“That would depend,” said Ridmark, “on if you have done anything to merit slaying. You are a long way from home.”
“Indeed,” said Vholazae. “What brings you and the girl to the shadow of the Hanging Tower?”
Then she did know about the Hanging Tower.
“Not the Tower, as it happens,” said Ridmark. “The Dux and Sabrina wished to go on a hunting trip in the valley, and since I was at Castra Arban, I accompanied them. Dux Tormark thought it would be safe enough since neither undead nor creatures of dark magic have been seen in this part of Taliand for centuries. On the road to the valley, we were attacked by undead creatures that breathed a sleeping mist. They overpowered our party and took them captive. Lady Sabrina and I fell into the river, and we escaped. Now I intend to defeat the undead and free their captives.”
“By yourself,” said Vholazae.
Ridmark shrugged. “I am a Knight of the Order of the Soulblade. It is my duty to fight creatures of dark magic. And I am the one best equipped to fight them. That is my story, priestess. What brings you to Taliand?”
“A dream of power came to me,” said Vholazae, “a vision of foretelling.”
“And what did this vision show you?” said Ridmark. The Shaluuskan orcs, he knew, were not as superstitious and omen-ridden as the bone orcs of the Qazaluuskan Forest, who saw the will of their god Qazalask in every rustle of the leaves and the flight of every bird. Nevertheless, the ghost orcs believed their goddess communicated to them through dreams and visions, though Ridmark suspected that the visions followed the will of the priestesses rather than the will of Shalask.
“In this vision, I saw a tower of bone rising from a mountain cliff,” said Vholazae. “In the tower rested the destiny and future of the sons and daughters of Shalask. When I awoke, I performed rites of divinatory sorcery.” Sabrina shuddered a little. “The rites told me of the Hanging Tower and its location in Taliand. I gathered my warriors about me and left the Shaluuskan Forest, and we made our way across Taliand and to this valley. When we came to the Hanging Tower, undead warriors issued forth to challenge us. As you said, they breathed sleeping mist, and many of my warriors were overcome and dragged into the Tower. We managed to fight our way free, and the undead had caught up to us when you found us.”
“I see,” said Ridmark. That didn’t match what he had seen with the tracks. He thought a band of undead had broken off from the group carrying Tormark and the prisoners and then headed into the forest to the attack the Shaluuskan orcs. Though perhaps Vholazae and her warriors had already been fighting for their lives and some of the undead from the road had gone to join the battle. “Did you see a large column of undead heading towards the Hanging Tower? They would have been carrying many human prisoners.”
“I did not,” said Vholazae. “We were trying to escape when the undead caught up to us. A fear a thousand undead could have moved along the road, and we might not have noticed.”
“When you came to the Hanging Tower,” said Ridmark, “how many undead issued forth?”
“Perhaps a hundred,” said Khalzak. “Maybe more.”
“What do you intend to do?” said Vholazae.
“I suggest we work together,” said Ridmark. “Whoever commands the undead has attacked both of us, and we have a better chance of freeing our people if we help each other.”
Vholazae frowned behind her tusks. “We cannot fight a hundred undead warriors on our own.”
“No, we can’t,” said Ridmark. He lifted Oathshield, and the orcish men flinched a little, gripping their weapons. “But my soulblade can break the sleeping spell upon the captives. If we wake enough of them up, we can fight the undead on a more equal footing.”
“And the master of the undead?” said Vholazae.
“I am a Swordbearer,” said Ridmark. “I will deal with whatever creature or sorcerer commands the undead.”
Khalzak grunted. “So confident?”
“He is a Swordbearer, Khalzak,” said Vholazae. “You saw him fight the undead. Indeed, did not the Swordbearers break the power of the urdmordar and send them fleeing into the hidden places of the world?” Her black eyes turned back to Ridmark. “And if we are victorious, Swordbearer? If we free our men and yours, what will happen then?”
Ridmark shrugged. “I am a Swordbearer, not a prophet. But if you take your men and leave at once, I doubt Dux Tormark will stop you. Likely he will have no wish to fight after escaping from the Hanging Tower.”
