Frostborn: The Broken Mage (18 page)

“Go!” said Ridmark, and the others started running for the damaged blast furnace. Arandar and Gavin reached it first, and began using the augmented strength granted by their soulblades to push the coal carts into the dark furnace. Calliande cast a spell, and Ridmark felt a burst of strength as her magic augmented his speed, making him faster. He surged forward as the others ran into the blast furnace. 

Behind him Zhorlacht snarled a spell, and a pulse of shadows and dark fire shot out from him. The dark fire shattered Morigna’s mist, and the Anathgrimm straightened up and resumed their pursuit. 

Ridmark dashed into the blast furnace just as Calliande entered ahead of him, glowing with white light as she maintained the spell of speed. Gavin and Arandar finished heaving the final cart into the blast furnace. The domed interior reminded Ridmark of a small wayside chapel, the sort of place that offered travelers in the High King’s realm a place to rest and pray. 

His eyes roamed over the walls, and he found what he sought.

“There,” said Ridmark, pointing at a breach in the wall. He returned his axe to his belt and slung his staff over his shoulder from its leather strap. “Go through that hole, and then run for the far end of the foundry level as fast as you can. Caius, I assume the entrance to the next gallery will be there?” The dwarven friar nodded, and Ridmark shoved over one of the carts. Coal spilled everywhere, a cloud of black dust rising into the air round it. “Start running. Go!”

“What are you doing?” said Calliande as Jager and Mara went for the hole in the wall.

“Making a mess,” said Ridmark as he reached into his belt pouch.

He tossed the flat tile of the activation stone to himself. 

“Oh,” said Caius. “That…will make quite a mess.” 

“Better run,” said Ridmark. 

Both Calliande and Morigna gave him disapproving looks, and for a moment they looked so alike that Ridmark had to fight the absurd urge to laugh. 

“We must go,” said Caius. “Gray Knight, the stone will activate the glyphs of fire quickly. You will have, at most, only a few seconds to get clear.”

“I know,” said Ridmark. “Go.”

The others climbed through the breach in the wall. Ridmark kicked over another cart of coal and climbed into the breach, bracing himself with his left hand, his right holding the activation stone. He spotted the matching glyph inscribed upon the floor, not far from the door. 

He tossed the stone to himself once more, gauging its weight. 

A moment later the Anathgrimm appeared before the entrance to the blast furnace. Before they could pour inside and cover the glyph upon the floor, Ridmark tossed the activation stone with a flick of his wrist. It landed upon the glyph, and seemed to click into place like an iron nail caught by a lodestone. 

The glyphs upon the walls and the floor burned with fiery light, and a wave of heat washed over Ridmark.

The Anathgrimm edged away from the door in alarm, and Ridmark threw himself backward, hit the floor, and started sprinting.

The explosion came a few heartbeats later. The wall of hot air hit Ridmark like a giant blow, and he stumbled forward, barely keeping his balance. Fire blossomed from the blast furnace’s door, sending the Anathgrimm stumbling away, while gouts of flame erupted from the furnace’s damaged walls and roof. The coal dust and the coal itself went up a moment later, fueling the fire.

The terrible heat and the light made an excellent distraction.

Ridmark sprinted across the foundry chamber, coming at last to the far wall. Another channel of sluggish lava flowed below the wall, perhaps four yards wide, the air rippling over its surface. Calliande and Morigna and the others waited, weapons in hand or spells ready. 

“You appear unburnt, mostly,” said Jager. 

Morigna said nothing, but she looked relieved. 

“Let’s go,” said Ridmark. “The light will throw off the Anathgrimm, and the smoke will confuse the urvaalgs’ noses. I want to be gone from here by the time the confusion wears off.”

A bridge arched over the canal of lava, opening into another high gallery, and Ridmark and his friends crossed the bridge and vanished into the darkness.

Chapter 10: Vault of the Kings

It took a day and a half to traverse the lightless black labyrinth of Khald Azalar’s mines. 

If Jager had not found another map, it might have taken much longer. The gallery from the foundry chamber ended in a vast natural cavern, no doubt part of the upper Deeps. Equipment filled the cavern, tables holding pickaxes and helmets and carts and lanterns containing small glowstones, and scaffolding built of dwarven steel covered the walls. A dozen different mine tunnels led in all directions, vanishing into the bowels of the earth. As Ridmark and Caius discussed what to do, Jager found the map of the mines upon a table.

