Frostborn: The Gorgon Spirit (24 page)

“True,” said Ridmark. “You also need to do it because the Frostborn attempting to return. That implies they aren’t already here. And the reason they are not here is…”

He let her work out the train of thought for herself. “Because they were stopped.”

“Because you stopped them,” said Ridmark. “You heard what else the Warden had to say. The Keeper was the architect of the victory against the Frostborn the first time, along with the Dragon Knight and the Swordbearers of old. All the histories I learned as a child said the same thing. The Keeper united the nations to stand against the Frostborn, to defeat them and drive them back. That Keeper was you, Calliande. You did it once before. I know you can do it again.”

She stared at the floor, blinking hard, and then shook her head and smiled. “You…can give quite the encouraging speech when you set your mind to it.”

“I told you noble children study rhetoric,” said Ridmark. “Besides, you have given me the same speech enough times.”

Calliande blinked. “What? When?”

“Ridmark Arban, stop blaming yourself for your wife’s death,” said Ridmark. “Ridmark Arban, you don’t deserve to get yourself killed. Ridmark Arban, don’t throw your life away in a futile battle.” He smiled. “It’s time I paid you back in your own coin, would you not say?” 

Calliande laughed, wiping at her eyes. “Harsh, but fair.”

“And you won’t be alone,” said Ridmark. “We were there for the start of this on the day of the omen of blue flame. We shall see this through to the end, together.”

“Thank you,” said Calliande. She sighed and let out a long breath. “Though if I cannot find a way to deal with the gorgon spirit, it might be moot.”

“If you’re a catapult stone and the spells upon the gorgon spirit are a cathedral,” said Ridmark, “then you’ve one advantage.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a lot easier to knock down a cathedral than to build one.”

She laughed a little at that. “True. The trick is not to get yourself killed when you pull down the cathedral.” She waved a hand at the glowing symbols upon the dais and the plinth. “The spells can defend themselves. I think the dwarves built this as a defense against the sorcery of the dark elves. If I try to dispel the glyphs, if I even try to probe them too deeply, it will trigger a defense.”

“Like the one that killed the Mhorite shaman in the High Gate?” said Ridmark.

“Exactly,” said Calliande. “Or it might turn everyone in the Vault to stone. I can’t be sure which until I try, and I don’t want to find out. If any alien magic touches the glyphs – the magic of the Well, the magic of the dark elves, dark magic, anything – the defenses are triggered.”

“What about dwarven magic?” said Ridmark, frowning. 

“That wouldn’t trigger the defenses,” said Calliande. “I think it would instead trigger a…a recall, for lack of a better word, summoning the gorgon spirit back here. Unfortunately, I am not a stonescribe and do not have the ability to work dwarven magic.”

“You may not be a stonescribe,” said Ridmark, “but we do have some dwarven magic with us.” 

“We do?” said Calliande.

In answer, he reached for her belt. A strange expression came over her face, and then vanished as he tapped the pommel of one of the two daggers at her side. Specifically, the dagger of dwarven steel the Taalkaz of the Dwarven Enclave of Coldinium had given her, its blade written with the glyphs of the dwarven stonescribes.

Calliande’s eyes got wide, and she drew the dagger. The glyphs upon the blade flickered with yellow-orange light. 

“We do,” said Calliande. “Oh, that’s clever. I should have seen it earlier, but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself.”

“Someone once told me that feeling sorry for myself was a waste of time,” said Ridmark. “She said it over and over and…”

“I didn’t use those exact words,” said Calliande. She took a deep breath and looked at the glyphs upon the dais. “You should probably tell Curzonar to get back here. I think I know how to summon the gorgon spirit back.” 

Chapter 18: Dark Magic

Gavin held Truthseeker and watched the chaos outside the tower. 

The gorgon spirit seemed to be turning the Mhorites to stone at random. Already a dozen pale statues stood scattered at the base of the hill, and the rest of the Mhorites were withdrawing. Gavin could not see the gorgon spirit, and realized that he had no idea what such a creature would look like. Was it invisible and immaterial? Or did it have a physical body? 

If the creature attacked the Mhorites, well and good. But the gorgon spirit would not discriminate. It defended the Vale in the name of the King of Khald Azalar, and the gorgon spirit would view both the Mhorites and Gavin and his friends as intruders. 