Assuming, of course, that Tormark Arban was still alive. But Ridmark did not want to raise that possibility in front of Sabrina.
“Very well,” said Vholazae. “I find this accord acceptable. Together we shall work to free our people from the Hanging Tower. Once that is accomplished, I shall take my warriors and return to the Shaluuskan Forest. The vision, whatever it was, has led me astray, and there is nothing here for the sons and daughters of Shalask but death.”
“As you wish, then,” said Ridmark. “We should continue to the Hanging Tower at once. The sooner we free our captured friends, the better.”
And if this was a trap or a trick, that would mean Ridmark would have more allies at his side when the fighting began.
Because he was certain that Vholazae had not told him the entire truth.
What was the real reason she had come to the Hanging Tower? Traveling this far into Taliand was a risk, and even with a vision to guide her, Ridmark could not imagine the priestess taking that risk without a very good reason. She must have had more than a vision to guide her or at the very least a concrete reason for risking the journey to the Hanging Tower.
For that matter, it seemed too much of a coincidence that Vholazae would decide to visit the Hanging Tower just as a mob of undead settled in the place.
But whatever the reason, Ridmark suspected he would find the answer to the mystery soon enough.
He just hoped that the answer wouldn’t get him and Sabrina killed.
“Let’s go,” he told the others. “I want to get to the Tower before the sun goes down.”
Chapter 5: The Hanging Tower
As the sun dipped below the snowy peaks to the west, Ridmark and the others came to the Hanging Tower.
The ruin was a grim and impressive sight.
The road and the forest both ended at a sharp precipice, a cliff that plunged a thousand feet to the earth below. The Hanging Tower perched on the edge of a precipice, four hundred feet of gleaming white stone rising against the mountains' dark bulk. It had the strange, alien angles favored by dark elven architecture, aesthetics pleasing to the eyes of the long-slain dark elves, but disturbing and unsettling to human sensibilities. Some of Ridmark’s distant ancestors, men who had been Swordbearers, had undertaken quests to the Tower, driving out the orcish warlocks and petty necromancers who had taken shelter in the ruin.
There were smaller ruins clustered around the base of the Tower. Once the Hanging Tower had been the heart of a small citadel, and while the Tower still stood, the rest of the citadel had been smashed by war and time. Ridmark saw freestanding walls of white stone, toppled columns, and tottering statues of dark elven lords in armor and robes. He also saw cruder walls and crumbled towers. The various orcish warlocks and necromancers who had occupied the Tower over the years had expanded and rebuilt the citadel at its base, and their ruins lay heaped upon each other.
“That is an evil-looking place,” said Sabrina in a quiet voice. The pack horse tossed its mane with a snort.
“In ancient days, it was the locus for mighty dark sorcery,” said Vholazae. “Both wielded by the dark elves and then the urdmordar, I think.”
“And it still might be,” said Ridmark, lifting Oathshield. The soulblade’s blade burned with white fire, a fire that seemed to intensify with every step they drew nearer to the Tower. “There is dark magic nearby.”
Vholazae smiled behind her tusks. “Perhaps your ever-vigilant sword thinks that my powers are dark magic.”
“No,” said Ridmark. “You�
��re using earth magic. I’ve seen it before. Forbidden to the men of Andomhaim, but you’re not a man of Andomhaim.” He met her black eyes. “If you use dark magic, I’ll know.”
Khalzak growled and shifted his stance as if preparing to attack Ridmark, but Vholazae only smiled.
“You are familiar with the magic of elemental earth, then?” said Vholazae.
“Yes,” said Ridmark. “There is a spell to sense the presence of foes, or rather their weight pressing upon the earth. Do you know it?”
“The priestesses of the goddesses learn of such secrets,” said Vholazae. She did not seem like Ridmark describing the mysteries of Shalask so bluntly.
“Then if you know such a secret,” said Ridmark, “I suggest that you use it. Those ruins at the foot of the Tower have a thousand different hiding places for foes. I would prefer not to walk into an ambush.”
“He speaks sense, priestess,” rumbled Khalzak.
“Very well.” Vholazae gestured, purple fire playing around her fingers and staff, and her eyelids fluttered. “Yes…yes, I can sense your weight upon the ground. If any undead come, I shall have warning.”
