Frostborn: The Undying Wizard

by Jonathan Moeller

  Then a deeper darkness swirled behind the wraiths, and the dvargir stepped out of nothingness.

  The wraiths started to turn, but it was too late. The skull-masked dvargir attacked, the glyphs upon their weapons seeming to bleed black light. The dvargir struck in unison, and three of the wraiths disintegrated into smoke, ripped apart by the dvargir attack. Ridmark charged into the chaos, Kharlacht and Caius at his side, and raked his staff through the ghostly form of a wraith. The creature hissed, and Kharlacht and Caius swept their weapons through it. The wraith unraveled into nothingness, and the terrible chill started to fade.

  Ridmark whirled and ripped his staff into another wraith, and Gavin slashed, plunging his sword into the creature’s immaterial chest. The wraith shrieked in fury and melted away, and then Ridmark and the others were alone with the dvargir. He heard Calliande run up behind them, but his eyes remained on the black-armored warriors. For an instant he was sure that Kzargar would attack them…

  “A good fight,” said Kzargar.

  “Aye,” said Ridmark, “but it is not done yet. Not until we find Coriolus.”

  “Agreed,” said Kzargar. “Let us find that traitorous scoundrel.”

  They turned, and the hillside started to shake.

  ###

  Morigna blinked as another burst of white light flashed at the base of the hill.

  Coriolus frowned, put down his goblet, and walked to the edge of the mound. The sounds of fighting reached her ears, of swords crunching into the bones of the corporeal undead.

  For a moment the Old Man stood motionless, the green glow playing across his features.

  “Impossible,” he muttered.

  “Coriolus!”

  Jonas sprinted toward the altar, sword in hand, shadows spinning around the blade.

  “It’s him!” said Jonas. “The Gray Knight and his followers.”

  “Impossible,” said Coriolus. “Nothing could have broken out of that trap.”

  “Then someone has cast a remarkably convincing illusion,” said Jonas.

  Coriolus closed his eyes and whispered a spell, and then his eyes opened wide.

  “Damn it,” he muttered.

  Morigna felt a tiny flicker of hope. Had Ridmark and Calliande found a way out of the trap? For a moment she could not make sense of it. If they had broken free, why had they come here? Why not continue on to Urd Morlemoch to finish their quest?

  Had they come for her?

  For a moment the thought so overwhelmed her that she almost started to cry.

  “Damn it!” spat the Old Man. “There are dvargir with them. How did they get through the flooded gallery? It should have taken days to drain. And how did Calliande get out of my trap? No one has the arcane power to break the spell from within, no one! Unless….” For the first time a glimmer of fear went over his face. “Unless she has recovered her memory.”

  “Perhaps,” said Morigna, “you are not as clever as you believed yourself.”

  Coriolus bellowed in fury and slapped her across the face. Her head bounced off the altar, and she spat some blood from her mouth. Jonas gaped at the Old Man, looking back and forth between them.

  “Very clever,” said Morigna. “Now when you possess me, you can wake up to a mouthful of blood.”

  “Just as well,” said Jonas, “that you reported your success to Shadowbearer. You…”

  “Do not dare to mock me, fool boy,” spat the Old Man, his voice iron. “The Gray Knight and Calliande wish a fight? Fine! I shall give them a fight. I shall show them what death truly looks like.”

  “Then you had better act now,” said Jonas, looking down the hill. “They are winning.”

  “Let us see,” said Coriolus, “if they can win against this!”

  He flung out his hands, shouting a spell, and blue fire rippled around his fingertips.

  The hill shuddered, and a rasping roar rang over the slopes.

  ###

  “What was that?” said Kzargar.

  The cry came again, a hideous, brassy bellow full of agony and insane rage. Ridmark had heard it before when the swamp drake had attacked them in the marshes. But this cry sounded wrong, twisted.

  “Swamp drake,” said Ridmark.

  The hill trembled again, and a shape from a nightmare came lumbering down the path with terrifying speed.

  And suddenly Ridmark knew just what had happened to the carcass of the swamp drake they had killed upon the causeway.

