Frostborn: The Undying Wizard (27 page)

“You like to talk, fine,” said Calliande. “Then talk. Tell me who I am, if you claim to know.” If she kept him talking, perhaps Ridmark would figure out something clever, or Morigna might break free of the spell. She considered asking Coriolus about Dragonfall, but stopped herself. Perhaps he knew of Dragonfall, but did not know of its importance. If she brought it to the forefront of his mind, then he might go there after she died. 

Because he was likely to kill them all…and then he would take the soulstone and present it to Shadowbearer. 

“I admit it would bring me great pleasure,” said Coriolus, “simply to see the look of consternation upon your face. But, alas, I must refrain. I think Shadowbearer will reserve that pleasure to himself, and only a fool would cross him. And I have my own affairs to conduct.” 

“Such as?” said Calliande.

Coriolus’s smile widened. “You met Talvinius?”

“Briefly,” said Calliande. “As Ridmark told you, his spirit was trapped in the flesh of a kobold shaman.”

“And he tried to possess you, I take it?” said Coriolus.

“He did,” said Calliande. “It did not end well for him.” The realization came to her. “Your body is old and failing. You need a new one, one with magical ability, and so you lured me here to claim mine, just at Talvinius did.”

“You are,” said Coriolus, “half-right. I only need one more thing from you.”

He gestured, and Calliande’s jaw clamped shut. The Old Man stepped into the ruby light, and for a moment Calliande hoped it would trap him. But Coriolus’s own spell would not touch him. He plucked the pouch containing the empty soulstone from Calliande’s belt. 

Then he stepped out of the trap and gazed at Morigna with a predatory smile.

###

Morigna fought against the spell with impotent fury. 

She tried to summon magic, but the trap disrupted her power. She tried to move, but the crimson light held her fast. 

Once again, her strength had been insufficient. 

Coriolus stopped a few paces away from her, weighing the pouch in his right hand.

“Dear little Morigna,” he said. “How I have waited for this day.”

Morigna realized she could speak. 

“And what day is that?” she spat. “A day for betrayal?”

“Betrayal?” said Coriolus. “Hardly. How is this a betrayal?”

“You ought to know,” said Jonas, “given that you betrayed Nathan to his death.” 

Morigna glared at him. “Be silent when your betters are speaking.”

Jonas growled and started to draw his sword again, but Coriolus looked at him.

“You really ought to take her advice, Initiated,” he said.

Jonas flinched and released his sword. 

“That’s better,” said Coriolus, turning back to Morigna. “And this is not a betrayal. Does a freeholder betray the pig when he leads the beast to the slaughtering block?”

A chill went through Morigna. “What do you mean?” 

“Who do you think you are, Morigna daughter of Litavis?” said Coriolus. “My adopted daughter? Perhaps a surrogate niece? My student? No. You are none of these things. You are,” he paused for a moment, searching for the word, “my fattened calf. And the hour of the feast has come at last.” 

Morigna sneered. “So you are going to kill and eat me, then?”

“Not at all,” said Coriolus. “Well. Perhaps in a metaphorical sense.” 

“Say what you mean, old fool, without the needless words,” said Morigna.

“Absolutely not,” said Coriolus. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing the expression on your face when you learn the truth for fourteen years…and I am going to savor this. You see, I came to Moraime twenty years ago, seeking a new host. The Old Man already lived in the hills. A failed initiate of the Magistri, living in fear of an order that had forgotten him years ago.” He glanced at Ridmark. “The story I told you was mostly true, by the way. It was only about the previous owner of this body. I expelled his feeble spirit from this flesh and claimed it for my own. But the Old Man was already old, and even with my skill at necromancy, I would need another body within a few decades. A young one, a healthy one, a body that would last me for many years. And one with strong magical ability.”

“Me,” said Morigna, the chill settling into her bones. “That is why you took me in.”

“I admit, wearing a woman’s body is something of an…indignity, let us say,” said Coriolus. “And menstruation is a terrible inconvenience. But I have inhabited a woman’s flesh before, and can do so again if I must. And you…you have such magical potential, and you are healthy enough to live for nearly a century. How could I resist?”

