Tamara frowned. “The Maledicti can likely sense our location through magic.”
“Likely,” said Ridmark. “They know that we’re coming. But they don’t know that we know about Lord Amruthyr. That’s the one advantage we have.” That, and the power of the Shield Knight. Ridmark knew he would have to unlock the full power of his soulblade if he had any chance of winning this fight. “Wait here. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
And if they did not return, Ridmark knew, Magatai and Kyralion would at least be able to take Tamara to safety.
Tamara did not look happy, but she nodded, and Ridmark and Third headed forward. They moved from pillar to pillar and niche to niche.
After about fifty yards, the corridor of statues ended in a small cylindrical room. On the left wall, a flight of spiral stairs descended into the earth, more of the veins glowing against the walls. On the far side of the room, another doorway opened into a vast chamber that looked like a colossal gladiatorial arena. A domed ceiling arched high overhead, and the maze of golden veins flowed across the walls and converged in a mass of crystal the size of a small house hanging from the apex of the dome.
“Antenora,” whispered Ridmark.
“That arena ahead must be the Heart of the Nightmare,” said Antenora. “That crystal in the ceiling is the focal point of the spell.” Her voice had taken a noticeable rasp of fatigue. “But the source of power is below. I suspect those stairs lead to the Chamber of Meditation where you will find Amruthyr.”
“And there are the Maledicti,” murmured Third.
She was right. At the bottom of the arena hovered two robed figures, one in a gray robe the color of mist, the other in a silvery robe. The Maledictus of Air and the Maledictus of Shadow awaited their victims below, and Ridmark also glimpsed the slim, dark form of the Scythe, her black wings folded behind her.
“Let’s return to the others,” said Ridmark. “We’ll need to discuss a plan.”
Third nodded, and they retreated down the pillared corridor and back to the others.
“What have you seen of the enemy?” said Magatai when they returned.
“Enough,” said Ridmark. “The Heart of the Nightmare looks like a gladiatorial arena…”
“A temple,” said Kyralion, anger in his voice. “Where my kindred asked for the aid of God. It does not surprise me that the Sovereign and the Maledicti would desecrate such a place.”
Ridmark nodded, remembering how Taerdyn had desecrated the chapel of the Blue Castra. “The Maledicti and the Scythe are awaiting there. But there’s an anteroom, with a flight of stairs going down. Antenora says that Lord Amruthyr is somewhere down those stairs.”
“Then we storm the temple and defeat the Maledicti and the Scythe,” said Magatai.
Ridmark shook his head. “I’m not sure the five of us can defeat two of the Maledicti at once.”
Tamara nodded. “Then we head downstairs and free Lord Amruthyr from his torment.” She swallowed. “However we can.” Tamara had to know that they would likely have to kill the gray elven lord, just as they had killed Kolmyrion. Though after centuries trapped within his own magic, Amruthyr would probably welcome the release of death.
“No,” said Ridmark. “If we do, the Maledicti will realize what we are doing and act to stop us. There’s only one way to victory.”
“What’s that?” said Tamara.
“I confront the Maledicti by myself,” said Ridmark, “and the four of you go to free Amruthyr.”
Silence answered him.
“I may not have had the benefit of formal education, Lord Ridmark,” said Tamara, “but you just said the five of us couldn’t overcome the Maledicti, and I think that one of you is less than five of us.”
“But he is the Shield Knight,” said Third. “And he can use the power of the Shield Knight.”
“Yes,” said Ridmark. “I can hold that power for about ten minutes, maybe fifteen. I will delay the Maledicti as long as I can before I use the power, and then I will attack them with all my strength. That will give you the time to find Amruthyr and do what must be done.”
“That is suicide,” said Tamara.
“No,” said Ridmark. “When I’ve confronted the Maledicti with the power of the Shield Knight in previous battles, they’ve fled rather than stand and fight.” Though Urzhalar would have killed him if Third had not intervened. “When you break the spell, they’ll have no further reason to remain here. Most likely they will retreat to fight another day.”
Tamara sighed. “There is no other way, is there?”
