
“You wouldn’t want a new body with a wounded hand,” spat Morigna, flexing her fingers.
“Of course not,” murmured Coriolus. “But we are almost finished.” He began to add powders and elixirs to the chalice, consulting the scroll upon the table from time to time. “I shall drink of your blood, and you shall drink of mine. And then my spirit shall populate your flesh, and yours shall be expelled into nothingness.” He smirked at her. “Perhaps the tattered ghosts of your mother and father await to escort you into paradise, surrounded by choirs of singing angels.”
Morigna spat at him and missed. Coriolus only laughed.
She slumped against the altar, trying not to weep. Perhaps Coriolus had been right after all. The strong did as they chose, and he had been strong enough to kill her parents, deceive her, defeat Ridmark, and take her flesh for his own, all without suffering any consequences.
Because he had been strong enough to do as he pleased.
She closed her eyes, shivering.
“What?” said Coriolus.
Morigna opened her eyes and saw a flash of white light.
Chapter 21 - Dead Flesh
“I hope,” said Caius, “that we are not too late.”
Ridmark nodded, gazing at the hill.
Or, more specifically, at the green light that blazed around the menhirs crowning the hill.
The standing stones formed a double circle, the larger one encircling the smaller. A low mound rose from within the center of the inner circle, a block of black stones and a few smaller menhirs atop it. All of the black stones glowed with an eerie green flame, illuminating the grisly scenes and sigils carved upon their signs. The nights in this part of the Wilderland were chilly in spring, yet it felt cold, terribly cold at the foot of the hill.
A side effect of the dark magic Coriolus had summoned.
Ridmark saw a dark figure moving around the altar. Coriolus himself, perhaps? Their best hope for victory was to take the Eternalist off-guard before he could bring his potent magic to bear against them.
But the shapes moving along the hillside would make that difficult.
Dozens of undead orcs prowled the hill and guarded the path leading to the standing stones, their empty eyes dancing with blue fire. Ridmark saw the shadowy forms of a half-dozen wraiths as well.
“It appears,” Ridmark said, “that Coriolus was not such a fool as to abandon all precautions.”
Kzargar spat upon the ground. “If he was not a fool, then he would have paid us.”
“Truly,” said Ridmark.
“He’s almost ready, Ridmark,” said Calliande, her voice strained as she cast the spell to sense the presence of magical power. “His spell…it is even more potent and complex than the one in Thainkul Dural. It’s almost in alignment. He just has to wait for the moons to take their proper position, and then he can cast the spell.”
Ridmark looked at the night sky. Seven of the thirteen moons were out tonight. Depending on which moons rose, the night sky could shine with blue light or green light or light the color of blood, but tonight their glow mingled together to create a pale white radiance. Each moon influenced or enhanced a different aspect of magic, and combined together they could create potent effects.
Such as ripping Morigna’s soul from her body and installing Coriolus’s in its place.
“If we are to save her,” said Calliande, “we must do so quickly.”
“I have no interest in saving the disciple’s dupe,” said Kzargar.
“I expected nothing less,” said Ridmark, his fingers tightening against his staff.
“We shall need a plan,” said Caius.
“I would be glad to hear of it,” said Kzargar with a sneer.
“There’s no way we can take Coriolus unawares,” said Ridmark.
“My kin and I can turn invisible,” said Kzargar.
“But you know that Coriolus can sense your presence, even when invisible,” said Ridmark. “So we have to attack. Calliande can enspell our weapons…”
“She will not,” said Kzargar, “touch us with her filthy high elven magic.”
“She would not want to touch you with her fingers,” said Calliande, “let alone her magic.” Both Kharlacht and Gavin chuckled.
“She can enspell our weapons,” said Ridmark before the discussion could degenerate into violence, “and make them effective against the undead. Your weapons require no such enhancement, and you can also make yourselves unseen. Does your power work against the undead?”
“No,” said Kzargar. “The sight of the undead extends into the shadow realm, the place your Magistri call the threshold. They will see us regardless of what we do.”
