Frostborn: The World Gate (11 page)

“Arandar! Gavin!” he shouted. The spiderlings would prove more formidable than the undead, and they might stop the Swordbearers from reaching the urdmordar. 

Gavin and Arandar went on the attack, Gavin heading towards the spiderling on the left, Arandar attacking the one on the right. Quinta came right at Ridmark, all eight of her eyes glittering with furious hatred. Likely she wanted to revenge herself upon Ridmark for the defeat at the ring fort. 

He attacked first, swinging his staff in an overhead loop for her head. Quinta danced aside, reared back, and spat a gobbet of yellow-green venom at him. Ridmark dodged, and the venom spattered against the flagstones with a hiss, a small plume of white smoke rising from the ground. She started a spell, shadow and green fire crackling around her crimson talons, but Ridmark jabbed his staff at her face, forcing her to dodge. Quinta retreated, dodging around the blows of the staff or parrying them upon her long crimson talons, which seemed as strong and as resilient as steel. Worse, she was tremendously strong, and took hits that would have shattered the bones of a normal man. Ridmark hit her once, twice, three times, every blow landing on her arms or ribs, but they only seemed to make her angrier. 

He swung the staff again, and Quinta’s right hand darted out, catching the end of the weapon. She yanked, and Ridmark started to lose his balance. He could either let Quinta pull him forward onto her talons, or he could release the staff.

So he let the staff go.

Quinta threw it aside with a howl of glee, the weapon bouncing away. “Let us see how you can defend yourself without your little stick! Let us…” 

While she gloated, Ridmark yanked the axe from his belt and attacked. It was a dwarven war axe, a gift from the Taalkaz of Coldinium’s Dwarven Enclave, and the stonescribes had enspelled its edge with potent glyphs. At the last minute Quinta realized her danger and raised her right arm to block the axe, which proved to be a mistake. The axe blade severed her arm at the elbow, and Quinta reeled back with a scream, greenish-black ichor spurting from the stump of her arm. Ridmark swung again, and the spiderling jerked back at the last moment, staring in horror at the ruins of her arm. The axe sank into her right hip, and Ridmark wrenched the blade free as she stumbled to one knee, her wounded leg buckling. 

His next swing buried the axe into the back of her neck, ending the fight. 

Ridmark pulled the weapon loose, the blade glistening with spiderling ichor, and saw that Gavin and Arandar had killed the other two spiderlings. The remaining dark elven undead were withdrawing across the courtyard, moving to form a guard around Rhogrimnalazur. Antenora loosed controlled bursts of fire, incinerating the undead warriors one by one, while Calliande and Rhogrimnalazur continued their duel of spells.

Ridmark raised his axe and hurried to join the Swordbearers as they charged at the wall of the undead. 

###

Blood leaked from a cut over Gavin’s left eye, and another on his left shoulder where an undead warrior’s blade had slipped through. Yet Truthseeker’s power still filled him, driving him on with strength and speed. He fought back to back with Arandar and Kharlacht, covering both of the older men with his shield and landing hits of his own when the opportunity presented itself. Ridmark had retrieved his staff from where the dead spiderling had thrown it, and swung and thrust and jabbed, disrupting the attacks of the undead long enough for Arandar and Gavin to land hits of their own. Even without a soulblade, Ridmark Arban was still the best fighter that Gavin had ever seen, and as his own skill grew he could see Ridmark’s ability, could discern the touches that separated a capable fighter from a master. 

Blue fire swirled in the midst of the melee, and Mara appeared behind one of the undead dark elves, sending the warrior stumbling with a sharp shove to the lower back. The warrior staggered towards Gavin, and he took off its head with a swing of Truthseeker, the soulblade turning the bones of its neck to splintered shards. Gavin looked back to see Caius and Jager running into the battle. He wondered why they had abandoned their guard over Calliande and Antenora and Morigna, and then realized that there was no need. Most of the dark elven undead had been destroyed, and the remainder fell back to shield Rhogrimnalazur. 

The urdmordar was no more than a dozen yards from Gavin, jerking back and forth as she dodged Calliande’s bursts of white fire. Rhogrimnalazur seemed able to block both Antenora’s and Morigna’s spells, but like Shadowbearer in Khald Azalar, she could not ward herself against the Keeper’s attacks, and had instead to dodge them. The effort held most of the urdmordar’s attention, and if Gavin could get close enough to strike, he might be able to take Rhogrimnalazur unawares. He struck down another undead warrior, looking for a line of attack.