“It is a bold plan,” said Magatai, “but Magatai thinks that you are right. There is no other way, not if we wish to free the men of Kalimnos and the men of my tribe.”
“I know,” said Tamara. She sighed. “So be it, Lord Ridmark. May God go with you.”
“And with you,” said Ridmark. “We shall both need all the help we can get. Third?” She nodded. “Take the others and head down the stairs. I’ll confront the Maledicti and hold their attention. I’ll see you once you’ve dealt with Lord Amruthyr and have returned.”
Third gave him a grave nod. “As you say.” She tried to smile. “It is no less desperate a fight than the battles against the Weaver or Tarrabus Carhaine.”
“Our odds are better now,” said Ridmark. “I wasn’t the Shield Knight back then.” He looked at the others. “And we didn’t have Kyralion of the Illicaeryn Jungle, or Magatai of the Takai, or Tamara Earthcaller of Kalimnos.”
Tamara smiled. “You almost make me believe, my lord. Almost.”
“Then let us see if we can convince you the rest of the way,” said Ridmark. “Come.”
He turned and led the way down the pillared corridor, closer to the pulsing golden light in the Heart of the Nightmare. This time he made no effort to disguise his footfalls, and neither did the others. Soon they reached the cylindrical antechamber, and Ridmark nodded to Third.
“Go,” he said.
She nodded back. “I will see you soon.”
Without another word, she turned and led Tamara, Magatai, and Kyralion down the spiral stairs.
Ridmark strode without hesitation through the doorway and into the vast Heart of the Nightmare.
###
“Quickly,” said Third, her voice flat and calm. “Kyralion, on my right, Magatai, on my left. If we see any foes, I will use my power to transport behind them. Tamara, stay behind us, and use your spells to confuse any enemies.”
“Magatai will make sure to leave some foes for you to slay,” said Magatai. “We shall do deeds worthy of epic song!”
“Yes,” said Third.
What she wanted to do was to walk alongside Ridmark to the fight against the Maledicti, as they had gone together into so many battles. Her sister had asked Third to find him and keep him safe, as had High King Arandar.
More, Ridmark was Third’s friend. Leaving him to face the Maledicti alone did not sit well with her.
But he was right. This was their best hope of victory. If they charged the Heart of the Nightmare together, the Maledicti would likely kill all of them. If they all went after Lord Amruthyr, the Maledicti would realize what they were doing and stop them.
This was the only way forward.
Third jogged down the stairs, the pulsing golden light reflecting off the blue steel of her swords.
###
Ridmark strode into the Heart of the Nightmare and stopped on the highest tier.
Now that Kyralion had pointed out the room’s purpose, Ridmark could see that it had indeed once been a temple. At the bottom of the arena, directly below the pulsing crystal at the apex of the dome, rose an altar of white stone. He wondered what kind of religious observances the gray elves had performed after they had turned away from the threefold law of the high elves. The glowing veins covered the walls and the dome, and the thick mist flowed and rippled across the tiers, shining in the pulsing light of the veins.
Mhazhama and the Maledictus of Shadows turned as he approached
, as did the Scythe. The urdhracos' great black wings flexed and unfurled behind her. Ridmark descended the stairs, passing the broad tiers of the temple, and stopped about two-thirds of the way down.
“Maledicti!” Ridmark shouted. “I will give you one final warning. Dismiss your spell and depart from here, or else…”
With a lazy gesture, Mhazhama raised a skeletal hand and pointed at him.
A bolt of dazzling lightning leaped from her fingers and hurtled up the tiers, so bright that it momentarily drowned out the golden light of the veins and the crystal. Ridmark reacted on reflex, snapping up Oathshield in guard and calling on the sword’s power to protect against magic. The lightning bolt shattered against the blade, though the impact knocked him back several steps.
Mhazhama cast another spell, and Ridmark felt the air congeal and harden around him. Calem had been able to do something similar in Myllene with the Sword of Air, and again Ridmark called on Oathshield’s power. He moved forward one step, and then another, and Mhazhama waved a hand.
The air returned to normal, and Ridmark stopped, watching them.
“Well,” said Mhazhama, her rough voice amused. “It seems you are not entirely without ability, Shield Knight.”