“I believe this is accurate,” said Caius, examining the map. “The date…this was drawn the year that Khald Azalar fell.”

“The mines may have changed since then,” said Calliande. “The dvargir or the deep orcs might have dug new tunnels. Or there could have been flooding or cave-ins…”

“All this is true,” said Caius, “and the mines open to the Deeps anyway. Only God and the saints know what might have wandered up from the darkness. But it is still our best path to reach the Citadel and the Vault of the Kings before Mournacht and the Traveler.”

“We can also lose any pursuers in the mines,” said Ridmark. “Those Anathgrimm and their urvaalgs will be on our trail, and they might figure out where we went. Harder for them to find us in the mines.”

“Agreed,” said Caius, considering the map. Ridmark could make neither heads nor tails of it. It looked like a maze of random lines, marked by dwarven glyphs in dozens of places. “I think our best route is…that way.” 

He pointed at one of the tunnels, a rough-cut passageway of stone that vanished into utter blackness. 

“Then let us not dither,” said Ridmark. 

There were neither glowing glyphs nor dwarven glowstones in the mine tunnel. Ridmark asked Antenora to conjure light, and again she made her staff dance with flickering torchlight, allowing Calliande and Morigna to save their powers for any attackers. As a boy Ridmark had visited the mines upon his father’s lands, but the dwarven mines were far better constructed than the tin mines on the northern edge of Taliand or the iron mines of the Northerland. The tunnel widened, small corridors shooting off in random directions, but Caius kept them marching forward. A draft of warm air struck Ridmark’s face, and he saw a glimmer in the darkness ahead, the pale blue glow of ghost mushrooms.

The mine tunnel opened into a vast cavern of the Deeps. A forest of stalagmites rose from the floor, reaching towards the stalactites hanging from the ceiling far overhead. Glassy-smooth lakes dotted the ground, and thick clusters of glow mushrooms grew at their edges. The silence of the cavern was absolute. 

“The Deeps,” murmured Jager, looking around. “A peculiar sort of beauty, to be sure, but one I did not hope to see firsthand.”

“If I am reading this map correctly,” said Caius, “the natural caverns should connect with a different mine about five or six miles in that direction.” He waved a hand at the far end of the cavern, towards the dark, jagged outline of another tunnel. “We can make our way through the city’s reservoir, and then enter the quarter around the Citadel of Kings from there.” 

“It seems peculiar, does it not,” said Morigna, “that the old kings of Khald Azalar would have built their Citadel so close to the Deeps. Did they not fear invaders?”

“They did,” said Caius, “but the Citadel of Kings would have had the strongest defenses in Khald Azalar…and almost certainly the Frostborn destroyed them. Given the number of deep orcs and dvargir we have seen, it seems likely the way through the Deeps is passible.”

“It would explain those petrified kobolds,” said Calliande. Ridmark looked at her. “Does it not strike you as odd? We have not encountered any living kobolds in Khald Azalar, nor did the dvargir or the deep orcs mention them. I want to know where those kobolds came from and why. Either the dvargir used their basilisk to petrify them…”

“Or there are other basilisks loose in Khald Azalar,” said Ridmark, “or lairing in the nearby caverns of the Deeps.” 

“One finds that an exceedingly unpleasant thought,” said Morigna.

“Remain watchful,” said Ridmark. “Caius.”

Caius consulted the miners’ map once more and led the way into the caverns of the Deeps. They passed through tunnels so narrow that they had to go through in single file, through caverns like soaring cathedrals, their floors covered with forests of ironstalk mushrooms. Here and there Ridmark saw signs of the dwarven mining work – abandoned tools or carts, doorways and arches of worked stone, half-finished tunnels that went nowhere. From time to time he saw the signs of the other denizens of the Deeps. Kobold tracks marked sandy patches on the floor, and murrag bones and skulls lay scattered about. One they saw a dead mzrokar, curled up upon the cavern floor while ironstalk mushrooms slowly consumed its carcass. 