“Not unless their attention is elsewhere,” said Ridmark.
“Explain,” said the Dzark.
“My companions and I will attack the corporeal undead,” said Ridmark. “Undoubtedly Coriolus instructed them to guard the hill. Once we have their attention, you can circle around and attack the wraiths. Then we can make for the top of the hill, and hopefully overwhelm Coriolus before he kills us all.”
Kzargar considered this. “A solid plan. I see how you outwitted my mzrokar.”
“Hardly a compliment,” said Caius. “A mzrokar is not that bright.”
“Indeed,” said Kzargar with a thin smile. “Your plan is sound, Gray Knight. Shall we?”
“One more thing,” said Ridmark. “Coriolus likely has Morigna restrained. If possible, free her. Her magic is strong…and she has motivation to fight against Coriolus.”
Kharlacht grunted. “Understatement.”
“Very well,” said Kzargar. “We shall await your attack.”
He donned his skull-masked helm, and gestured. Shadows swirled around him and the other dvargir warriors, and together they vanished. The grass rustled and a few pebbles bounced as they moved toward the hill, but Ridmark otherwise saw no trace of the dvargir.
“Do you think they will betray us, sir?” said Gavin.
“Probably,” said Ridmark. “But they want Coriolus dead, and they can’t do it without our help. Once we stop Coriolus, they will likely try to kill us to claim the soulstone.”
Of course, even with the help of the dvargir, they might not be able to overcome the Eternalist.
“Come,” said Ridmark, raising his staff.
###
Calliande took a deep breath and summoned magic, gathering the power of the Well.
She dared not cast her spell too soon. She did not know how much of Coriolus’s concentration had to go to his mighty spell, but she suspected most of it. Yet he might have enough power left to sense her spell, enough power to strike back at them.
Then the undead saw them.
Dozens of blue-burning eyes turned in their direction, and the undead orcs raced down the slope, ancient weapons in their skeletal hands. Behind them Calliande saw the dark, rippling shapes of the wraiths, flowing like smoke.
Ridmark raised his staff and Kharlacht lifted his greatsword, and they were out of time.
Calliande thrust her palms and cast the spell. The white light appeared with a brilliant flash, and it sprang from
her hands and wrapped around the weapons of the others. As always, she felt the weight of maintaining the spell, but she had grown accustomed to the strain, and worked another, sheathing her friends in a protective ward.
Then the clash of battle filled her ears, and she focused on maintaining the twin spells.
###
The first undead came for him, and Ridmark swung his staff. The glowing weapon cut a white line in the darkness, and the impact knocked the orc’s tusked skull from its rotting neck. The blue flames winked out, and the skeletal creature collapsed into a pile of bones. Around him Kharlacht hewed the undead into pieces, and Caius smashed skulls with his dwarven mace. Gavin used his shield as a weapon, rocking the undead, and landing blows with his orcish sword before they recovered.
The undead orcs were dangerous, but Ridmark and the others had overcome them before, and the creatures were not nearly as skilled as the brothers of the Red Family or the dvargir warriors.
Ridmark waded into their midst, striking right and left. He forced a path through the undead, breaking up their charge, and Kharlacht and the others destroyed any that got past him. Ridmark tripped one undead with his staff, and then shattered the creature’s skull before it caught its balance. Another thrust at him with an ancient sword, and Ridmark dodged, swept aside the second thrust with his staff, and then whipped his weapon around in a tight circle. Again his blow shattered a skull, and the undead went down.
They broke through the mass of orcish undead, leaving smashed bones and rusted weapons in their wake. The path leading to the top of the hill was clear, the green light in the standing stones brightening. Then a wave of darkness swept across the path, resolving into the shapes of a half-dozen wraiths.
Ridmark raised his glowing staff. Already he felt the horrible, life-stealing chill radiating from the shadowy creatures. If he stood it in for too long, it would kill him, and with six of the wraiths, he doubted he could endure their aura for more than a few moments. The wraiths rushed toward him, as if drawn to the magic around his staff.
Frostborn: The Undying Wizard Page 25