“Brother Caius,” said Arandar. “What will the creature look like?”

“I do not know,” said Caius. “I have never seen one, for they are unleashed only in the most dire circumstances. It would require a body, that I do know. Likely it has possessed one of the Mhorites.” 

“We should go,” said Kharlacht. “We sought a distraction, and here it is.”

“It will do us little good to escape the tower only for the gorgon spirit to turn us to stone,” said Morigna. 

“My soulblade can likely protect me from its power,” said Arandar, “and Gavin’s as well. When the time comes, we shall go first, and draw the creature’s attention if necessary. I just want to see what the thing looks like before…”

A gaunt shape moved through the trees, bronze metal flashing in the afternoon sunlight, and Gavin saw the gorgon spirit. 

It was one of the strangest creatures he had ever seen. It had the lower body of a lion, albeit a lion that had almost starved to death, its ribs visible beneath the patchy fur. The creature had the torso and arms of a man, its upper body just as emaciated and wasted as its lower. A sword rested in a leather baldric over the creature’s back, and a full helm of bronze-colored dwarven steel concealed its head. A ring of dwarven glyphs, written in green fire, encircled the crown of the helmet, and the eyeholes of the masked helm flashed with green light. 

Every time those eyeholes flashed with green light, another Mhorite warrior turned to stone.

“What is that?” said Gavin. “I’ve never seen a…a half-man, half-lion creature like that.”

“Manetaur,” said Arandar. “From the plains of the east, a place the manetaurs call their Range. They are absolutely deadly in battle. I wonder how the gorgon spirit possessed a manetaur. We are a long way from the Range.” 

“Observe,” said Antenora. “The creature’s power is limited. It can only turn one of its foes to stone at any given moment.”

“That is a relief,” said Mara. “I feared it could simply glance in our direction and turn us all to stone.” 

"Though it is able to do so quickly," said Morigna as more warriors turned to stone. 

A group of Mhorite warriors found their courage and charged at the gorgon spirit, attacking with swords and spears. It did little good. The withered creature wore no armor, yet the swords shattered against its hide and the spears splintered against its ribs. The gorgon spirit whirled, the eyes of its helm flashing, and one of the Mhorites turned to stone. It reached out with one clawed hand and ripped the head off a second. Its front legs lashed out and slammed into the chest of another Mhorite, and Gavin heard the sound of all the Mhorite warrior’s ribs snapping at the same time. The orcish warrior tumbled across the smoking ground like a rag doll and went limp. Three more turned to stone in as many heartbeats, the gorgon spirit's eyes blazing with green flame. 

Mournacht himself roared a battle cry and stalked forward, raising his massive axe. The gorgon spirit whirled to face him, its eyes blazing with emerald light. Mournacht staggered in mid-stride, the symbols of bloody fire shining upon his chest and arms as his warding spells turned aside the gorgon spirit’s powers. The gorgon spirt went rigid, the light in its eyes shining brighter, and Mournacht staggered forward step by step. Another Mhorite warrior lunged at the spirit, and it reached out and tore off the Mhorite’s head, its deadly gaze never wavering from Mournacht. The other Mhorite shamans raised their hands and unleashed bolts of bloody flame and shafts of shadow at the gorgon spirit. The symbols upon its helmet shone brighter, and none of the destructive magic touched the creature. 

“We must go,” said Kharlacht. “This is likely to be our best chance.”

“Aye,” said Mara. “We…”

She frowned and looked up.

“Oh,” she said.

“What is it?” said Arandar.

Gavin followed Mara’s gaze and saw a dark shape circling over the tower, a slender, black-armored woman with great wings spreading behind her like leathery sails.

One of the Traveler’s undhracosi. 

He braced himself for the creature’s attack, but instead it banked and flew away to the west. 

“A scout,” said Mara. “The Traveler will come as soon as he realizes the Mhorites are distracted with the gorgon spirit.”

“Then we go now,” said Arandar, lifting Heartwarden. The soulblade shimmered with white fire in response to the dark magic and blood spells raging outside the tower. “We head east, towards the mountains on the far side of the Vale. Cut down anyone in our path, and stay together. If we get separated, we may not be able to come back for you.”

The others nodded, drawing weapons or preparing spells. 

“May God be with us,” said Caius, and Azakhun and the other dwarves murmured agreement.