“That is why you took me in after my mother and father died,” said Morigna. “To raise me as your vessel.”

The cruel glint in his eyes brightened. “Quite right. Oh, but you were a trial. Children are detestable vermin, but you were particularly vexing. But so easy to mold, for all that. The rebellious little sorceress, sneering at the Old Man but desiring his approval, forever running from and returning to her teacher. I taught you enough to magic to grow your potential, but never enough to threaten me. You should be honored, really. Your entire life has been shaped to reach this moment, from the first moment I saw your mother carrying you and sensed your potential…”

“My potential?” said Morigna, and she blinked. “Then you…you…”

He laughed. “Do you understand now?”

“You killed my mother and father,” she whispered. 

His smile widened. “The dvargir are amenable to gold. And when I sent them to murder one wretched, flea-ridden hunter and his slattern wife, they did so gladly. Of course, I killed them all when I came to the rescue, the crazy wizard coming out of the hills to claim his apprentice, the child who would feel gratitude to her rescuer…” 

Morigna screamed.

Fury beyond anything she had ever known filled her, and she threw herself against the wards with all her power. For a moment the sheet of crimson light flickered, but the Old Man’s magic was too strong. The trap snapped back into place. 

Her entire life. Morigna’s entire life had been shaped by the Old Man’s malice. 

He had murdered her mother and father just to claim her.

Morigna felt herself shaking, felt hot tears sliding down her face. 

“There we go,” murmured Coriolus. “The proud little bitch, broken at last. How I have looked forward to this!” 

“You will pay,” hissed Morigna. “I swear you will.”

“No, I won’t,” said Coriolus. “The Enlightened of Incariel are prattling fools for the most part,” Jonas scowled at him, “but they are right about one thing. Justice is only an illusion. The time for talk is over, dear Morigna. The hour of work has come…and the time to make your flesh suitable to receive my spirit.”

He gestured, red fire blazing around his fingers, and darkness swallowed Morigna. 

###

Ridmark watched as Morigna floated out of the trap, wrapped in a cocoon of crimson light.

“And now, I suppose,” said Ridmark, “you’re going to kill the rest of us?”

“What?” said Coriolus. “Oh, no, nothing of the sort. Shadowbearer wants to kill you, and I shall not stand in his way. No, my little spell is going to put you to sleep until he arrives. Then you can deal with him. You will wish I had killed you then.” He grinned as Morigna floated to his side, her eyes closed. “Especially Calliande.”

“You should kill us now,” said Ridmark.

“Oh?” said Coriolus. “Why is that?” 

“Because if I get loose,” said Ridmark, “I am going to kill you for your crimes.” 

“Such a terrifying threat,” said Coriolus. “What will you do, beat me to death with that stick of yours?”

“He will,” said Calliande, her voice ice, “once I break your defensive wards. You are a monster.”

“A monster?” said Coriolus, raising his wispy white eyebrows. “I suppose from your perspective, I am. But I am an immortal, and you are not. And the wolf always looks like a monster to the sheep.” He lifted his hand, more red light flaring to life. “Sleep well. Do give my regards to Shadowbearer before he rips the tongues from your mouths.”

The red light blazed brighter. Blackness closed around Ridmark. He fought against it, but his eyes grew heavier.

The last thing he saw was Coriolus and Jonas striding from the hall, Morigna floating after them.

And then darkness swallowed the world.

Chapter 18 - New Flesh

Morigna floated through her dreams. 

She saw her father and mother, saw Litavis and Maria. Her father had been tall and sinewy, able to move through the woods like a ghost. He had taken her along from time to time, teaching her how to track and hunt. Maria looked a great deal like Morigna, with long black hair and black eyes. She cleaned Litavis’s kills, teasing him until he joined in the work. He always complained about it, but did so good-naturedly. Every few weeks they went to Moraime to hear the priest and receive the sacrament, to buy supplies from the merchants. 

They had been both so young. Maria had been no more than Morigna’s age, no more than twenty or twenty-one. They seemed so old in her memories. 

But they hadn’t been old at all. They had died young.

Died when Coriolus sent his dvargir to cut them down.