  The undead drake staggered down the path, lacking the serpentine grace it had possessed in life. Yet it moved even faster. An iron collar glowing with sigils of blue fire bound its wedge-shaped head to its neck, which explained how Coriolus had reattached the beast’s head to its body. More rings of iron encircled its arms and legs, glowing with sigils of their own.

  “Stand fast!” said Kzargar, and the dvargir lined up around him, raising their weapons. “Let us teach the disciple that…”

  “No!” shouted Calliande, and the glow faded from Ridmark’s staff as she began casting a spell. “No, don’t, it’s…”

  The drake’s legs flexed, and the creature sprang into the air like a colossal insect and landed amongst the dvargir. Two of the black-armored figures went down at once, crushed by the drake’s clawed forelegs, and a third died an instant later when the drake bit off his head in a spray of crimson blood.

  The battle might have been over then and there, but Calliande cast a spell. A lance of white flame slammed into the drake, throwing the creature back. The drake landed upon its back with a scream of fury. Its head reared back, and then darted forward, breathing a blast of flame in her direction. Ridmark cursed, hoping to push her out of the way, but Calliande gestured. A dome of white light flared into existence before her, and the flame rebounded from it.

  “Attack!” roared Kzargar. “Take its legs!”

  The surviving dvargir scattered around the undead drake, lashing with their weapons, and Kharlacht and Caius and Gavin followed suit. Ridmark’s staff could not penetrate the creature’s heavy scales, so Ridmark dropped his staff and snatched the orcish war axe from his belt. The drake bellowed its rage and started to turn, but there were too many foes for it to track at once. The undead were often strong and fast, but usually mindless and stupid, unable to think beyond the bounds set by their masters.

  The drake, for all its strength, was no different. Ridmark swung with both hands, and the heavy steel blade bit into the drake’s left foreleg. The creature shuddered, ripping the blade free from its leg, and its head whirled to face him. Ridmark threw himself to the path and rolled as a blast of searing flame shot over his head, so hot it made his eyes water. He jumped back to his feet as the others attacked, landing blow after blow.

  But nothing they did slowed the creature at all. Even as Ridmark struck again, he saw the first wound he had carved into the drake’s leg closing. The creature could heal itself faster than they could damage it. Calliande flung another blast of brilliant white fire into the drake. It rocked back several steps, shrieking, and trembled as it did so. For a moment the wounds did not close as fast, and Ridmark went into a frenzy, hacking at its neck in an effort to sever its head before the creature recovered.

  But the drake snapped its head around, and the side of its neck slammed into Ridmark’s chest. He fell backwards, and only just managed to roll to the side before the drake’s claws raked at the ground. Calliande’s magic was powerful, but not strong enough to destroy the necromancy binding the monster. Coriolus must have infused his most powerful spells upon the drake.

  Ridmark’s eyes went to the metal rings around the drake’s legs, and the collar behind its head. Kharlacht had severed the beast’s head, but Coriolus had reattached it with that collar.

  So what would happened if someone took off the collar?

  It was time to find out.

  Ridmark sprinted forward, and the drake bellowed and opened its mouth, spraying flames as it whipped its head back and forth. The blast caught two of the dvargir and th
rew them back, their armor smoldering as it fought to hold back the flame. Calliande responded with another blast of white fire. The creature reared back with a scream of pain, stumbling as Calliande’s magic fought against the necromantic sorcery binding its undead flesh.

  Ridmark flung himself upon the creature’s back, catching one of the bony spines with his left hand. He heaved himself forward, driving the axe into thin gap between the collar and the drake’s head. The orcish blade sank deep, and the drake threw back its head and screamed. Ridmark ripped the axe free as the drake heaved and drove it down once more.

  The drake’s head struck the ground and bounced away, black slime and flame spurting from the stump of its neck. The body snapped like a bowstring, and Ridmark fell from its back, the axe tumbling from his hand. He rolled away to avoid the blurring lash of the drake’s tail, and saw the iron collar fall from the bloody stump.

