The Dark Warden (Book 6) (35 page)

Neither one of them rose again. Perhaps the blow had killed them both. 

Ridmark growled, gripped his axe in both hands, and charged.

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Truthseeker’s power flowed up Gavin’s arm. It was like a mad, violent dream. Wave after wave of undead came at him, and the soulblade’s power let him strike them down. Calliande’s magic had enhanced his weapons before, but that was nothing compared to the soulblade’s power. The weapon had been forged to destroy creatures of dark magic, and it almost seemed to rejoice as it fulfilled its purpose. The sword’s strength was almost limitless. 

Gavin’s was not.

Even with the sword’s magic, he felt himself tiring. Or perhaps the sword was keeping his fatigue at bay, allowing him to fight longer and harder. He really didn’t know, and there wasn’t time to ask Arandar or Ridmark. If they escaped, as soon as the battle was done Gavin would likely collapse in exhaustion.

Or simply die. He remembered something Father Martel had once said, that most Knights of the Soulblade fell in battle sooner or later. Very few of them ever retired. Perhaps Gavin was one of them. Perhaps the Devout would take his skull and Truthseeker back to Urd Morlemoch, and in a few centuries another Swordbearer would come on a quest to retrieve the sword…

His thoughts were drifting, and he forced himself to remain focused on the fighting.

“Gavin! Arandar!” Calliande’s voice rang over the battle, and Gavin stepped back and saw the huge black shape stoop over Ridmark and the others. “Help them!”

“But the undead!” roared Arandar, cutting down another rotting corpse. 

“Morigna and I will hold them,” said Calliande, and Morigna turned back to the undead, more twisted roots rising from the earth. “Help them! You have the only weapons that can hurt an urvuul.” 

Gavin frowned. “You can’t hold them off…” 

“Go!” said Calliande. “If that thing kills Ridmark and the others, we’ll be next, and neither of us can stop it. Only you can.” She unleashed another wave of white flame that struck down a half-dozen undead. “Go!”

Gavin took the head from one more undead and ran at the urvuul. Arandar slashed his way free and joined the charge. The huge urvuul lumbered forward, and Ridmark hacked and slashed at the lashing tentacles, barely keeping ahead of them. Kharlacht and Caius lay motionless upon the ground, while Mara disappeared and reappeared around the beast, stabbing with her dagger. Jager slashed at its legs with his short sword, but the urvuul ignored his attacks. 

“For God and the High King! For God and St. Michael!” roared Arandar, swinging Heartwarden. The soulblade sheared through one of the urvuul’s clawed legs, severing it at the joint, and the beast let out a bellow of pain so loud that Gavin’s skull vibrated. The urvuul wheeled, and before Arandar could recover one of the massive tentacles slammed into his chest.

It was like watching a man get hit by a falling tree. Arandar flew backward with the sound of snapping bone, hit the ground, bounced several times, and did not get up again, Heartwarden’s glow fading away. The urvuul tried to turn, righting itself, and Gavin saw his chance.

He raced forward, Truthseeker filling him with power, and jumped. Gavin grabbed the severed leg and hauled himself onto the creature’s back. The tentacles reached back to seize him, but before they could grip him, Gavin grasped Truthseeker’s hilt with both hands and drove the soulblade into the urvuul’s head. 

The sword shone like frozen lightning. 

The urvuul loose a hideous wail of pain and reared back on its hind legs. The motion flung Gavin backwards, Truthseeker still clenched in his hands. For a moment he soared like a bird, and then he hit the ground.

Hard.

Everything went black. 

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Ridmark tried to catch his breath as the urvuul collapsed before him. 

Gavin. That brave mad fool. He was likely dead now, and even if he had survived the fall, Calliande would not have the strength to heal him. He looked around, but could see no sign of Mara and Jager, and Kharlacht and Caius and Gavin and Arandar were all down, dead or unconscious. Morigna and Calliande stood in the center of a tide of undead, their sputtering magic trying to hold them back.

In the distance, beyond the dead urvuul, Ridmark saw dark shapes moving.

Six more urvuuls, and hundreds upon hundreds of urvaalgs and ursaars, drew closer. Dozens of urdhracosi circled over the charging horde of beasts, and beyond them Ridmark saw the hills crawling with hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Devout orcs. 

He had, indeed, led his companions to his death, just as he had warned them. 

