Frostborn: The Gorgon Spirit (30 page)

“There,” he said, lowering his hand. Morigna blinked at him, rubbing her arm. He wasn’t entirely sure how her right arm had been wounded, and neither was she. The battle had gotten chaotic towards the end. “How is that?”

“Better,” said Morigna. She would not meet his gaze. “Thank you.”

Gavin nodded and stepped back. 

“For everything,” said Morigna.

He blinked in surprised.

“How badly were you hurt?” said Ridmark to Morigna. He looked as surprised as Gavin felt.

“I…lost control of the situation,” said Morigna. “If Gavin had not struck when he had, I would have been killed.” Her face twisted up as if she had just swallowed something bitter. 

“Swordbearer,” said Ridmark, his face grave. “Thank you.”

Gavin nodded once and walked to the back of the group. Everyone was on their feet and walking, and that was probably the best they could do for now. Not even magical healing could overcome fatigue. Antenora walked at the rear of the group, her staff tapping against the road. 

“I don’t suppose that you need any healing?” he said.

A smile flickered over her lips. “It wouldn’t work on me. I heal on my own, eventually, though the process is not pleasant. I wish to ask you a question, as there wasn’t a chance for it earlier.”

“We were rather busy,” said Gavin.

“Indeed,” said Antenora. She looked at Morigna and Ridmark. “The woman. The sorceress, the Gray Knight’s lover. You do not like her.”

Gavin hesitated, and then decided to tell the truth. They had been through so much danger together that Antenora had earned it. “Yes.”

“Why not?”

“She is arrogant and overly sure of herself,” said Gavin, “and uses dark magic. She is abrasive and unpleasant and critical. She…” The realization came to him. “She reminds me a lot of my stepmother.”

“Ah,” said Antenora. “Your stepmother was an unpleasant woman?” 

“She worshipped an urdmordar, a spider-demon, and almost fed my entire village to it,” said Gavin.

“Yet you saved the sorceress,” said Antenora. “Why?” 

“Because,” said Gavin. “Because…well, I don’t like her, but she hasn’t betrayed us, certainly, and she’s helped us. The Gray Knight would be upset if she was slain, and…”

“No,” said Antenora. “That is not the real reason.”

“Oh?” said Gavin. “You know the real reason?”

“It is far simpler than you think,” said Antenora. “For you are Gavin Swordbearer, and you protect people. That is your nature. That is what you do, and that is why you saved her.”

Gavin opened his mouth to argue…and then closed it again. 

She was right. He had thought that he didn’t know who he was any longer, that the destruction of Aranaeus and becoming a Swordbearer had made him lose himself, but he was wrong. He had left Aranaeus in hopes of going to Castra Marcaine and finding help to protect Aranaeus. He had followed Ridmark to protect Aranaeus. And after he had left Aranaeus, he had taken up Truthseeker to protect his friends. 

He was a Knight of the Order of the Soulblade now…but that had not changed anything about him. He still wanted to protect people. Truthseeker just gave him more ability to do so. 

“For a woman who constantly calls herself a traitor,” said Gavin, “you are very wise.”

“I am not,” said Antenora. “But I have spent many centuries watching humanity…and I have seen men like you before, Gavin Swordbearer. Not many. But some. You could stand in their company without shame.”

“Thank you,” said Gavin.

They kept walking.

Chapter 24: Gates of Ruin

Two days later, Ridmark and the others reached the eastern edge of the Vale of Stone Death and looked upon the Gate of the West of Khald Azalar. 

“Good Lord,” said Jager, blinking up at the massive Gate. “Brother Caius, your kindred certainly know how to make an impression.”

“That,” said Caius, “we do.”

The road ended at a broad cliff of gray stone, and the Gate of the West yawned before them.

