Frostborn: The World Gate (36 page)

The Weaver and Imaria Licinius stood behind Mournacht. The Weaver had resumed the form of the white-robed old man, his kindly face serene. Imaria stared at Ridmark, her green eyes bright with madness, a strange smile tugging at her lips. 

“Gray Knight,” growled Mournacht. “Come to die at last.”

“In the name of Mhor, I assume?” said Ridmark. 

“I have seen the truth,” said Mournacht, and Ridmark heard the madness in the orcish warlord’s voice. “There is no Mhor. There are no gods. There is only the howling void that shall devour all things. I am a prophet of the void, and I shall feed you and your friends into the void. How it shall feast!” 

“Ah,” murmured Shadowbearer. “It seems I increased his power beyond what his will could handle. His mind has quite snapped, I am afraid. Still, he is more than capable of killing you all.”

“Sister,” said Constantine. “I beg of you, sister, turn aside from this course of madness.”

Imaria laughed at him. “My dear Constantine, my dear fool. Blindly following the lies of our father. If you love me so, kill Ridmark Arban and avenge Aelia.”

“Ridmark did not kill Aelia!” said Constantine.

“Then you defend him,” sneered Imaria. “You, too, deserve death, dearest brother. Die with Ridmark Arban, and die with Andomhaim. For both shall die today.” She looked at Morigna and laughed. “Perhaps I will kill you first and make him watch.”

“You failed in Dun Licinia,” spat Morigna. “One fails to see why you will succeed here.”

“Because I am here,” said Shadowbearer, “and you shall not overcome me.” He lifted his hands, and shadows seemed to fill his palms, rising from the black veins threading beneath his skin. “Because this is the end of the Keeper, the end of the Gray Knight, the end of his ragged little band of misfits, the end of Andomhaim, and the end of this world itself. Kill them!”

Mournacht roared an incoherent cry of rage and charged forward, lifting his huge axe. The Weaver exploded into a maze of black threads, changing into the form of the giant urhaalgar, all spikes and black scales and jagged claws. Imaria gestured and vanished in a swirl of darkness, while Shadowbearer began casting a spell, blue fire and shadow writhing in his hands to form a killing blast. 

Calliande began a spell of her own, as did Antenora and Morigna.

Ridmark raised his staff and ran to meet Mournacht and the Weaver, Kharlacht, Caius, and the Swordbearers following him.

Chapter 21: Enlightenment

Calliande slammed her staff against the ground, calling the power of the Keeper to her.

It was the only thing that saved her life. 

The full wrath of Shadowbearer’s magic slammed against her wards. It was magic as corrupt as rotten meat, as relentless as the void between the stars, and as unyielding as the mountains. Calliande had seen Ardrhythain, the last archmage of Cathair Solas, locked in battle against the mighty Warden of Urd Morlemoch, both of them wielding spells of power strong enough to shatter hills and rend plains. Shadowbearer was their match in skill and power, and the howling shadow of Incariel made his spells all the stronger. 

But Calliande bore the mantle of the Keeper, the ancient magic of old Earth, and no power of Andomhaim could stand against it, not even the shadow of Incariel. Shadowbearer’s spell broke against the power of the Keeper that infused her magic. Calliande was already casting, leveling her hand to unleash a blast of elemental flame charged with the Keeper’s power. Just as Shadowbearer’s power shattered against her wards, so too were Shadowbearer’s wards unable to withstand the strength of the Keeper’s magic. 

Though that hardly meant Shadowbearer was defenseless. 

In Khald Azalar, he had gripped stone tables and benches and even corpses in bands of invisible force, pulling them between him and Calliande’s spells. Only Morigna’s ability to bend stone had allowed Calliande to strike Shadowbearer, hitting him with the blast of fire that had turned the left side of his face to charred ruin. She expected him to do something similar now. 

Instead, he disappeared in a swirl of shadow and blue fire, and Calliande’s spell struck the ground, setting the grass aflame.

Had he turned invisible and moved? No – even if he had cloaked himself in shadow as the dvargir did, Calliande’s Sight would have detected him. That meant…

The answer came to her, and Calliande spun to see Shadowbearer standing behind her, grinning as he cast another spell. 

He had traveled through magic, similar to Mara’s ability. Imaria had demonstrated a similar power during the fighting in Dun Licinia. In Khald Azalar, when he held the empty soulstone, Shadowbearer had been unable to travel through magic. The immense power of the soulstone acted an anchor, preventing him from using spells to travel from place to place. 