“Go,” said Arandar, and he stepped around the barricade and set off at a jog around down the slope, and Gavin and the others followed. 

Mournacht and the gorgon spirit remained locked in battle. The gorgon spirit seemed unable to penetrate Mournacht’s protective wards with its power, but neither could Mournacht’s spells harm the spirit. Even his massive black axe seemed unable to wound the creature. The lesser shamans continued flinging volleys of useless spells. 

Horn blasts rang from the west, deeper and longer than the horns the Mhorites preferred to use. The Anathgrimm and the Traveler’s creatures were coming. If they struck while Mournacht struggled against the gorgon spirit, while the warriors themselves were disorganized, the Traveler’s army might well win the day. 

A shout rang out, and a group of Mhorite warriors ran at Gavin and the others.

Gavin drew on Truthseeker’s power and attacked before the Mhorites could reach them. The Mhorites did not anticipate his speed, and Truthseeker sank into the nearest Mhorite’s neck with a burst of green blood. Gavin ripped the soulblade free, caught a hasty sword thrust upon his shield, and attacked again, killing another Mhorite. The remaining warriors closed around him, and then the earth at his feet rippled, throwing the warriors to the ground. Arandar killed three Mhorites in as many heartbeats, Heartwarden’s power combining with his skill and experience to make him a whirlwind of death. Mara flickered in and out with pulses of blue fire, slashing the throats of the stunned Mhorites before they regained their feet. Kharlacht and Caius and Jager and the others cut their way through the Mhorites, and a moment later they broke through. 

A Mhorite shaman turned to face Gavin, eyes wide and wild, red flames swirling up his arms. The shaman thrust out his hands, and Gavin shouted and raised Truthseeker. The spell hammered into him, struggling against the sword’s light, but Truthseeker’s power held fast. The shaman snarled and started another spell, but a sphere of white fire shot past Gavin’s shoulder. It struck the shaman and exploded in a burst of howling flame. It wasn’t as powerful as the spells that Antenora had used previously, but it was enough to send the shaman’s smoking corpse tumbling across the ground. 

The gorgon spirit’s masked head snapped around, and for a moment Gavin thought Antenora’s magic had drawn the creature’s attention. 

But it kept turning, looking to the north.

“Intruders!” it snarled, its voice deep and alien. The gorgon spirit took several running strides forward, leaped into the air, and then just…sank into the earth, sinking into the ground as if it was water instead of dirt and stone. 

For a moment silence fell, and Mournacht whirled, the massive axe in his right hand. His eyes fell upon Gavin and narrowed. Gavin braced himself, his mind racing. Whatever had drawn away the attention of the gorgon spirit had left them to face Mournacht and his army alone. Could Gavin and his friends cut their way free? Or should they flee back to the tower? 

Another blast of an Anathgrimm war horn rang out, shattering the silence, and battle cries echoed through the forest. Gavin saw Anathgrimm warriors running from the west, and a dark shape plummeted from the sky, falling towards Mournacht. The urdhracos opened her jaws and spat a cone of flame at Mournacht, and the huge shaman snarled, sweeping his axe before him in a massive two-handed swing. The sigils written upon his chest and arms disrupted the fire, shattering it in a cloud of blazing embers, and his axe crunched through the urdhracos’s chest. The creature let out an agonized wail and collapsed in a heap to the ground.

An urdhracos was one of the most powerful creatures of the dark elves, and Mournacht had just dispatched one without difficulty. The huge shaman began bellowing commands in the orcish tongue, and the shamans and warriors gathered around him, gathering to face the charge of the Anathgrimm. 

It seemed Mournacht considered the Traveler a greater threat than Gavin and the others. 

“Go!” shouted Arandar, and they stared running to east, ashes and cinders grinding beneath their boots. A Mhorite warrior charged at them, screaming, and Kharlacht dispatched him with a sweep of his massive greatsword. Behind them rose the sounds of a gathering battle, both the Anathgrimm orcs and the Mhorite warriors screaming threats and curses, steel clanging on steel, the crackle and hiss of deadly magical spells. Another sound stabbed into Gavin’s ears, a hideous, snarling shriek like tearing metal.

The battle cry of an urvaalg.

“Sir Arandar!” he shouted. 