Suddenly he felt slower. Truthseeker’s power still filled him, but Calliande had withdrawn her augmentation and protection spells. Had Rhogrimnalazur dispelled them? Or, worse, had the urdmordar overpowered Calliande? Gavin risked a glance back, but saw Calliande standing unharmed, wreathed in a blaze of white fire. 

She shouted and pointed her staff, and a brilliant spear of white fire burst from her as the Keeper flung all of her strength at Rhogrimnalazur. The urdmordar started to dodge, but the white fire moved even faster than Rhogrimnalazur’s uncanny speed, and the blast struck her across the right side of her thorax. The urdmordar staggered to the side with a ringing scream of fury and pain, the crimson armor of her hide charred black.

It was Gavin’s chance to strike.

He raced forward, Truthseeker’s power filling him with strength and speed, and leaped into the air, the soulblade raised over his head. He intended to aim for Rhogrimnalazur’s human-like torso, but the urdmordar twisted at the last instant, and instead Truthseeker sank deep into her abdomen. The soulstone in the blade flared like the sun, the sword’s power pumping into the wound, and Rhogrimnalazur screamed, her eyes flickering with green light. One of her legs slammed into Gavin’s chest with the force of a falling tree, and he flew backwards, still gripping Truthseeker. The breath exploded from his lungs as he struck the ground, and for a moment he could not move, could not breathe.

He was sure that Rhogrimnalazur would rear up and kill him. 

Yet the urdmordar wobbled back and forth, her armored sides heaving. Perhaps Gavin’s blow had done more damage than he had thought. White light flickered upon Rhogrimnalazur’s back, and Arandar jumped atop her abdomen, balanced there as Heartwarden burned in his hands. 

Rhogrimnalazur started to twist to face him, but it was too late. Arandar drove Heartwarden between Rhogrimnalazur’s shoulders, the blade erupting from her chest perhaps a foot below her neck. The urdmordar screamed, her head thrown back, her clawed legs lashing at the courtyard. The upheaval threw Arandar from her back, and he fell hard, scrabbling to get away from the lashing legs. 

Rhogrimnalazur staggered to a halt, the ghastly wound in her chest leaking green-black slime, and her flickering eyes fell upon Ridmark. 

“You should have listened to me,” she hissed. “You could have escaped the coming darkness. Now you shall perish with the rest…with the rest of…”

The green fire in her eyes went dark, and Rhogrimnalazur went limp, her legs collapsing into a tangled heap beneath her. Her body sagged to the side, and a shiver went through the air, the awful presence of her voice vanishing from Gavin’s mind. The remaining undead dark elves went motionless, and then collapsed into pieces as Rhogrimnalazur’s magic faded away.

The urdmordar was dead.

###

Ridmark lowered his staff, breathing hard. 

“She’s dead,” said Gavin, his voice shocked. “We…we actually killed her.” 

“It was a hard battle,” said Arandar, getting to his feet, “but you fought valiantly. Few Swordbearers at your age have faced an urdmordar and lived, even with help.” Heartwarden’s fire dimmed as Rhogrimnalazur’s magic faded, easing Ridmark’s headache. 

Gavin didn’t seem to hear him. “It was…it was easier than I thought. Easier than Urd Arowyn and Agrimnalazur.” 

“We didn’t have any soulblades with us at Urd Arowyn,” said Ridmark. “There is a reason the Order of the Soulblade broke the siege of Tarlion and drove the urdmordar into the Wilderland all those centuries ago.” 

“Clearly,” said Jager, walking over with Mara. The halfling and the half-elf had come through the battle unscathed. “If that was the easy fight, then God knows I am glad I missed the hard one! Sir Gavin, the number of drinks I have to buy you when we return to civilized lands just keeps going up and up.” 

“Are any of you injured?” called Calliande, Morigna and Antenora hurrying after her. Morigna’s eyes flicked over Ridmark, seeking for injury. He had come through the fight without any wounds, though he wanted to lie down and sleep for a day. 

That would have to wait.

“Gavin Swordbearer is wounded,” said Antenora. 

“What?” said Gavin. He blinked a few times and touched his forehead. “I suppose I am. I can use Truthseeker to heal myself. There’s no…”

“Oh, hush,” said Calliande. She walked over and a cast a spell, white light flaring from her hands and sinking into Gavin as she healed his wounds. Calliande had to take the pain of the wounds into herself to heal them, but Gavin was not hurt badly. 