But with the soulstone upon the altar, Shadowbearer no longer had any such limitations.

Frantic, Calliande called power to herself. A fresh ward snarled to life around her as Shadowbearer struck, his magic hammering against her defensive spells. Both Antenora and Morigna attacked, throwing a sphere of fire and a wave of acidic mist at Shadowbearer. The spells crumpled against his wards, the fire winking out, the mist dissolving into nothingness. Calliande sent the Well’s fire hurtling at Shadowbearer, and again the corrupted wizard vanished. 

Shadow swirled next to one of the glowing menhirs, and Imaria Licinius reappeared. She raised her hands over her head, and her shadow whirled around her like a discus. It rose up, expanding like a wave, and fell over Calliande and became the shadowy haze that had filled the keep of Dun Licinius. Antenora and Morigna staggered, the paralyzing haze draining their strength, but the staff of the Keeper blazed with fury in Calliande’s hand. Calliande worked another spell, a ring of white fire rolling around her to drive back the shadowy haze. Morigna and Antenora straightened up, casting their own spells at the traitorous Magistria. Roots erupted from the ground and lashed at Imaria, trying to hold her in place. Imaria’s shadow retreated to wrap around her, repelling Morigna’s roots. Antenora threw a cone of flame at Imaria, a rolling blast that widened as it traveled. Imaria’s green eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest, and shadows tightened around her as she cast a warding spell. Antenora’s fire hit her, and the shadows drank the flame, thought they flickered and pulsed, collapsing beneath the fury of the elemental magic. 

Imaria staggered, and Calliande gathered power for another spell, one strong enough to punch through Imaria’s defenses and kill her. 

Then Shadowbearer reappeared before the altar, raising his hand to summon more magic. Calliande had no choice but to abandon her first spell and cast another ward as Imaria vanished yet again. Shadowbearer lifted his hand, and a ring of shadow and blue fire appeared around Calliande and the other two sorceresses, and as Shadowbearer closed his fist, the ring contracted, the fire and shadow rushing to consume them. Calliande thrust her staff, and white fire exploded in all directions, consuming Shadowbearer’s shrinking ring and unraveling his dark magic. She focused her power, throwing the white fire towards Shadowbearer, but the wizard had already vanished. 

“Calliande!” shouted Morigna. 

Calliande’s gaze snapped up. Imaria had reappeared atop of one of the menhirs, her white robe billowing around her as she cast another spell. More shadowy haze rolled from her hands, and again Calliande had to work a ward to deflect it. Morigna conjured a column of acidic mist around Imaria, but the Magistria vanished again before the spell could touch her. 

No sooner had Imaria disappeared than Shadowbearer reappeared again, this time outside of the standing circle. He unleashed a blast of shadow-wreathed blue fire, and a bolt of lightning screamed down from the sky overhead. Calliande again had no choice but to put all her power into a ward, unraveling the bolt of fire and deflecting the bolt of lightning to smash against one of the menhirs.

She started to attack, but Shadowbearer disappeared, even as Imaria reappeared behind the altar. Calliande could deflect every one of Shadowbearer’s attacks and tear through his wards…but she could not hit him. Worse, her strength and stamina were not infinite, and the last several days had been exhausting. Shadowbearer’s skill exceeded her own, and he would wear her down until she made a mistake. 

Then he could kill them all. 

Unless she had aid from the Swordbearers. 

Calliande risked a look in their direction, and saw Constantine and Arandar and Gavin locked in battle with the Weaver and Mournacht, Ridmark and Gavin and Caius and Kharlacht assisting. Perhaps if Calliande stunned the Weaver or Mournacht, one of the Swordbearers could distract Shadowbearer long enough for Calliande to land a telling blow.

Then Shadowbearer flung more dark fire at her, and Calliande had to defend.

###

Truthseeker howled with rage in Gavin’s hand. 

The dark power surrounding both the Weaver and Mournacht had unlocked the soulblade’s full potential. The soulstone in the base of the blade all but shone like the sun, and the metal of the sword had vanished in a swirling corona of white flame. Or perhaps it was the presence of Shadowbearer himself that had unleashed the soulblade’s wrath. If the history was true, if Caius had been right, then Shadowbearer was the ancient enemy of the high elves. Perhaps some of the high elves’ long enmity had been woven into the magic of the swords. 

The sword’s fury filled him, and Gavin knew that Truthseeker yearned to bury itself in Shadowbearer’s corrupted heart.

