Frostborn: The Broken Mage (26 page)

Ridmark heard a faint rasp, and then the ward in front of him flashed with white light. Calliande was entering the doors of Dragonfall. He wanted to watch her go, but that would not be appropriate. For that matter, Morigna would get angry if he did, and he could not blame her for that. 

A quiet voice in his thoughts pointed out that he had already seen Calliande naked on the day they had met, that he had liked what he had seen…

Disgusted with himself, Ridmark shoved his doubts and fears aside and focused upon the hall.

So he was looking right at the Devourer when the creature reappeared a few feet in front of the dais. 

Startled, Ridmark raised his staff. The Devourer still wore Calliande’s form. The malophage took a step forward, shifting back to the form of the giant lizard-ape beast, and dove at the ward with a burst of inhuman speed.

“Beware!” shouted Antenora. “The Keeper’s entrance has weakened the ward! The creature can penetrate it!”

“Strike!” shouted Ridmark, and the malophage burst through the ward and onto the dais.

The passage cost the creature. White fire shot up and down its limbs, and the ghastly smell of charred malophage flesh flooded Ridmark’s nostrils yet again. Ridmark whipped his staff around, and the impact broke one of the malophage’s clawed arms. Gavin and Arandar struck, Truthseeker and Heartwarden shearing into the malophage’s torso, and the Devourer let out a scream of rage and pain, white fire pouring from the soulblades and into its wounds.

But the creature kept moving. 

It surged forward in a dark blur and leaped across the dais, hurtling towards the closing doors. Antenora hit it with a burst of flame, and Morigna’s acidic mist rolled over it, but neither spell slowed the creature. The Devourer seized the edges of the golden doors with its claws and tumbled into Dragonfall.

Ridmark sprinted after the malophage. He had a brief glimpse of a curtain of gray mist, Calliande’s pale form vanishing into it. Then both disappeared behind the dark form of the Devourer, and the golden doors slammed shut with a pulse of white light. Ridmark crashed into the doors and looked for a way to open them. 

He could find none. 

“Antenora,” he said. 

“There is no way to open the door, Gray Knight,” said Antenora, her raspy voice grim. “The Keeper’s power has sealed it. Only the Keeper can open it.” She shook her head. “Fool, fool, fool.” For a moment Ridmark thought that Antenora rebuked him, but the ancient sorceress kept speaking. “I should have foreseen the danger. When the Keeper opened the doors, the structure of the wards weakened and altered. The creature seized its chance. Fool! A thousand years and I am still as blind as a child!”

“Then there is no way to open the door?” said Ridmark.

“I fear not,” said Antenora. “The ward is absolutely impenetrable.”

In sheer frustration Ridmark struck his staff against the door twice. It did nothing at all. The metal did not even shiver beneath the blows.

“Ridmark,” said Morigna, gripping his shoulder. “We can do nothing for her.”

“She may yet prevail,” said Antenora, though Ridmark saw the fear on that gaunt, gray face. She had spent fifteen centuries seeking for the Keeper, and it was entirely possible that Antenora had just seen Calliande die. “The passage through the collapsing ward inflicted considerable damage upon the creature. It will not be able to draw upon its full power, and there may be other defenses within Dragonfall proper.” 

“There may be defenses?” said Ridmark. “Calliande will still have to face the Devourer alone.” Antenora may have blamed herself, but Ridmark was the fool. He should have been paying better attention. He should have anticipated the trap. But what else could he have done? The Devourer had revealed itself right before his eyes, and he still had not been able to stop the creature. “We have to find a way through the door.”

“There is no way,” said Antenora.

A burst of sheer rage went through Ridmark, and he struck his staff against the door again. Once again, it did nothing. 

“I am sorry,” said Morigna. She hesitated, looked away from him, and then back to him. “It…may be best if we leave at once. The malophage is trapped within Dragonfall, and both Mournacht and the Traveler are coming here. Perhaps it would be best to ensure the empty soulstone,” she looked at the bundle of clothing in Mara’s arms, “is well away from here. Else the soulstone may fall into Shadowbearer’s grasp.”

“As hard as that counsel is,” said Kharlacht, “I fear it is correct. If Shadowbearer takes the empty soulstone, far more lives than ours shall be lost. Calliande would not want to see Shadowbearer triumph.”

“No,” said Ridmark. “You’re right. Go if you will. I will not gainsay you. But I will wait here until she emerges.”

“Perhaps we should have faith,” said Caius.

Morigna scoffed. “You think your God shall save Calliande?”