Ridmark turned towards Morigna and Calliande, intending to die with them. Perhaps if he charged the undead, he could distract the creatures long enough for the women to get away. Maybe Calliande could even reach Khald Azalar, Dragonfall, and her staff. 

But if not, he would die with them. He owed them that. 

“Gather your companions and stand behind me.” 

For a moment Ridmark thought that the inhumanly deep, melodious voice belonged to the Warden. The Warden’s voice had been filled with cold, arrogant malice, but this voice was only calm. Ridmark turned and saw a woman armored in plates of gold, a winged helmet upon her head and a gray cloak identical to his streaming from her shoulders, curved soulblades in either hand. Next to her stood a tall man in a black-trimmed red coat, his eyes like discs of molten gold, the black staff in his hands flashing with pale white light. 

“Ardrhythain,” said Ridmark, wondering if his exhausted mind had conjured a final delusion of hope.

“Yes,” said Ardrhythain. “Hasten. We are the very edge of the Warden’s influence, and he will try to kill us both. Gather your companions and get them behind me. I may be able to defend us, or perhaps the Warden will kill us all. Rhyannis! Assist him.” 

“As you command,” she said, and she dashed forward, charging into the undead. Every blow from the curved soulblades struck down an undead creature, and she cut through them like a scythe through a field of hay. For an instant Ridmark watched her, awed. He had known that high elves could bond with their soulblades to an extent that humans could not, but he had never yet seen a bladeweaver of the high elves in battle. As Rhyannis drove back the undead, Calliande and Morigna broke free of them and ran to join Ridmark and Ardrhythain.

“Lord archmage,” said Calliande. “What…”

“Get Gavin and Arandar,” said Ridmark, pointing to the fallen Swordbearers. “If they’re still alive, bring them here. I’ll see to Kharlacht and Caius. Hurry!” 

He ran to where Kharlacht and Caius lay near the hulk of the dead urvuul. Mara came into sight around the dead creature, helping along a limping Jager.

“You’re alive,” said Ridmark. 

“Barely,” said Jager. “I could dodge the urvuul, but I couldn’t do anything to hurt the damned thing.” He blinked. “Is that the archmage?”

“It is,” said Mara. “He’s summoning a lot of power…but we’re right at the edge of the Warden’s warding spells. I don’t know what he can do here.” 

“Help me get Kharlacht and Caius behind him,” said Ridmark.

He took Kharlacht under the arms, and both Mara and Jager lifted one of his legs. The big orc was heavy, but the three of them managed to get him to Ardrhythain. Caius was lighter, but he was in worse shape than Kharlacht. His breathing had a wet, tearing sound, and from time to time a bubble of blood appeared on his bearded lips. Ridmark did not want to move him, not when the extent of his injuries were not clear, but to leave him here would mean his death.

Ridmark set down Caius as gently as he could, Mara and Jager gripping his legs. The others had gathered behind Ardrhythain, and Calliande fell to her knees at once, casting healing spells over the wounded men. Rhyannis whirled, striking down several undead, and then fled back to join them. 

“Stay within the circle,” said Ardrhythain, striking the end of his staff against the ground. Light flowed from the staff, forming a glowing circle twenty yards across. Even as he did, the ground began to shake as the urvuuls drew closer, and Ridmark saw the first edge of the urvaalg packs come into sight. 

“What are you going to do?” said Morigna. “Surely even you cannot prevail against so many.”

“We are at the very edge of the wards upon Urd Morlemoch,” said Ardrhythain. The archmage lifted his staff, the symbols upon it shining brighter. “Likely he will try to strike me. Stay within the warding circle.” The trembling of the ground grew more violent. “I had hoped to wait until you were completely outside of the Warden’s wards before intervening, but it appears I shall have to contest against him as well. Perhaps here, at the edge of his reach, I shall be able to withstand his power.”

“Then why are you here?” said Morigna. “Why not let the urvuuls kill us? We walked into Urd Morlemoch of our own will.” 

“I could not let such valor go unanswered,” said Ardrhythain. “I thought the same as I watched the urdmordar besiege Tarlion.”

Morigna opened her mouth and said nothing. 

The urvuuls thundered into sight, bellowing, hundreds of urvaalgs racing around their armored legs like the foam of a black-furred sea. The urdhracosi flew overhead, their dark wings darker against the dark sky. Behind the urvuuls came Devout orcs, warriors and wizards both. It was a vast horde, and had the Warden loosed it upon Andomhaim, it could have conquered half the High Kingdom.

