Frostborn: The Undying Wizard (32 page)

“Not unless their attention is elsewhere,” said Ridmark.

“Explain,” said the Dzark.

“My companions and I will attack the corporeal undead,” said Ridmark. “Undoubtedly Coriolus instructed them to guard the hill. Once we have their attention, you can circle around and attack the wraiths. Then we can make for the top of the hill, and hopefully overwhelm Coriolus before he kills us all.”

Kzargar considered this. “A solid plan. I see how you outwitted my mzrokar.” 

“Hardly a compliment,” said Caius. “A mzrokar is not that bright.”

“Indeed,” said Kzargar with a thin smile. “Your plan is sound, Gray Knight. Shall we?” 

“One more thing,” said Ridmark. “Coriolus likely has Morigna restrained. If possible, free her. Her magic is strong…and she has motivation to fight against Coriolus.”

Kharlacht grunted. “Understatement.”

“Very well,” said Kzargar. “We shall await your attack.”

He donned his skull-masked helm, and gestured. Shadows swirled around him and the other dvargir warriors, and together they vanished. The grass rustled and a few pebbles bounced as they moved toward the hill, but Ridmark otherwise saw no trace of the dvargir.

“Do you think they will betray us, sir?” said Gavin.

“Probably,” said Ridmark. “But they want Coriolus dead, and they can’t do it without our help. Once we stop Coriolus, they will likely try to kill us to claim the soulstone.”

Of course, even with the help of the dvargir, they might not be able to overcome the Eternalist.

“Come,” said Ridmark, raising his staff.

###

Calliande took a deep breath and summoned magic, gathering the power of the Well.

She dared not cast her spell too soon. She did not know how much of Coriolus’s concentration had to go to his mighty spell, but she suspected most of it. Yet he might have enough power left to sense her spell, enough power to strike back at them. 

Then the undead saw them.

Dozens of blue-burning eyes turned in their direction, and the undead orcs raced down the slope, ancient weapons in their skeletal hands. Behind them Calliande saw the dark, rippling shapes of the wraiths, flowing like smoke.

Ridmark raised his staff and Kharlacht lifted his greatsword, and they were out of time.

Calliande thrust her palms and cast the spell. The white light appeared with a brilliant  flash, and it sprang from her hands and wrapped around the weapons of the others. As always, she felt the weight of maintaining the spell, but she had grown accustomed to the strain, and worked another, sheathing her friends in a protective ward.

Then the clash of battle filled her ears, and she focused on maintaining the twin spells.

###

The first undead came for him, and Ridmark swung his staff. The glowing weapon cut a white line in the darkness, and the impact knocked the orc’s tusked skull from its rotting neck. The blue flames winked out, and the skeletal creature collapsed into a pile of bones. Around him Kharlacht hewed the undead into pieces, and Caius smashed skulls with his dwarven mace. Gavin used his shield as a weapon, rocking the undead, and landing blows with his orcish sword before they recovered. 

The undead orcs were dangerous, but Ridmark and the others had overcome them before, and the creatures were not nearly as skilled as the brothers of the Red Family or the dvargir warriors. 

Ridmark waded into their midst, striking right and left. He forced a path through the undead, breaking up their charge, and Kharlacht and the others destroyed any that got past him. Ridmark tripped one undead with his staff, and then shattered the creature’s skull before it caught its balance. Another thrust at him with an ancient sword, and Ridmark dodged, swept aside the second thrust with his staff, and then whipped his weapon around in a tight circle. Again his blow shattered a skull, and the undead went down.

They broke through the mass of orcish undead, leaving smashed bones and rusted weapons in their wake. The path leading to the top of the hill was clear, the green light in the standing stones brightening. Then a wave of darkness swept across the path, resolving into the shapes of a half-dozen wraiths. 

Ridmark raised his glowing staff. Already he felt the horrible, life-stealing chill radiating from the shadowy creatures. If he stood it in for too long, it would kill him, and with six of the wraiths, he doubted he could endure their aura for more than a few moments. The wraiths rushed toward him, as if drawn to the magic around his staff. 

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 threw 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?”