“I think he already has,” said Caius. “But I do not think she will perish here, and I believe that because I have watched her. She is as brave as any of us, and her magic is strong. More, she is the Keeper, and she was the woman who rallied the armies of Andomhaim and the other kindreds to victory against the Frostborn. If anyone can overcome the Devourer and emerge alive, she can.” 

“I agree,” said Ridmark. “So I will remain here. If any of the rest of you want to leave, go. You can return to the Gate of the West, or ascend the stairs from the assembly chamber and take your chances with the Gate of the East.”

No one moved.

“I go where you go,” said Morigna. “You know that.” 

Ridmark nodded, relieved that she had chosen to stay. 

“I will not abandon the Magistria,” said Gavin. “Not while there is hope she lives.” 

“Gavin Swordbearer speaks truly,” said Antenora. “I have come too far and too long to forsake the Keeper.” 

“You gambled everything to save my life at the Iron Tower,” said Mara. “It seems only fair to return the favor for Calliande.” 

The others spoke their agreement as well. 

“How splendid,” said Morigna. “We have all made such stirring declarations. Now what shall we do about them?”

“First,” said Ridmark, walking from the dais, “we’re going to relieve poor Irunzad of the Key. Then I want to see if the doors of the Vault can be closed and opened from the inside. If they do, we have the perfect defense against the Mhorites and the Anathgrimm. We can wait until Calliande returns from Dragonfall, and then fight our way…”

He stopped in midsentence, a flash of light in the archway to the main Vault catching his eyes.

An orcish warrior clad in leather and mail stood there, a short bow in his hands. His face had been ritually scarred and tattooed crimson, giving his features the likeness of a grinning, bloody skull. His eyes met Ridmark’s, turning crimson with rage.

It was a Mhorite scout.

Ridmark broke into a sprint, hoping to catch the scout before he fled. 

Chapter 15: Enemies and Enemies

The Mhorite scout did not flee, but instead took aim with his short bow. 

That was good.  Ridmark had a chance of killing the Mhorite before the scout escaped back to inform Mournacht. The Mhorite scout aimed his bow and released, but Ridmark dodged to the side, spinning his staff before him. The staff caught the shaft of the arrow and sent it tumbling to the floor. The Mhorite growled, looked at Ridmark, and then lowered his bow. Ridmark cursed and ran faster. 

Blue fire flickered, and Mara appeared behind the orcish warrior. She had discarded Calliande’s clothing, and for an alarmed instant Ridmark wondered what Mara had done with the soulstone. Her short sword darted forward, but the Mhorite turned at the last moment and spotted her. The orcish warrior jerked back, letting Mara’s point bounce off his armor, and drew a short sword of his own. Mara disappeared again and reappeared a dozen yards away, and Ridmark struck. The orcish warrior managed to parry Ridmark’s first swing, but Ridmark reversed the direction of the staff and caught the Mhorite on the knee. The orc stumbled back with an angry growl, and Ridmark’s next strike hit the Mhorite’s temple. 

The Mhorite collapsed, his sword falling from his outstretched hand with a clang. The Vault of the Kings was a superb echo chamber, and the clang from the dropped sword rebounded off the stone walls and the high ceiling far overhead, reverberating among the piles of gold and jewels upon the tables. 

The seven other Mhorite scouts moving among the stone tables could not miss it. All seven of them turned, their eyes falling upon Ridmark. He gripped his staff, preparing to charge, but the orcs fell back. Three of them lifted war horns and blew long blasts, the sounds ringing through the Vault, and far in the distance Ridmark heard the sounds of answering horns. 

The Mhorite scouts were coming. Perhaps even the main Mhorite host itself had beaten the Anathgrimm to the Citadel. Ridmark watched the scouts sprint back to the throne room, wishing that the Devourer had killed a few of them while it had waited for Calliande to open the doors. 

Mara appeared next to him in a swirl of blue fire. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

“A considerable amount of it,” said Ridmark. “Where is the soulstone?”

“I gave it to Jager,” said Mara, “along with Calliande’s other possessions. I can’t travel while holding it. Should we try to close the Vault’s doors?”

“No,” said Ridmark. “It’s too late. It also might be impossible to open the Vault from inside.” 

“What are we going to do, then?” said Mara. 

That was an excellent question.

Ridmark looked back as the others joined them. He spotted the leather pouch with the soulstone and Calliande’s daggers tucked into Jager’s belt. Ridmark supposed it would be safe enough there. Though given the number of Mhorites about to come at them, Ridmark supposed that the soulstone would not be safe with anyone.