“How else do you think I’ve lived this long?” said Ridmark.
“Indeed,” said Mhazhama. “You killed all of the Scythe’s urvaalgs. She was most disappointed.” The Scythe looked indifferent, but her void-filled eyes remained fixed on Ridmark.
“A knight never likes the disappoint a lady,” said Ridmark. Time, he needed to stall for time. The longer he stalled, the longer he drew this out, the more time that Third and the others would have to find and release Amruthyr.
Mhazhama cackled. “Is that so?” She sounded amused. “I expected a fight, and you have not disappointed me. Look at you. One aging human warrior with a high elven sword. I would not have expected you to have become such a threat to our plans. Indeed, to look at you now, I never would have believed it. Yet you slew Justin Cyros and Taerdyn within the space of a month.” She flexed her right hand, arcs of lightning dancing around the bony fingers. “Yes, a worthy opponent indeed.”
“If I am a worthy foe,” said Ridmark, watching the three figures atop the altar, “then I give you this chance. Withdraw now and dismiss your spell upon Kalimnos and the Takai halflings. This need not end in battle.”
“You are mistaken,” said Mhazhama. The Maledictus of Shadows glided to her side, the mist-filled cowl tilted to gaze at Ridmark. He felt the weight of the mist-wreathed creature’s attention, malevolent and cold. “This was always intended to end in battle. We have studied you, Shield Knight, and we know the best way to defeat you.”
“Do you?” said Ridmark, taking another stride down the stairs. He doubted the Maledicti would let him get close enough to strike. An idea came to him. “The Masked One of Xenorium is no threat to anyone.”
Neither Mhazhama nor the Maledictus of Shadows stirred. A brief smile of malicious amusement went over the Scythe’s face.
“That was you, wasn’t it?” said Ridmark. “The Maledictus of Shadows. You see, when we heard about the Sword of Shadows for the first time, we thought it referred to the shadow of Incariel. But it never did. The Sword controls a different kind of shadow. The shadows of the mind, of delusions, of phantasms, of dreams. That is the kind of magic the Maledictus of Shadows wields.” He looked at the mist-wreathed creature. “You’ve cast a spell over Kalimnos, but you’ve done the same kind of thing before, haven’t you? The Masked One of Xenorium is no threat to anyone? You worked that spell over all of Owyllain, putting the delusion into their minds that the Masked One was no danger.” A flash of insight occurred to him. “But he is your true master, is he not? You’ve been arranging the War of the Seven Swords to your own liking for a quarter of a century. And you have been doing it at his command.”
“Clever child,” purred Mhazhama. “In your scriptures, John the Baptist was the forerunner and herald of your Dominus Christus. So too is the Masked One the herald and forerunner of the New God…though in something of a different way, of course. Do you wish to truly understand, Lord Ridmark? Then I shall tell you a story. A lesson the Sovereign himself told me centuries before you were born.”
“As you wish,” said Ridmark. Every delay worked to his advantage.
“Long, long ago, long before the gray elves ever came to this land, the Sovereign commanded hosts of orcish soldiers,” said Mhazhama. “One of those warriors was a mighty champion, fearless and skilled, who knew victory in every battle. More, he was handsome and well-formed by the standards of my kindred. Such a warrior ought to have had a dozen wives and a score of concubines. Yet he had none. For some reason, the very thought of approaching a woman filled him with paralyzing dread. Since he had the usual appetites of a man, this was a constant torment to him. Yet for all his skill and valor upon the battlefield, something within his mind had been twisted to make him fear approaching a woman. He never overcame this dread and perished upon the battlefield without ever having lain with a woman.”
“What is the point of this story?” said Ridmark.
“Do you not understand?” said Mhazhama. “There was nothing, nothing to stop this warrior from fulfilling his lust, but he never did. Orcish fathers would gladly have given their daughters to him for the prestige of having a marriage alliance with such a mighty warrior. He could have had everything he wanted if he just reached out his hand and took it…but he could not. The warrior could never break the chains of fear in his mind.” She raised a withered hand and tapped the mummified skin of her forehead. “Do you see, Lord Ridmark? Chains of bronze and prisons of stone can be shattered. But a prison built within the mind itself can never be broken. Those who imprison themselves can never be freed. The Sovereign understood this. And the New God understands, and it will know the love and worship of all kindreds.”