“Good.” Ridmark looked at the orcish men. “Khalzak and you two, stay with me. If any undead come for us, we’ll meet them head on. Priestess, stay behind us, and use your spells if we are attacked. Sabrina, keep behind the priestess and keep the horse from running. We’ll need the supplies later.”
Sabrina bobbed her head, but Khalzak growled again.
“Who are you, human,” said Khalzak, “to give orders to the sons of Shalask?” His black eyes started to glimmer red with orcish battle rage. “You think that because you are a Swordbearer, you can command the men of the Shaluuskan Forest?”
“Do you have a better plan?” said Ridmark, not backing away from the big orc. “Because if you do, I should be glad to follow it. Well? Do you?”
Khalzak growled again but said nothing.
“If not,” said Ridmark, pointing Oathshield at the Tower, “let’s go.”
“We will do as he says, Khalzak,” said Vholazae.
Khalzak grimaced but offered no other complaint, and Ridmark led the way towards the ruins of the Tower. The ghost orcs warriors fell in around him, and he looked back and saw Vholazae and Sabrina following. Ridmark turned his gaze back to the Tower and the ruins around its base. Khalzak and the other two warriors would prove effective against any skeletal orcs, but if they encountered more powerful undead, the brunt of the battle would fall upon Ridmark.
Fortunately, Oathshield was ready for the task, its blade burning white.
They followed the path to the ruins, the stone rasping beneath their boots. A cold wind whistled from the mountains, tugging at Ridmark’s gray cloak. The Tower and its ruins sat on a mountain spur overlooking the precipice, and the road narrowed as they drew closer. A perfect place for an attack, Ridmark mused. He looked at the crumbling wall and the ruined gate. Had he commanded the Hanging Tower, he would have placed archers upon the walls to shoot down anyone who approached…
Vholazae gasped and blinked, leaning upon her staff for balance.
“Priestess?” said Khalzak.
“The enemy comes!” she said. “A dozen of them! Make ready!”
No sooner had the last word left her lips than Oathshield jolted in Ridmark’s hand, the blade burning hotter. He looked towards the gate just in time to see a dozen undead orcs rush from the ruins, swords and axes in hand.
“For Shalask!” roared Khalzak, brandishing his sword, and the other two orcish warriors followed suit. Vholazae began to cast a spell, and Ridmark did not hesitate. He sprinted forward, calling on Oathshield for speed and power, and drew back the sword to strike. The white-burning blade blurred before him, and the blow took the head from an undead orc. The creature collapsed to dust at his feet. A second undead warrior slashed a sword for his head, and Ridmark parried, sidestepped, and stabbed Oathshield. The soulblade penetrated the warrior’s ancient armor, and the white fire pulsed, drowning out the blue flame and sending the undead to the ground.
Khalzak howled and crashed into the undead, the other two warriors following suit. Vholazae cast a spell, thrusting out her free hand. Her magic made the ground fold and ripple like a banner caught in the wind. Three undead warriors stumbled, and the ghost orcs fell upon them, smashing them to pieces.
Ridmark turned his attention to the undead who remained on their feet. He blocked an axe, dodged a sword, and slashed the head from an undead warrior. A sword clanged against Oathshield, and he retreated, blocked again, and destroyed the undead swordsman. He drove into them, his soulblade ripping apart the dark magic that bound them, and Khalzak and the ghost orcs finished off the stunned undead.
Khalzak smashed down the final undead warrior and let out a howl of triumph.
“A good fight,” he said. “A good fight!” He grinned. Suddenly he seemed to approve of Ridmark. “It was too short, though.”
“Aye, it was,” said Ridmark, frowning. He rolled his shoulders, his muscles aching from the fight. “Vholazae. Are there more undead coming?”
She cast a spell once more. “No. As far as I can tell, none of them are in the outer ruins.”
Ridmark frowned. “But over a hundred of them attacked Dux Tormark’s party on the road.”
“But they are not in the outer ruins,” said Vholazae, finishing her spell. “Perhaps they retreated within the Tower itself. My magic cannot reach into it.”