“The Mhorites?” rumbled Kharlacht. 

“They’ve seen us,” said Ridmark. “They’ve summoned reinforcements. We’ll have to hold out until Calliande returns from Dragonfall.”

“If Calliande returns,” said Morigna, looking at the golden doors.

“She will,” said Ridmark. He would not give up hope now. “When she does, the day will be ours. Both dark elven princes and urdmordar feared to challenge the power of the Keeper in ancient days. If she returns with her power intact, we will win free. Until then, we have to hold here.”

Another blast of a war horn rang in the distance, answered by at a dozen more. 

“This is an ill spot for a battle against so many,” said Arandar. Heartwarden flickered in his fist, sending pulses of pain through Ridmark’s head in time with the glow. “We will be easily surrounded.”

“The archway,” said Ridmark, a plan flickering through his thoughts. “We’ll hold them off there.”

“Perhaps,” said Arandar, “but it is still too wide.”

“For swords and bows, yes,” said Ridmark, “but we have other weapons. Antenora?”

The clever woman had anticipated their need. Her staff flickered with fire, and a ball of flame the size of a fist floated over its end, spinning faster and faster. 

“I can hold a wall of flame across the archway,” said Antenora, “and shall I have time to prepare a considerable amount of power. However, any one of the Mhorite shamans I saw in the Vale of Stone Death would be able to dispel it.”

“I can deal with the shamans,” said Mara.  

“As can I,” said Morigna. “If they try to break through Antenora’s spells, they will have no power left to deflect my attacks.”

“Good,” said Ridmark. “Mara, Jager, Morigna. Stay here and guard Antenora. The rest of you, come with me. We’re going to lure the Mhorites in.” He looked at Jager. “Don’t let that soulstone out of your sight.” 

“Given what lengths you went to steal it,” said Morigna, “one supposes it is amusing we hand it freely to you now.” 

“Life is just full of these little ironies, isn’t it?” said Jager. 

“Also, take the Key,” said Ridmark. “I don’t want either the Mhorites or the Traveler having the bright idea of locking us in here and waiting until we starve to death.” 

Jager nodded and ran to Irunzad’s corpse to retrieve the Key. 

Ridmark strode through the arch and back to the main chamber of the Vault, his staff in hand, Arandar and Gavin and Kharlacht and Caius following him. The Mhorite scouts might have fled, but they had returned with reinforcements. A large band of Mhorite warriors hurried through the aisles between the stone tables. Ridmark saw no shamans in their number yet, but he knew that would change. 

“The main aisle,” said Ridmark. “We’ll make a stand there. Hold them off as long as you can, and when I give the word, fall back to the archway.” The longer they held out, the longer they gave Calliande to return from Dragonfall.

If she returned. 

He forced that thought from his mind. Calliande would return from Dragonfall. And if not, Ridmark would make the Mhorites pay in blood for every step they took into the Vault. 

He reached the central aisle, the others around him. More Mhorites came into the Vault, some of them staring at Ridmark, others eyeing the massive quantity of treasure heaped in the room. One of the Mhorites snarled a command, and the orcish warriors turned from the wealth of Khald Azalar, their red-gleaming eyes falling upon Ridmark. Beyond them, through the gate to the throne room, more bands of Mhorites emerged from the Citadel of Kings. 

More Mhorites than they could hope to defeat. 

“Gray Knight!” snarled one of the Mhorite warriors in Kothluuskan-accented orcish. “Surrender yourself. The Voice of Mhor desires your blood. Surrender yourself, and perhaps the great shaman will spare your companions.”

“I doubt that,” said Ridmark. “Since when has Mhor ever offered mercy to anyone? Mournacht is too good a servant of his false god to spare his enemies now.” Several of the warriors snarled in fury, and more of them moved closer, preparing to spread out around Ridmark and the others. “So if the chosen one of Mhor desires to offer my blood to his false god…”

“Blasphemy!” roared the Mhorite, and the other orcish warriors bellowed their agreement.

“If his false god desires my blood!” shouted Ridmark, using the voice he had once employed while commanding men in battle. “If your false god desires my death, then let Mournacht come and claim it! Come, orcs of Kothluusk! Do you think you can take us?” Ridmark gestured at his companions, pointing his staff at Arandar and then at Gavin. “Do you see the soulblades in their hands? You know what Swordbearers can do! Will your false god protect you from the power of a soulblade? Will…”