“That is unlikely,” said Ridmark, “since I will stop it and you.”
Mhazhama cackled again. “No. The rise of the New God is inevitable. The plan has been in motion since before you were born. The Seven Swords are destined to raise the New God. The gray elves could not stop us. Kothlaric Pendragon could not stop us. The Guardians, both the old and the new, could not stop us. And you will not stop us.”
The lightning around her right hand brightened, and the mist dripping from the sleeves of the Maledictus of Shadows began to writhe and twist like serpents looking to strike. The Scythe’s face went dead and blank, and she reached over her shoulder and drew a longsword of blue dark elven steel from a scabbard concealed beneath her wings.
“I think we have reached the point,” said Ridmark, “where force shall have to decide our disagreements.”
“We were always at that point, Shield Knight,” said Mhazhama. “And your death has always been awaiting you here. You’ve defeated so very many foes. None of them overcame you. But can you overcome yourself? When the Sword of Shadows calls forth the shadows of your mind, can you defeat them? Let us find out!”
Ridmark sprinted forward, and his enemies exploded into motion. The Scythe leaped into the air, her black wings beating, her sword in her right hand, blue light and shadow snarling around the talons of her left hand. Mhazhama raised her arms, the lightning brightening around her fingers, and the Maledictus of Shadows glided backward, casting a spell.
Another blast of lightning lanced from Mhazhama, and Ridmark snapped up Oathshield in guard. Once again, her lightning shattered against the soulblade, and the Scythe also flung a spell. A twisting lance of shadow and blue fire hurtled towards Ridmark, and he dodged, using Oathshield to deflect the blast of dark magic.
And as he did, the Maledictus of Shadows cast his spell.
The tiers of the temple, like the rest of the ruins below the Tower of Nightmares, had been coated in that writhing gray mist. Now the mist hurtled forward, flowing down the tiers and rushing onto the altar towards the Maledictus of Shadows. The Maledictus gestured, and the mist compressed i
tself into a floating sphere about six feet across, its surface whirling and rippling with inner turmoil.
“Stop him!” shouted Antenora into Ridmark’s thoughts. “He is pulling something from your memories!”
Both Mhazhama and the Scythe began casting new spells, and the Maledictus of Shadows gestured at the sphere, which whirled faster and faster.
Ridmark paused for a heartbeat, and then another, concentrating as he focused on his link to Oathshield, the link which provided him with speed and strength beyond the normal.
It was only a short delay, but it was all he needed to unlock the power of the Shield Knight.
Oathshield blazed with white fire, and the white flame rolled across Ridmark, hardening into plate armor of blue metal. The massive armor covered him from head to foot, but it felt like it weighed nothing, and the helmet did not impede his vision. His exhaustion and pain vanished, and Ridmark felt much stronger and faster as the power howled through him.
He surged forward, racing down the stairs like a storm.
Both Mhazhama and the Scythe threw spells, but Ridmark ignored them, his armor deflecting the magical attacks.
The Maledictus of Shadows finished his spell first.
The sphere of mist compressed and hardened, and it took the shape of a towering orcish man in dark armor, his eyes glowing with red light, and…
Shock exploded through Ridmark’s mind, so profound that he faltered for a half step.
The mist had taken the form of Mhalek.
The orcish shaman who had murdered Ridmark’s first wife Aelia wore ancient black armor, the plates adorned with sigils of blood-colored fire. Mhalek had looted that armor from the tomb of a long-dead orcish warlord, and in his hands, he carried twin swords of the same dark metal, their blades adorned with sigils of blood sorcery. Mhalek had carved similar sigils into the flesh of his forehead and jaw, and they shone with the same bloody light.
Even all these years later, even knowing that he had killed Mhalek, even knowing that this was a simulacrum created by the dark magic of the Maledictus of Shadows, rage still exploded through Ridmark at the sight of his wife’s murderer.
Sevenfold Sword: Shadow Page 28