None of them were, in fact. 

“The Lord granted us victory this day,” said Caius. 

“Truly,” said Ridmark.

“One rather suspects our own courage and ability had rather more to do with it,” said Morigna.

Caius smiled. “What instruments do you think God uses to work his will?”

“You can debate theology in the road,” said Ridmark. “We’re leaving.”

Mara frowned. “We will not rest first?”

“No,” said Ridmark. “There is a village of annoyed arachar to the north, and I would rather be gone before they realize we slew their false goddess. And we are in a race with Shadowbearer. We can afford no delay. We’ll tell Rakhaag to depart, and continue to Black Mountain.”

None of the others disagreed, and they left at once.

They managed to cover another nine miles before dark, following the banks of the River Moradel.

Chapter 6: Messengers

Four days after the death of Rhogrimnalazur, Calliande sat cross-legged before the campfire, her staff laid across her knees. The sun was rising to the east, throwing its rays over the torpid waters of the River Moradel. Their camp was in a small clearing perhaps a hundred yards from the river atop a bluff overlooking the waters. Calliande was alone, save for Mara, who sat on the other side of the campfire, humming to herself as she cooked biscuits and sausages over the fire, and Antenora, who stood like a statue a few feet away. All the others had left the camp. Caius had said his morning prayers and left with Kharlacht, Jager, Arandar, and Gavin to have a look around, to make sure no enemies were nearby. Ridmark and Morigna had gone scouting to the south. 

At least they said they had gone scouting. 

Calliande had her suspicions of what they were really doing…but that was not her business. She didn’t even feel jealous any longer. Well, not very jealous, not that much…

She put that thought of her mind and focused upon the Sight, sending her magical vision southward. The aura of fiery magic around Antenora brushed her mind, as did the strange aura of power around Mara. Calliande closed her eyes and concentrated, seeing with senses other than those of the flesh. For a moment she saw herself through the Sight, sitting cross-legged before the fire, a regal-looking woman with pleasant features and long blond hair, a green cloak draped over her shoulders, the worn staff of the Keeper laid across her lap. 

Vanity was not something she often indulged, but she did look pretty healthy for a woman of over two and a half centuries.

Calliande tightened her focus, sending her Sight to the west, towards the mountains of Vhaluusk. 

Towards where Shadowbearer marched with the Mhorite host to the Black Mountain and Dun Licinia. Unless she missed her guess, Shadowbearer would have left the Vale of Stone Death by now, marching south through the thick forests of Vhaluusk. That would slow him and his Mhorite followers, and any other allies he gathered. Vhaluusk was a patchwork of petty fiefdoms ruled by orcish warlords, interspersed with long stretches of wilderness. It was not good terrain for an army, and the Vhaluuskan tribes would amuse themselves by attacking Mournacht’s supply trains and scouts. It would take Shadowbearer weeks to cross Vhaluusk. 

By contrast, Ridmark and Calliande and the others had been making good time. She thought they had covered at least twenty miles yesterday, maybe more. Her legs certainly ached as if they had covered more, but she did not begrudge the pain. The more ground they covered, the better chance they had of reaching Black Mountain before Shadowbearer. 

They had only been attacked twice since leaving Urd Cystaanl, once by a pack of trolls, and once by a band of kobolds from the Deeps seeking for captives and loot. The lupivirii avoided the trolls, since they had no way of harming them, but Morigna’s acidic mist and Antenora’s fire made short work of the creatures. Ridmark and the others broke the attack of the kobolds, and Rakhaag and the lupivirii amused themselves by hunting down the survivors. No arachar pursued them from Urd Cystaanl. Evidently the followers of the late Rhogrimnalazur had no further wish for conflict. 

Calliande cleared those concerns from her mind, focusing upon Shadowbearer. She bent her Sight towards the corrupted high elven archmage, seeking him. After she had awakened, she had eluded him. Now she wanted to find him before he could open the gate on Black Mountain. 

Yet she could not.

The Sight was capricious and wild, and no Keeper had ever truly bound it to her will. Some of the Keepers had thought that the Sight was an innately intuitive, wild magic, one that could not be controlled by the logical mind. Other Keepers believed that the nature of time was so chaotic that the Sight merely reflected the unpredictable nature of the future.