Frostborn: The Undying Wizard (33 page)

“It attacked us in the marshes, maddened by Coriolus’s undead,” said Ridmark, “and it appears Coriolus thought to turn it into his champion.”

“You have wounded,” said Calliande, looking at the injured dvargir. Some had taken slashes from the undead drake’s talons, and others had been burned. “Let me heal them. I…”

“No!” said Kzargar, the Dzark’s voice hardening. “You will not touch us with your corrupt magic.” 

“Corrupt?” said Calliande. “That…”

“No,” said Ridmark. “If the Dzark doesn’t want your help, fine. There will be more than enough need for your magic in the next few moments.”

Calliande nodded and took a deep breath. “Very well.”

“Come,” said Ridmark to Kzargar. “Let us finish this.”

He looked at the glowing crest of the hill. Because they would finish this in the next few moments.

Either Coriolus would die…or he would kill them all and take Morigna’s body. 

###

“It didn’t work,” said Jonas, a whine of fear in his voice. “It didn’t work! What are we going to do?” 

The flicker of hope in Morigna’s breast grew brighter. Ridmark had defeated the undead? Could he yet free her from the altar and end this?

The Old Man stepped into her sight, and her hope faded.

“Why have you not paid heed to the teaching of the Enlightened?” said Coriolus, his voice dripping with amusement. “Strength is only demonstrated through struggle. And I shall demonstrate my strength when I crush the Gray Knight and the Magistria.”

“I thought you said she had regained her memory,” said Jonas.

“She didn’t,” said Coriolus, his confidence plain. “Otherwise we would already be dead. Now, watch, fool – and you shall see power.”

Green fire blazed around his hands, and his shadow grew longer and black, rotating around him like the shadow of a sundial.

Jonas stepped back in shock. “How…how you are doing that? You’re not one of the Enlightened, but those are the powers of an Initiated of the Fifth Circle…”

Coriolus laughed. “I learned these powers before the Enlightened even came into being, from Shadowbearer himself! Calliande could not defeat my native magic. When I call upon the shadow, I shall crush them utterly.” 

Morigna strained against her bonds. She had to break free, had to find a way to help Ridmark and the others.

But she could not move, and Coriolus summoned death in his hands.

Chapter 22 - Eternity

Ridmark stopped at the edge of the outer circle. 

Fingers of ghostly green light crawled up and down the black menhirs, outlining the grotesque carvings. The air here was even colder, and a malignant presence seemed to radiate from the standing stones. Within the circle stood another, smaller ring of menhirs, also ablaze with green fire. A low mound rose within the ring, topped by a few more standing stones and an altar of black stone. 

Morigna lay naked upon the altar, bound wrist and ankle. Lines of crimson sigils had been painted up and down her legs and arms, stark against her pale skin. Her head turned, and her black eyes widened as they saw Ridmark. In that moment, he was unable to look away from her. 

Guilt flickered through him as he thought of Aelia and, oddly, Calliande. Ridmark pushed the thought out of his mind. 

The very real possibility that they all were about to die made it easy to do so.

He watched as Coriolus strode to the edge of the inner circle. The Eternalist still wore his ragged, long coat, his watery eyes serene in his lined face. Jonas walked at his side, and the Initiated of the Second Circle looked anything but calm. His sword rested in his right hand, shadows swirling around the blade, his face a study in feral rage. 

For a moment they regarded each other in silence.

“Tell me,” said Coriolus at last. “How did you break my trap?”

“The shoddy workmanship, of course,” said Ridmark.

“No,” said Coriolus. “The trap was perfect. How did you get out of it?”

Ridmark shrugged. “I could not say.” That was truthful enough. 

“Likely not,” said Coriolus. “Did the dvargir release you? The miserable traitors. I know you are there, Kzargar. Do not think to hide from me in the shadows.”

Columns of darkness swirled at the edge of the outer circle, and Kzargar and his remaining warriors appeared. 

“You miserable traitors,” said Coriolus. “You dare to defy the will of Shadowbearer? You will pay. You…”

“The will of the great prophet,” said Kzargar, “is that the empty soulstone come into his grasp.” Ridmark tightened his grip upon his staff. “The prophet cares nothing for you or your wretched life, and you were foolish enough to betray us. You promised payment, worm, and you dared to cheat us!”