At last they came to the reservoir of Khald Azalar, a vast underwater lake so wide that Ridmark could not see the far end. A narrow spit of stone worked its way around the edge of the lake, the stone wall wet and damp, mushrooms and strange, glowing lichen clinging to the rock. It was not a comfortable place, but it was defensible, and Ridmark decided to camp there for the night. The others fell asleep almost at once, and Ridmark kept first watch, listening to the lapping of the vast underground lake.

No foes showed themselves, and Arandar relieved him at watch.

Morning came and they departed, making their way around the edge of the lake. At last the ledge ended in a narrow cavern, and Caius consulted the map again, nodded, and led them deeper into the silent stone maze. They passed through more natural caverns, and here Ridmark saw numerous signs of fighting, with dwarven and Frostborn bones and armor scattered about. It was a grim sight, but he took it as a hopeful sign. They had to be drawing back to Khald Azalar proper. 

Finally one of the natural caverns ended in a massive gate, almost as large and ornate as the Gate of the West had been. Like the Gate of the West, this gate had been shattered by some terrible force, the stonework cracked and damaged, the doors of dwarven steel twisted and bent. Hundreds of locusari husks lay motionless before the gate, and beyond Ridmark saw a wide, broad stair climbing higher into the mountain. 

“The Gate of the Deeps,” said Caius, his voice solemn as he looked at the bones of his slain kindred. “It seems the defenders made a stand here.”

“A last stand, probably,” said Ridmark, “once the Frostborn had penetrated this far into the city.”

“Aye,” said Caius, taking a deep breath. “Well, at least they made the Frostborn pay for every step.” He gestured at the locusari husks and the scattered piles of Frostborn armor, cold mist swirling around the crystalline bones. “If our maps are accurate, those steps should take us up to Citadel courtyard itself. If the Citadel of Kings is as badly damaged as the Gate, we can probably make our way to the Vault of the Kings without difficulty.”

“And then to Dragonfall,” said Ridmark to Calliande, who stood looking at the Gate of the Deeps with a haunted expression on her face.

“Aye,” she said, meeting his eyes. “My staff…it is very close now. Only a few hours’ walk away, I think.”

“Then let’s not keep it waiting,” said Ridmark, and they passed the Gate of the Deeps.

###

Calliande climbed the broad steps with the others, her heart hammering against her ribs. Not that the stairs were particularly steep. 

Something else sent thrills of fear and unease down her nerves.

Somehow she knew this place. Calliande was certain that she had been here before, a feeling that had come to her a few other times in the Vale of Stone Death. The presence of her staff felt like a steady drumbeat within her head. Very soon, she realized, she would find Dragonfall and recover her staff and her memory.

She would learn anew what kind of woman she had been.

What kind of woman could seal herself away in the darkness for two hundred years, losing everyone and everything that she had ever known.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to continue walking. 

“Are you all right?” said Ridmark in a quiet voice. 

“Not really,” said Calliande. “This is…harder than I thought it would be.”

He smiled a little at that. “That is true of everything that has happened over the last four months.” 

“Yes.” Calliande looked up the stairs. They went on for hundreds of yards. “I’ve been here before, you know. I’m absolutely certain of it.”

“You’ve had that feeling before,” said Ridmark. “At that lake below the Vault of the North in the Vale of Stone Death.” 

“I did,” said Calliande. “It is a peculiar feeling. I am certain of something, of some…some fact, some bit of knowledge, but I cannot recall how I acquired it.”

“Soon you will,” said Ridmark. 

“I hope so,” said Calliande. She took a deep breath. “I hope so. I know I’ve stood upon these stairs before, Ridmark. I’m certain of it. And I remember…”

“What?” said Ridmark. 

“Dread,” she whispered. “That is what I remember. When last I stood here I felt utter dread, I am certain of it.”

For a moment Ridmark said nothing. 

“That’s happened before,” he said at last. “The day I found the stoneberries.” 

“I know,” said Calliande. That had been one of the few vivid memories she had recovered, an image of her father. He had been a fisherman, and she remembered sitting on a dock with him, gazing at the towers of the High King’s citadel across the River Moradel as they ate stoneberries together. Just thinking of it filled her with longing and regret. 

The day she had recovered that memory had also been the day Ridmark had kissed her, which filled her mind with another set of memories. If that damned wyvern had not happened upon them…

No. She could not think on that. What was done was done. 

“Perhaps,” said Ridmark, “you may yet find some memories. Ones with joy in them.”