Two massive reliefs of armored dwarves had been carved into the cliff, rising nearly three hundred feet above the ground. Elaborate carvings and glyphs covered the face of the cliff between the two reliefs, and Ridmark had no doubt that they concealed hidden redoubts for archers and siege engines. Compared to the towering reliefs, the black archway of the Gate itself looked tiny, but it still stood fifty feet high and twenty wide. Once it has been sealed by massive doors of dwarven steel, but now the doors lay in twisted ruin upon the ground. More ruins lay scattered below the Gate, once a small citadel in their own right, now smashed and broken. 

The Gate was the single strongest fortification that Ridmark had ever seen, yet the Frostborn had broken through it anyway. 

Ridmark turned and looked back at his friends. 

To the west he saw the pine forest stretching away. There was no sign of Mournacht or the Traveler, but he knew that would not last. Someone would have won the battle, and the victor would race to the Gate of the West. They had perhaps a day of lead time, maybe a little more, likely less.

“Calliande,” said Ridmark. “This is it?”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “It is. I can feel the staff of…I can feel my staff. It’s in there. Dragonfall at last. Ridmark. Thank you. I would never have come this far without your help.”

“Without your help,” said Ridmark, “we all would have died months ago. And do not thank me yet. We still have to find your staff. I imagine Khald Azalar is quite large.”

“It is,” said Caius. “I fear I have only seen the upper levels, the King’s audience hall and the outer barracks. I never saw the inner court or the foundries or the Gate of the East. If Dragonfall, this tomb of the dragons, was a secret of the King of Khald Azalar, he hid it well.”

“Then we shall find it,” said Ridmark.

“Fortunately,” said Jager, “I am have some experience breaking into places I should not be.”

“We noticed,” said Kharlacht. 

“Speaking of which,” said Caius, “we should check for traps. The Gate would have had defenses, both magical and mechanical. Some of them might still be functional.” 

“I will check for spells,” said Calliande. She offered a nervous little smile. “It will give me something else to think about.”

The others moved off to scout, and Ridmark found himself standing alone with Morigna. 

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said.

She shook her head. “The fighting…it was difficult. Ridmark.” She looked up at him, her expression tired. “I was afraid. I do not like to admit to it, to weakness…”

“I know,” he said. She had been raised to revere power above all else, to believe that strength was the only thing that mattered. 

“But I was afraid I would never see you again,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “I was…I was willing to do things I should not have considered to save you. I…”

Morigna fell silent and looked away.

“I know,” said Ridmark. “We shall see this done, you and I. Together.”

She hesitated. “I…used dark magic, Ridmark. Several times. I could not think of anything else to do.”

“I know,” said Ridmark.

Morigna blinked. “You do?”

“You haven’t complained about anything for days,” said Ridmark, “and the only thing that could achieve such a miracle is guilt, so…”

“I am trying to be serious,” said Morigna, “and you are making jests?” 

“I thought you might have used dark magic,” said Ridmark. “We all have temptations.”

“And what would you know of temptation?” said Morigna.

“Despair is a temptation, is it not?” said Ridmark. "I gave into it for years."

Morigna looked away. “I suppose one cannot argue with that.” 

“You don’t have to face it alone,” said Ridmark. “I will be with you to the end.” 

She blinked several times and then nodded, and her usual mocking expression returned. “Well. If we are to see this done, one suspects we ought not to dawdle here.”

“No doubt,” said Ridmark, and they rejoined the others.

“No wards,” said Calliande.

“No mechanical traps, either,” said Jager, and Caius nodded.

“I traveled into the hall,” said Mara. “There is no one within. If any creatures have made Khald Azalar their home, they are not nearby.”

Ridmark nodded. “Then let us see this done, and return the Keeper to Andomhaim at last.”

He started forward, leading the way into the darkness of Khald Azalar.

Epilogue

The archmage of the high elves who had once been named Tymandain and now called himself Shadowbearer stood in the midst of the Mhorite horde, unseen and unnoticed. It required only a minor spell to keep the orcish vermin from seeing him, even their pathetic shamans. That was just as well, since any significant expenditure of power would draw Ardrhythain’s notice, and Shadowbearer could not afford that, not now.

Both disaster and ultimate victory teetered just within his grasp.