“You blind, miserly fool,” said Coriolus. “The world is about to change, and you whine about gold? Stop wearying my ears with your nonsense! You want gold? There is a chest of it hidden beneath the hearth of my cottage. Go and claim it, and bother me no more.” 

“Indeed?” said Kzargar. “I have a better idea, traitor. We will kill you and climb over your corpse to claim the gold and the soulstone. Then I shall keep your ugly head as a warning to those who cross the dvargir…”

“Idiot,” said Coriolus. “The Frostborn are returning and the new order comes, and you haggle over a few coins?” 

“This is the pride of the dvargir!” said Kzargar. “You dare to insult us! Then you will suffer for it! You shall…”

“Oh, do shut up,” said Coriolus, his bloodshot eyes turning back to Ridmark. “I will give you one chance, Gray Knight. Turn around and leave. Or stay and die alongside these dvargir fools.”

“No,” said Ridmark. “Release Morigna, and return the soulstone to us.”

Coriolus laughed. “And you think I would do either? She is the next step on the path to my immortality, and…”

“You’re not immortal,” said Calliande, her quiet voice cutting into his tirade.  

He glared at her. “I have lived as long as you have, Calliande of Tarlion, and I shall live on long after you are dead.”

“Maybe you will,” said Calliande. “Maybe you’ll live for another thousand years. But it doesn’t matter. It will never be enough. You can live for ten thousand years, but you only need to die once. And you’ll always be afraid of it. You’ll always know that it will only take one mistake, one error, to turn you from an immortal to a corpse.” She smiled at him. “Maybe even something as simple and foolish as refusing to pay the dvargir out of sheer spite.”

“I will kill the others,” said Coriolus, his voice soft. “You, I will keep alive, just so I can see that icy pride melt when I present you to Shadowbearer.” 

“Enough talk!” said Kzargar. “If you are going to kill us, stop talking and do it, you preening fool.”

“As you wish,” said Coriolus. The Eternalist flung out his hands, and Jonas charged.

Darkness erupted from the earth within the circle.

###

Morigna strained against her bonds, cursing her helplessness. 

A score of wraiths rose from the earth at Coriolus’s command, images of black smoke and eerie blue light. They looked as if they had once been orcish shamans, their heads shaved, their chests and faces and arms adorned with bronze rings and elaborate tattoos. Coriolus gestured again, and the wraiths attacked the dvargir and Ridmark and the others.

She wondered how Ridmark had managed to talk the dvargir into fighting Coriolus. 

The Dzark and his warriors bellowed cries in their native tongue and attacked the wraiths, their weapons bleeding darkness. Kharlacht and Gavin and Caius charged with them, fighting alongside the black-armored shapes, and Morigna lost sight of Ridmark in the mayhem. Brilliant white light flared around Calliande as she began casting spells.

But Coriolus began another spell of his own, darkness and green flame dancing around him, and Morigna felt power of the Old Man’s magic. 

She fought against the ropes, cursing herself for her weakness. Bound to a mad sorcerer’s altar, and waiting for a knight to save her! She was like the insipid heroines in the sort of songs that an oaf like Gavin would enjoy. 

But Ridmark needed her help, and Morigna tested both her ropes and the spell inhibiting her magic, seeking for any weaknesses.

But there were none.

###

Calliande drew upon the magic of the Well, filling herself with as much power as she could hold.

She would need every bit of it.

Coriolus was not as strong as Agrimnalazur, nor as potent as Shadowbearer. But he was still strong, and he could wield the magic of the Well alongside dark magic and the earth magic Morigna used. Worse, he was skilled and experienced. Summoning that many wraiths would be a strain on any necromancer, yet Coriolus still had enough power left to direct an attack her way. 

If she made a single mistake, he would crush her.

Calliande cast a spell, imbuing the weapons of her friends with magic to oppose the wraiths, and Coriolus attacked. 

A gout of pale blue flame raked from one hand, a spell to suck away her life and leave her a withered, crumbling corpse. Calliande blocked the attack with a ward, an aura of white light shuddering and sparking around her. Coriolus followed with a burst of shadow similar to the one Jonas had used, one to disrupt her concentration and leech away her magic. But she knew how to turn aside the spell, and poured more power into her ward, head ringing with the effort of it. 