Ardrhythain merely raised his arms, the staff shining in his right hand. Morigna gasped, and Mara’s eyes grew wide. Even Ridmark felt the magical power vibrating in the air around them. 

White fire fell from the sky. 

The urvaalgs began to burn first, their cries of rage and fury transforming into shrieks of pain. The undead went up like candles, the magical fires burning into their corrupt flesh. The urvuuls snarled and thrashed, shaking their heads and tentacles in an effort to shield themselves from the falling fire. Ridmark watched the spectacle, glancing down to the side as Calliande labored to heal the others. She looked on the verge of collapse, and he wanted to tell her to stop, but if she didn’t heal Gavin and Kharlacht and the others they might die. 

The maddened urvuuls kept charging, and the urdhracosi folded their wings and dived, their mouths opening to reveal flames dancing behind their fangs. Ardrhythain swept his staff before him and shouted, and lightning ripped through the black sky, jumping from urdhracos and urdhracos, burning them to ashes. Pieces of smoking urdhracosi rained around the circle, but the survivors breathed their flame. A cylinder of shimmering white light sprang up from the circle, absorbing the fire, and the urdhracosi soared away, coming around for another pass. The urvuuls were so close that they seemed like a wall of gleaming black armor, and Ridmark braced himself.

Ardrhythain gripped his staff in both hands and slammed it against the ground.

Ridmark had thought the prowess of a high elven bladeweaver was impressive, but it was nothing, nothing at all, next to the fury of the last archmage of Cathair Solas. 

The world exploded.

Pillars of white flame erupted from the earth, incinerating the urvaalgs and ripping the urdhracosi from the sky. Nets of lightning fell from the darkness and covered the ground, tearing through war beasts and Devout orcs and undead alike. A column of white fire fountained from the earth with such force that it flung one of the massive urvuuls a thousand feet into the air, the great beast flipping end over end like a child’s toy, its astonished bellows ringing out. The creature landed a half mile away, black ichor spattering across the hillside. Ardrhythain lifted his free hand, and precise bursts of white fire lanced out, each bolt incinerating an urdhracos and sending it spinning from the air. The creatures erupted in white flame when they struck the earth, the detonations ripping apart a dozen more war beasts.

The spectacle was beautiful and horrifying at the same time. Ridmark had seen Ardrhythain unleash his power twice before, once nine years ago as he fled Urd Morlemoch with Rhyannis, and a few days past when they faced Valakoth and the Devout. But both were as nothing prepared to the destruction the archmage unleashed now. Ardrhythain could have destroyed Tarlion itself, had he wished it, and overthrown Andomhaim in a day. Little wonder the law of the high elves forbade them from dominating other kindreds.

They could have done it so easily. 

Still the storms of fire and lightning continued, and at last the charge broke. No matter how enraged the urvaalgs, no matter how loyal the Devout, nothing could withstand that terrible power. The survivors fled in all directions, leaving behind the burnt corpses of dead beyond count. 

A bolt of blue fire screamed from Urd Morlemoch and struck the circle, vanishing in a fountain of sparks. Ardrhythain staggered, the light of his staff flickering, and the Warden’s voice boomed out of the heavens.

“Fool!”

Urd Morlemoch itself disappeared in a veil of swirling darkness. 

“You put yourself at risk to save these vermin?”

The darkness began to spin, shrinking into itself.

“They hampered your plans,” said Ardrhythain, “did they not?”

The darkness compressed into a floating sphere a thousand feet across, its depths even blacker than the Warden’s eyes. 

“And to save them, you have doomed yourself!” The Torn Hills trembled with the thunder of the Warden’s enraged voice. “You have put yourself within my reach at last. I may be imprisoned within Urd Morlemoch, but you shall die here, Ardrhythain. You shall perish, the Frostborn will return and devour this world, and the high elves shall fail in their trust at last when the great shadow is freed. A hundred thousand years of toil undone because you took pity upon the human vermin! Think upon your failure as you die!”

The great sphere of darkness floated towards them. A hurricane wind began to blow across the hills, and trees and menhirs and even boulders were sucked up and pulled into the dark sphere, vanishing without a trace. Slowly the sphere floated towards them, and it sucked in the corpses of the slain Devout and urvaalgs.