But Gavin could not aid Calliande in her ferocious duel of magic with Shadowbearer. 

The Weaver and Mournacht saw to that. 

Mournacht moved faster and hit harder than Gavin remembered from their fight in Khald Azalar. There the orcish warlord had been a whirlwind of savagery, swinging his great axe as if it weighed no more than a light branch. In the fighting before Dragonfall’s gates, he had cut his way through the Anathgrimm like a farmer harvesting wheat, every blow leaving a dead enemy in his wake, and his magic had been so strong that he had been able to stand against the Traveler.

Now, somehow, he was even stronger 

He fought against the three Swordbearers and held his own, his enormous axe moving back and forth in a blur of shadow and crimson fire. The shadows wrapping his axe flickered against the touch of the soulblades, but the white fire could not disperse them. It took all of Gavin’s speed and concentration to stay ahead of the Mhorite warlord’s attacks.

The Weaver did not help matters, either. 

The Weaver circled around the battle, attacking Ridmark and Caius and Kharlacht. Again and again Ridmark or Caius tried to attack Mournacht, or Kharlacht tried to bring his greatsword down for a blow, only for the Weaver to dart in and disrupt the attack. Worse, the Weaver kept changing forms, his body exploding into a spray of black threads and reweaving itself into a new shape. Sometimes he became the giant urhaalgar, moving with quickness and speed. Sometimes he became the hulking ursaar, his paws striking with the force of sledgehammer blows. Sometimes he became a kind of creature that Gavin had never seen before, a terrible mixture of serpent and wolf that moved with quicksilver swiftness. 

Calliande and Antenora and Morigna could not help. Shadowbearer and Imaria disappeared and reappeared faster than Gavin could follow, and the Keeper and the two sorceresses had their full attention dealing with the ancient wizard and his furious magic. If Gavin could distract Shadowbearer or Imaria, perhaps Calliande or Antenora could hit them with a blast of fire, but Gavin could not turn his attention from Mournacht for even a single second.

The Weaver lunged at him, wearing against the form of the giant urhaalgar, his gleaming black claws stabbing for Gavin’s throat. Gavin got his shield up to block, the black talons rasping against the dwarven steel, and drove his soulblade at the creature. The Weaver danced back, and Gavin started to pursue, hoping Truthseeker’s speed would let him land a hit.

“Gavin!” shouted Ridmark. 

Gavin turned as Mournacht shoved aside Kharlacht and lunged at him, the huge axe coming down. Gavin dodged, and the axe blurred perhaps an inch in front of his face, the blade burying itself in the ground between his feet. For a moment, Mournacht was off-balance, both hands gripping the handle of his weapon. Gavin slashed at Mournacht’s arm, hoping to take off one of the Mhorite warlord’s hands, but Mournacht’s right hand shot forward. His hand closed around Gavin’s wrist, and before he could break free Mournacht yanked him forward. At the last minute Gavin ducked his head, and the head butt that would have shattered his skull instead bounced off his forehead. It still sent a shocking wave of pain through Gavin’s neck and back, and he stumbled, reeling.

Mournacht ripped his axe free and raised it, preparing to split Gavin in two.

Ridmark’s staff bounced off Mournacht’s knee, staggering the Mhorite. Kharlacht and Caius attacked from the right and the left. Both the orcish warrior and the dwarven friar scored hits upon Mournacht, but their weapons did little damage, Mournacht’s magic healing the wounds almost at once. Mournacht roared in fury and whipped his axe around. Kharlacht managed to dodge the blow, but Caius was not so lucky.

The axe’s blade slammed into his chest. The blow should have split Caius in half, but the dark elven armor beneath his friar’s robes was proof against even the spell-enhanced steel of Mournacht’s axe. Nevertheless the strike flung Caius backwards into one of the menhirs, and the dwarf’s head bounced off the dark stone with an audible crack.

Caius fell in a heap to the ground and did not get up again. 

Kharlacht seized the moment as Mournacht regained his balance, slashing his greatsword as Ridmark attacked from the left, Arandar and Constantine trying to circle behind Mournacht. Kharlacht slashed his greatsword as Mournacht dodged Ridmark’s staff, and the greatsword skidded down Mournacht’s ribs, the blade of dark elven steel opening a gash across the Mhorite’s chest. Mournacht snarled and released one hand from the haft of his axe, the wound on his chest shrinking, and pointed at Kharlacht.