She saw his face floating through her mind, that sneering, contemptuous face. She heard his endless lectures over the last fourteen years, his contempt for those weaker than himself, his pride in his strength. She had absorbed it all like a sponge, and he had molded her into a little copy of himself.

But it had all been a lie. He had not been teaching her, but preparing her. Molding her into a vessel to receive his corrupted spirit, like a potter shaping a jar.

Her entire life had been his lie.

She remembered running from her father’s cottage, screaming in terror. The dvargir had pursued her, cloaked in shadow. She had been certain she would die.

Then the Old Man had come, killing them with his magic.

The Old Man, who had saved her life.

But that had been another lie. He had murdered her parents. Then he had betrayed and murdered his dvargir servants to gain her trust.

All while plotting to possess her flesh.

Morigna screamed in fury, chasing him through the dream.

###

She awoke with a gasp, breathing hard, sweat pouring down her face. 

And right away she realized that many things were very wrong. 

Cold, rough stone dug into the skin of her back and shoulders and legs, and Morigna realized that she was naked. Panic filled her and she tried to sit up, but coils of rope encircled her wrists and ankles, holding her spread-eagle upon a slab of stone. She saw the sky overhead, covered in heavy gray clouds. It was not that chilly out, but without her clothing, Morigna felt desperately cold. 

She summoned magic, trying to work a spell to break the ropes. Yet a stab of pain went through her head, and she slumped against the stone, unable to concentrate through the sudden agony.

“None of that, now,” said a familiar voice. 

Morigna turned her head, looking around as she tried to find the speaker. 

She lay on an altar of rough black stone. The altar itself sat atop a low mound of earth, encircled by a ring of black standing stones, their sides adorned with scenes of dark elves torturing their foes. Another ring encircled the first, and beyond Morigna saw the hills. She saw the Old Man’s cottage across the ravine, sitting perched atop its hill, the marshes stretching away to the south.

Coriolus came into sight, his long gray coat blowing in the breeze. 

“I was wondering,” he said, “when you would wake up.”

“Let me go!” spat Morigna, the fury exploding through her. “Let me go!” 

“And why,” said Coriolus, “should I do that?”

He stepped closer, and fear crawled through Morigna. She pressed against the altar, trying to get as far away from him as possible. She desperately wanted to cover herself.

“Oh, you need not fear that,” said Coriolus. “I will not harm or molest you. It would be most foolish, would it not? I have no intention of damaging a house in which I plan to reside.” 

“You killed my mother and father,” said Morigna. “You lied to me my whole life!”

“Yes, I believe I already mentioned that,” said Coriolus. “Kind of you to remember, though.” He turned his head. “You two, bring it here.”

Something moved, shuffling against the hill, and the stench of carrion came to Morigna’s nostrils. A pair of orcish undead came into sight, carrying a wooden table from the Old Man’s cottage. Upon the table rested a variety of clay pots, a set of brushes, a few rolled-up scrolls, and a golden chalice that glimmered in the dim light. 

“Yes, there,” said Coriolus. “That will do.” He waved a hand. “Stand guard with the others.” 

The undead shuffled away. 

“Then you raised those undead,” said Morigna.

He raised his eyebrows, but did not look up as he rummaged through the table’s contents. “Was that not obvious? The skill of the dvargir with necromancy is crude, much like their warding magic. They could not have raised so many corporeal undead at once, and they certainly could not have created any wraiths.” He smiled, and Morigna saw the black shadow of a wraith drift past one of the standing stones.

No wonder she felt so cold.

“The standing stones,” she said. “Aren’t you afraid of the urvaalgs?”

“No,” said Coriolus, looking at one of his scrolls. “I had two of them, but they ran across a dvargir raiding party about a year ago. Dvargir steel can harm creatures of dark magic, though not as effectively as a soulblade. The urvaalgs killed six of the dvargir, but the beasts perished in the end. Pity. They might have been useful against the Gray Knight and his ragged little band. Though I hardly needed the help.” 

“You commanded the urvaalgs?” said Morigna, a fresh chill sinking into her.

“Of course,” said Coriolus, still reading his scroll. “The spells to command them are complex for human wizards, but well within my capability.”

“Then you killed him,” whispered Morigna. “You killed Nathan.”