  A blast of white flame drilled from Calliande’s hand and struck the collar. It writhed and twisted like a leaf thrown into a bonfire, and then crumbled into ash.

  The drake’s headless corpse twitched once and went motionless.

  Ridmark staggered to his feet as Calliande ran toward him.

  “Are you all right?” she said, grabbing his arm.

  “Splendid,” said Ridmark, coughing. The stench of the drake’s blood, hot metal mixed with rotting flesh, filled his nostrils. “Never better.”

  “I wish we didn’t have to kill that thing twice,” said Kharlacht.

  “A fierce beast,” said Kzargar, looking at the carcass. “Why did you kill it twice?”

  “It attacked us in the marshes, maddened by Coriolus’s undead,” said Ridmark, “and it appears Coriolus thought to turn it into his champion.”

  “You have wounded,” said Calliande, looking at the injured dvargir. Some had taken slashes from the undead drake’s talons, and others had been burned. “Let me heal them. I…”

  “No!” said Kzargar, the Dzark’s voice hardening. “You will not touch us with your corrupt magic.”

  “Corrupt?” said Calliande. “That…”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “If the Dzark doesn’t want your help, fine. There will be more than enough need for your magic in the next few moments.”

  Calliande nodded and took a deep breath. “Very well.”

  “Come,” said Ridmark to Kzargar. “Let us finish this.”

  He looked at the glowing crest of the hill. Because they would finish this in the next few moments.

  Either Coriolus would die…or he would kill them all and take Morigna’s body.

  ###

  “It didn’t work,” said Jonas, a whine of fear in his voice. “It didn’t work! What are we going to do?”

  The flicker of hope in Morigna’s breast grew brighter. Ridmark had defeated the undead? Could he yet free her from the altar and end this?

  The Old Man stepped into her sight, and her hope faded.

  “Why have you not paid heed to the teaching of the Enlightened?” said Coriolus, his voice dripping with amusement. “Strength is only demonstrated through struggle. And I shall demonstrate my strength when I crush the Gray Knight and the Magistria.”

  “I thought you said she had regained her memory,” said Jonas.

  “She didn’t,” said Coriolus, his confidence plain. “Otherwise we would already be dead. Now, watch, fool – and you shall see power.”

  Green fire blazed around his hands, and his shadow grew longer and black, rotating around him like the shadow of a sundial.

  Jonas stepped back in shock. “How…how you are doing that? You’re not one of the Enlightened, but those are the powers of an Initiated of the Fifth Circle…”

  Coriolus laughed. “I learned these powers before the Enlightened even came into being, from Shadowbearer himself! Calliande could not defeat my native magic. When I call upon the shadow, I shall crush them utterly.”

  Morigna strained against her bonds. She had to break free, had to find a way to help Ridmark and the others.

  But she could not move, and Coriolus summoned death in his hands.

  Chapter 22 - Eternity

  Ridmark stopped at the edge of the outer circle.

  Fingers of ghostly green light crawled up and down the black menhirs, outlining the grotesque carvings. The air here was even colder, and a malignant presence seemed to radiate from the standing stones. Within the circle stood another, smaller ring of menhirs, also ablaze with green fire. A low mound rose within the ring, topped by a few more standing stones and an altar of black stone.

  Morigna lay naked upon the altar, bound wrist and ankle. Lines of crimson sigils had been painted up and down her legs and arms, stark against her pale skin. Her head turned, and her black eyes widened as they saw Ridmark. In that moment, he was unable to look away from her.

  Guilt flickered through him as he thought of Aelia and, oddly, Calliande. Ridmark pushed the thought out of his mind.

  The very real possibility that they all were about to die made it easy to do so.

  He watched as Coriolus strode to the edge of the inner circle. The Eternalist still wore his ragged, long coat, his watery eyes serene in his lined face. Jonas walked at his side, and the Initiated of the Second Circle looked anything but calm. His sword rested in his right hand, shadows swirling around the blade, his face a study in feral rage.

  For a moment they regarded each other in silence.

  “Tell me,” said Coriolus at last. “How did you break my trap?”

  “The shoddy workmanship, of course,” said Ridmark.