Oathshield still burned within Ridmark’s hand, which meant creatures of dark magic lingered nearby.
“Come,” he said. “We can solve this mystery within the Tower.”
He led the way into the ruins.
Chapter 6: The Tombs
The ruins lay silent as Ridmark walked through them, the others following. White pillars jutted from the earth, their tops broken and jagged. Here and there stood statues of dark elven lords, leaning upon half-sunken pedestals as if they had drunk too much wine. Crumbling orcish towers rose from the earth where the various orcish occupiers of the Tower had attempted to fortify the place.
Ridmark scanned the ruins, Oathshield burning in his hand, but nothing moved.
The ancient road led up to the gates of the Hanging Tower itself, the Tower on Ridmark’s left, and the yawning precipice on his right.
It was a long, long way down.
“Tie the horse here,” said Ridmark to Sabrina, pointing at the statue of a spear-armed dark elven lord. Sabrina led the animal to the statue and tied the reins to the spear’s stone shaft. “If we try to take the horse along that path it will probably panic.”
Sabrina nodded once more and stepped back, gazing at the white bulk of the Tower rising against the sky. “Is…is my father in there?”
“Probably,” said Ridmark.
“Is he still alive?” said Sabrina in a small voice.
“Let’s get him back,” said Ridmark. The orcs watched the conversation impassively. “The same formation as before. Khalzak, you two, with me. Vholazae, stay behind us, and Sabrina, stay behind her.”
A broad flight of shallow stairs climbed to the Tower’s yawning gate. Ridmark took the stairs, his senses straining to detect any sign of enemies, but nothing moved.
They passed through the yawning gate and into the Tower’s enormous central chamber. The chamber was magnificent, built with all the craft and skill of the dark elves, a place both beautiful and disturbing. The high, narrow windows had a splendid view of the precipice and the mountains beyond. The stonework had been carved with intricate reliefs of strange and alien beauty, though those reliefs showed the dark elves torturing and killing their slaves. More niches stood between the windows, holding statues of dark elven lords, and a flight of broad stairs climbed into the Tower’s heights.
But the floor held Ridmark’s attention.
It had been paved with thick slabs of white stone, and some of those stone slabs had been torn away by a colossal force. The hole in the floor revealed another set of
white stairs that descended into the mountain, and an eerie crimson glow rose from their depths. At the base of the stairs, Ridmark glimpsed a pillared hall stretching away into the heart of the mountains.
“Crypts,” said Ridmark. “There are crypts below the Hanging Tower.”
“So it would seem,” said Vholazae.
“I’ve never heard of crypts beneath the Tower,” said Ridmark. He picked up a piece of loose white stone. The edges were still sharp and jagged. “It looks as if this happened recently. Like someone broke into the crypt.” A darker thought occurred to him. “Or someone broke out of it.”
“Did they take my father this way?” said Sabrina.
“Yes,” said Ridmark. That much was obvious. He saw the bits of dust and yellowed bone the undead had left in their wake. If that was not enough, there were other traces – pieces of leather and torn cloth from the clothing of the men-at-arms, and a dropped knife that had likely fallen from the hand of an unconscious man.
He looked back at the others. Khalzak and the two warriors glared into the crypt as if expecting enemies to issue forth at any moment. Vholazae remained impassive, both hands grasping her staff. He had the overwhelming certainty that she knew far more than she had told him, that she had a clearer idea of what had happened here than Ridmark did. He considering pressing Khalzak for information, but he doubted any of the ghost orc warriors would betray their priestess.
Ridmark knew that he didn’t want any of the ghost orcs behind him, and he especially did not want any of them to be between him and Sabrina. The girl had no defenses, and if Vholazae decided upon treachery, Sabrina would make an excellent hostage.
“Sabrina,” said Ridmark. “Stay on my left side.” The girl nodded and hurried to his left. “Vholazae, walk on my right. The rest of you spread out on either side.”
“As you will,” said Vholazae, stepping to his right. Khalzak and the warriors spread out on either side, swords ready, and Ridmark took a deep breath and started down the stairs.
Shield Knight Ghost Orcs Page 3