She struck back with a lash of white flame that attacked the shadows swirling around the Old Man, the magic of the Well straining against the power of the void. Coriolus hissed and staggered back, his gray coat billowing around him. Yet the power of his dark magic held against her assault, even with his concentration divided in so many different directions.

He struck her again, a combined barrage of blue flame and writhing shadows, and it took all of Calliande’s concentration to hold her wards in place. She stumbled, caught her balance, and gathered more power. 

From the corner of her eye she saw another flicker of shadow.

Jonas Vorinus stood next to one of the menhirs, hand raised as shadows gathered in his palm. He was about to repeat the attack he had used against her before, the lance of shadow to break her control and disrupt her magic. If both Coriolus and Jonas struck her at the same time, she doubted she could withstand their attacks. 

Jonas gestured at her, and then a gray blur shot between her and at the Initiated of Incariel.

###

Ridmark drove his glowing staff for Jonas’s head, intending to land a killing blow.

He almost did. At the last moment Jonas jerked back, and the staff’s edge clipped his right temple. Jonas stumbled with a bellowed curse, and Ridmark reversed his weapon and jabbed, but Jonas ducked behind the nearest menhir. Ridmark’s staff bounced off the standing stone, and the weapon grew hot in his hand as Calliande’s magic struggled against the menhir’s dark power. 

He stalked after Jonas as the younger man caught his balance. Around them chaos reigned as the screaming dvargir threw themselves at the wraiths. Kharlacht and Caius fought in their midst, striking with mace and sword. Ridmark had lost sight of Gavin, and hoped that the boy was safe. Calliande held Coriolus’s full attention, the Magistria and the Eternalist hurling spells at each other, the air between them crackling and snarling with magical power. With Coriolus focused upon Calliande, perhaps Ridmark could get close enough to land a surprise blow.

But first he had to keep Jonas from interfering with Calliande.

“Come, Sir Jonas,” said Ridmark, lifting his staff as Jonas retreated. “Shall we not settle this?”

“Do not think to challenge me,” said Jonas. “I am a knight, and you are a ragged vagabond with a coward’s brand! I am an Initiated of the Enlightened of Incariel, and you are nothing. Nothing!” 

“Then,” said Ridmark, pointing his staff, “it should be all the easier to kill me, should it not?”

Jonas screamed in fury, and shadows boiled from his hands. They wrapped around him like a translucent second skin, sinking barbed veins into his flesh. His screams turned to ones of pain, and Ridmark seized the opening to strike.

But Jonas’s sword snapped up, moving inhumanly fast, and blocked Ridmark’s swing. Ridmark stepped back to prepare another blow, but Jonas went on the attack, moving with greater speed and power.

The shadows, it seemed, had given him strength. 

###

Calliande gritted her teeth as a torrent of shadow rippled around her. At last the attack ended, and she struck back with a lance of white fire. Coriolus crossed his arms before his chest, and the darkness hardened around him, his magic blunting the force of Calliande’s attack. His ward winked out, and the Old Man began another spell of his own. Yet he looked exhausted, his face gray, his hands trembling. The battle had taken its toll on even his strength. For that matter, the effort of preparing the spell to possess Morigna must have been immense. Yet Calliande was just as exhausted. The last few days had been draining, and the battle with the Eternalist was a tremendous strain. Sooner or later her strength would falter. Yet she dared not weaken her wards, and she dared not release the spell upon the weapons of her friends. Without aid, the wraiths would overwhelm the dvargir, and then Coriolus would kill them all.

So she kept fighting, trying to summon power through the exhaustion.

###

Jonas swung, and Ridmark raised his staff in a high parry.

It almost ended his life.

The thick wood of the staff blocked the sword, but the shadowy halo had augmented Jonas’s strength to superhuman levels. The sheer power of the blow forced Ridmark’s legs to buckle, and he landed on his knees before Jonas. The Initiated howled with glee and raised his sword, and Ridmark threw himself to the side. The steel blade slammed into the earth, and Ridmark scrambled to his feet. Jonas kept after him with inhuman speed, the sword weaving a blur before him.