  “No,” said Coriolus. “The trap was perfect. How did you get out of it?”

  Ridmark shrugged. “I could not say.” That was truthful enough.

  “Likely not,” said Coriolus. “Did the dvargir release you? The miserable traitors. I know you are there, Kzargar. Do not think to hide from me in the shadows.”

  Columns of darkness swirled at the edge of the outer circle, and Kzargar and his remaining warriors appeared.

  “You miserable traitors,” said Coriolus. “You dare to defy the will of Shadowbearer? You will pay. You…”

  “The will of the great prophet,” said Kzargar, “is that the empty soulstone come into his grasp.” Ridmark tightened his grip upon his staff. “The prophet cares nothing for you or your wretched life, and you were foolish enough to betray us. You promised payment, worm, and you dared to cheat us!”

  “You blind, miserly fool,” said Coriolus. “The world is about to change, and you whine about gold? Stop wearying my ears with your nonsense! You want gold? There is a chest of it hidden beneath the hearth of my cottage. Go and claim it, and bother me no more.”

  “Indeed?” said Kzargar. “I have a better idea, traitor. We will kill you and climb over your corpse to claim the gold and the soulstone. Then I shall keep your ugly head as a warning to those who cross the dvargir…”

  “Idiot,” said Coriolus. “The Frostborn are returning and the new order comes, and you haggle over a few coins?”

  “This is the pride of the dvargir!” said Kzargar. “You dare to insult us! Then you will suffer for it! You shall…”

  “Oh, do shut up,” said Coriolus, his bloodshot eyes turning back to Ridmark. “I will give you one chance, Gray Knight. Turn around and leave. Or stay and die alongside these dvargir fools.”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “Release Morigna, and return the soulstone to us.”

  Coriolus laughed. “And you think I would do either? She is the next step on the path to my immortality, and…”

  “You’re not immortal,” said Calliande, her quiet voice cutting into his tirade.

  He glared at her. “I have lived as long as you have, Calliande of Tarlion, and I shall live on long after you are dead.”

  “Maybe you will,” said Calliande. “Maybe you’ll live for another thousand years. But it doesn’t matter. It will never be enough. You can live for ten thousand years, but you only need to die once. And you’ll always be afraid of it. You’ll
always know that it will only take one mistake, one error, to turn you from an immortal to a corpse.” She smiled at him. “Maybe even something as simple and foolish as refusing to pay the dvargir out of sheer spite.”

  “I will kill the others,” said Coriolus, his voice soft. “You, I will keep alive, just so I can see that icy pride melt when I present you to Shadowbearer.”

  “Enough talk!” said Kzargar. “If you are going to kill us, stop talking and do it, you preening fool.”

  “As you wish,” said Coriolus. The Eternalist flung out his hands, and Jonas charged.

  Darkness erupted from the earth within the circle.

  ###

  Morigna strained against her bonds, cursing her helplessness.

  A score of wraiths rose from the earth at Coriolus’s command, images of black smoke and eerie blue light. They looked as if they had once been orcish shamans, their heads shaved, their chests and faces and arms adorned with bronze rings and elaborate tattoos. Coriolus gestured again, and the wraiths attacked the dvargir and Ridmark and the others.

  She wondered how Ridmark had managed to talk the dvargir into fighting Coriolus.

  The Dzark and his warriors bellowed cries in their native tongue and attacked the wraiths, their weapons bleeding darkness. Kharlacht and Gavin and Caius charged with them, fighting alongside the black-armored shapes, and Morigna lost sight of Ridmark in the mayhem. Brilliant white light flared around Calliande as she began casting spells.

  But Coriolus began another spell of his own, darkness and green flame dancing around him, and Morigna felt power of the Old Man’s magic.

  She fought against the ropes, cursing herself for her weakness. Bound to a mad sorcerer’s altar, and waiting for a knight to save her! She was like the insipid heroines in the sort of songs that an oaf like Gavin would enjoy.

  But Ridmark needed her help, and Morigna tested both her ropes and the spell inhibiting her magic, seeking for any weaknesses.