Arandar shot a look over his shoulder, and Gavin followed suit. He spotted a score of rippling blurs behind them, moving through the trees with inhuman speed. Urvaalgs could turn almost invisible when they felt like it, save for a faint rippling in the air. 

To judge from the rippling, there were a lot of urvaalgs behind them. 

“Stand and fight!” said Arandar, turning. “We cannot outrun them.” 

They came to a stop, and Antenora whirled and leveled her staff. A gout of flame shot across the distance and struck the blurs, and snarls of fury rang out. The blur resolved itself into a pack of at least thirty urvaalgs. A wave of dread went through Gavin. Truthseeker and Heartwarden could kill urvaalgs, and the weapons of dark elven steel could wound them. Yet thirty urvaalgs all at once, without the aid of Calliande’s magic, would be a challenging fight. 

Maybe even an impossible one.

“Gavin, with me!” shouted Arandar. “The rest of you, a shield wall! Keep the sorceresses clear!” 

Gavin nodded and sprinted at the urvaalgs, Arandar at his right. He drew on as much of Truthseeker’s power as he could, the soulstone shining like a star. The sword seemed almost joyful to go into battle against creatures of dark magic, and despite the danger, some of that mad joy sank into Gavin’s mind. This was a good fight, a righteous fight, to rid the world of the tainted beasts of corrupted magic that the dark elves had created.

He could not tell if it was the sword’s thought or his own, and decided that it did not matter. 

The urvaalg pack turned towards them, black talons tearing at the earth. Morigna shouted something, and the earth beneath the front row of urvaalgs rippled, knocking them from their paws. A score of urvaalgs lost their balance, and the beasts behind them crashed into the fallen urvaalgs, the pack dissolving into disordered chaos for an instant.

An instant was all that Gavin and Arandar needed.

He struck with Truthseeker, the sword’s power roaring up his arm, and took the head from an urvaalg. Black slimed spurted from the stump of the urvaalg’s neck, and Gavin spun and plunged the soulblade home into another urvaalg’s chest. Around him the stunned urvaalgs regained their feet, and thick roots erupted from the earth, seizing their legs and pulling them back down. Gavin took the head from another urvaalg in a flash of white fire, and a ball of flame shot over his head and fell into the back rows of the urvaalg pack. He shielded his eyes as the fireball exploded, setting a half-dozen urvaalgs aflame. The horrible smell of burning flesh and fur filled his nostrils, and the beasts screamed in pain and rage. Arandar moved closer, and the two Swordbearers fought back to back. Morigna and Antenora unleashed their magic on the urvaalgs, keeping them unbalanced and distracted, and Gavin and Arandar carved their way through the beasts, Truthseeker and Heartwarden blazing with white fire. In the midst of the melee blue fire flickered, and Mara appeared behind the urvaalgs, using her short sword to hamstring them with the precision of a surgeon. Arandar or Gavin then dispatched the crippled urvaalgs before they recovered. 

They were winning. Gavin split the skull of another urvaalg with a furious blow from Truthseeker, something between exultation and terror warring inside of him. Thirty urvaalgs, and they were winning…

A tremendous roar thundered through the forest.

Gavin turned, fearing that the gorgon spirit had pursued them. Instead he saw a dark shape lumbering through the trees, moving with tremendous speed despite its bulk. It looked like a twisted combination of a diseased grizzly bear and an ape. It was an ursaar, one of the most powerful and vicious creatures of the dark elves. When a pack of urvaalgs had come near Aranaeus, the villages had fled behind the walls and barricaded the gates. If an ursaar had ever come to Aranaeus, it could have ripped down the gates and killed everyone in the village.

It was charging right towards Antenora and Morigna.

Morigna turned, and knotted roots burst from the earth to entangle the ursaar. They did not slow the creature in the slightest, the roots snapping and ripping apart. Antenora threw a gout of fire across its flank, setting its fur aflame, and the ursaar howled in fury. Yet it did not stop or falter, and Morigna threw herself out the way. Antenora tried to do so, but she was a second too slow, and the ursaar’s massive paw sent her flying. Azakhun and the dwarves shouted and attacked the ursaar, Kharlacht and Caius and Jager behind them, but the dwarves only had weapons of orcish steel, and their blades did nothing against the ursaar. Their armor turned aside its dagger-like claws, but the strength of its slaps sent them tumbling through the air like toys.