He was so close to freedom, so very close. The empty soulstone had eluded his reach. His servants had failed to kill Calliande again and again. Worse, the Keeper had learned of her identity and had learned the location of her staff. If she recovered her memory and staff, Shadowbearer would not be able to kill her.

She might be able to kill him. 

If she recovered her power, he would have to retreat and fade into the shadows, waiting another two hundred and fifty years before the thirteen moons returned to the proper configuration. Some part of him, the part of his mind that was still his own, thought this was for the best. There was no need for haste. 

The shadow within him screamed in fury at the delay. 

Yet Shadowbearer could still have the victory. Calliande had not yet recovered her power. If he found her, killed her, and destroyed her staff…everything would fall into his hands. He could ensure that no new Keeper arose to challenge him. The empty soulstone would be in his grasp, and he could open the gate to summon the Frostborn to this world once more.

And then he would be free, and this world and every other world would be his forevermore. 

Victory was within his grasp. He needed only to make the necessary preparations.

His mind reached out, touching the shadows, seeking the darkness he had bound to the souls of his followers. His will found one particular woman, her soul filled with hatred and rage and a thwarted desire for vengeance. That alone would have made her useful, but she also had considerable magical power. 

Shadowbearer’s will gripped hers, and even through the hundreds of miles separating them, he felt her startled surprise. 

“Master?” said Imaria Licinius. 

Imaria Licinius, daughter of the Dux of the Northerland, sister to the slain Aelia Licinius Arban. She was a Magistria of the Order, strong with the magic of the Well…and she hated Ridmark Arban with a hatred almost as black as the shadow of Incariel itself.

Almost. 

She would serve Shadowbearer well in this matter.

“I have a task for you, Imaria Licinius,” said Shadowbearer, his will carrying his words to her mind. “Go at once to Dun Licinia and lodge as a guest of Sir Joram Agramore. Await my further instructions after you arrive.” 

“It shall be done, master,” said Imaria. “Might I ask why?”

“To arrange the death of Ridmark Arban and all those who travel with him,” said Shadowbearer. 

He sensed the excitement that went through her. “It shall gladly be done, master.”

“Is the Weaver with Tarrabus?” said Shadowbearer.

“He is, master,” said Imaria.

“The Weaver is to accompany you as well,” said Shadowbearer. “If Tarrabus protests, tell him that this is my express command.” Tarrabus had had his chance to take the soulstone and to kill Calliande, and he had failed. Now some of Shadowbearer’s other servants would have their chance to earn his favor. 

“I shall,” said Imaria. “Ridmark Arban will perish, master.”

“Yes,” said Shadowbearer, and broke the connection.

He turned his attention to Mournacht and his shamans, who stood discussing the best course of action. The Mhorites had driven off the Anathgrimm warriors, but they had not destroyed them, and Mournacht had been unable to kill the Traveler. A shiver of fury went through Shadowbearer. The Traveler was a miserable coward, a worm hiding beneath a stone. To have his interference now, at this late stage, was infuriating. 

But not for long, though. 

Ardrhythain might have been able to detect Shadowbearer’s power anywhere in the world, but the troublesome archmage could not detect Shadowbearer’s power when he bestowed a portion of it upon Mournacht. It made Mournacht stronger, much stronger, and it also made the orcish shaman much easier to control. 

In fact, Mournacht’s conscious mind had not even realized Shadowbearer’s presence.

He channeled some more power into Mournacht, making the shaman even stronger. 

Very soon, Mournacht was going to find and kill Calliande. Then Shadowbearer would at last be able to take the soulstone and summon the Frostborn to this world once more.

And then…and then…

His smile widened further. 

And then this world would burn in darkness forevermore. 

THE END

Thank you for reading FROSTBORN: THE GORGON SPIRIT. Look for Ridmark's next adventure, FROSTBORN: THE BROKEN MAGE, to appear in 2015. If you liked the book, please consider leaving a review at your ebook site of choice. To receive immediate notification of new releases, 
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