Shield Knight: Rhodruthain

by Moeller, Jonathan

  The urdmordar’s name was Vathalinzur. Most of the urdmordar preferred to remain behind the lines of the fighting, casting their spells from a distance and using their worshippers as soldiers. Some of the younger urdmordar, however, the ones born on this world, had come to enjoy melee combat, to relish in the thrill of the fight. The older urdmordar considered this reckless, but the urdmordar never killed each other and rarely quarreled. It was an advantage they had over the dark elves, and the older urdmordar saw no reason to stop their progeny from risking their lives in battle if that was their wish.

  Vathalinzur tore into our men, killing at will. High elf after high elf fell to her talons and spells, and she moved with unearthly speed and strength. A single stab from one of her legs killed a man in an eyeblink. The urdmordar wielded dark magic as easily and as naturally as a bird takes to the air, and Vathalinzur unleashed storms of dark magic around her.

  We fell back step by step, forced back by the fury of her assault. What we needed was a bladeweaver, or several of them, warriors armed with soulblades capable of slaying an urdmordar. But most of our bladeweavers had already been killed during the long retreat to Cathair Irrynd, and those we had left were desperately fighting to hold back the orcs swarming over the wall.

  Rilmael and I were the only battle mages left in the plaza, and it fell to us to duel Vathalinzur while the swordsmen and the other mages struggled against the arachar pouring through the shattered gate. I hammered Vathalinzur with blast after blast of lightning and fire drawn from the Well of Cathair Tarlias while Rilmael slashed at her legs. Finally, I punched a spell through her defenses, stunning her long enough for Rilmael to leap upon her back and bury his swords in her heart.

  Vathalinzur fell, and with her death, her arachar were dismayed, and the few surviving high elven warriors in the square managed to drive them back.

  But it was too late.

  Too many of our warriors had fallen in the square, and the orcs had seized a dozen footholds on the wall. The other urdmordar hammered at the walls with attacks of dark magic, and our mages lacked the strength to repulse them.

  There was no choice. The surviving lords of Cathair Irrynd called the retreat, and we fell back, withdrawing through the gate and to the continent that would one day be called Andomhaim.

  The city fell to the hordes of the urdmordar, but we managed to save perhaps half the high elves of the city and maybe a quarter of our forces.

  It was the closest thing we ever gained to a victory in those days.

  ***

  Chapter 3: Regrets

  Rhodruthain fell silent, his hand tight against his staff of office.

  It was strange to think on that battle, so long ago. The high elves could live forever, and that meant to recover old memories, they sometimes had to meditate and recall them to their minds with focused, deliberate effort. A strange mist filled Rhodruthain’s thoughts, distorting his mind, but he could recall that ancient battle well enough.

  “So many high elves died,” said Rhodruthain. “There were once twenty great cities of the high elves on that continent, and countless towns and villages. They did wonders of magic and science that would seem unimaginable today. Yet they were all destroyed, all crushed. Nothing remains of them now but ruins, if that.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” said Morigna.

  He blinked at her, at her translucent form stark against the Well of Storms. The juxtaposition made it seem like he saw the storm in the heart of the Well blazing in her eyes.

  Rhodruthain had forgotten that she was there.

  “The Liberated,” said Rhodruthain. “The gray elves, as the humans of Owyllain call them. That was where they began. That is why I must guard the Well of Storms.”

  “Why?” said Morigna. “Why must you guard the Well of Storms?”

  “Because of the gray elves,” said Rhodruthain. “They began after the fall of Cathair Irrynd.”

  ***

  Chapter 4: Duty Unending

  Despair spread through the high elves after the fall of Cathair Irrynd.

  We had been fighting the dark elves for millennia. The war had settled into a grim stalemate. The dark elves had superior numbers, thanks to their slave armies. But we had the stronger magic, and unlike the dark elves, we could cooperate without stabbing each other in the back. Again and again, the dark elves were on the cusp of victory, only for an ill-timed act of treachery to destroy their plans. Our endless war had been deadlocked for thousands of years, and at times we even had the upper hand.

  The urdmordar changed all that.

  Many high elves came to believe there was no hope. The entire high elven kindred had the mission of guarding this world, of making sure that none could access the shadow of Incariel. That was the purpose of our magic and our immortality, the mission passed down to us by the high dragons before they departed this world, who had received their mission from God Himself.

  But we had failed in this mission, the doubters said. We had barely been able to hold back the dark elves, and the urdmordar would destroy us all. Our task had failed, and so the time had come to save what could be saved of the elven kindred.

  Some of our people, not all of them, but some, wished to abandon the Threefold Law and their immortality. If we surrendered our allegiance to the Threefold Law, we would lose our immortality and much of our magic, but we would still be long-lived, and we would be free of the strictures of the Threefold Law.

  And after watching seventy-five thousand years of war, surrendering immortality for mortality does not sound like such a sacrifice.

  As the urdmordar continued their advance, the doubters agitated for us to leave the Threefold Law. If we left the Threefold Law, the doubters said, we could use the spells the dark elves had discovered to open world gates ourselves. We could open gates and travel to new, empty worlds, leaving this doomed world behind.

  Many disagreed with the doubters, arguing that we could not abandon our sacred mission, our duty to keep the shadow of Incariel bound for all time.

  Lest dissension destroy the high elves, the archmages of our people made a compromise with the doubters. Those who wished to abandon the Threefold Law and the immortality of our kindred could do so and would be free to go without hindrance.

  Those who chose to leave the Threefold Law called themselves the Liberated. They organized themselves into different nations and planned to open gates to new worlds, escaping from the reach of the urdmordar forever and building themselves new kingdoms.

  And as the Liberated prepared to leave, Rilmael and I were summoned to Cathair Solas.

  The city of Cathair Solas was the stronghold of Ardrhythain, the greatest and wisest of the archmages of the high elves. It filled an island, its white towers rising high into the sky, and the city was a marvel of both magic and engineering, for the rings of the city revolved around each other like the gears of a titanic clock. Ardrhythain could reshape the city to augment specific spells as necessary.

  The city could also fly when needed. The island moved from place to place as Ardrhythain traveled to where he was needed most.

  Rilmael and I came to the city, and the archmage met us atop the highest tower, looking over the waters of the sea.

  You have met Ardrhythain, so you know what it is like to stand in his presence, to feel his mantle of arcane power. He wore the black-trimmed red coat of an archmage of our people and carried a golden staff with a head of interlocking rings that revolved around each other. His eyes were the same golden color, and they looked old, older than the civilization of the high elves, older than the world itself. He and the remaining archmages governed the high elves. They had to, for all our kings had fallen in battle against the urdmordar, and there was no one else left to take up the burden of ruling.

  “Lord Rhodruthain,” said Ardrhythain. “Lord Rilmael. Thank you for coming. I fear there is a matter of grave importance that I must discuss with you.”

  “We are at your disposal, Lord Ardrhythain,” said Rilmae
l.

  “It concerns the elves who call themselves the Liberated,” said Ardrhythain.

  Rilmael and I shared a look. Neither one of us had wished to renounce the Threefold Law and become one of the Liberated. I bore no ill-will towards the Liberated, and I even hoped they succeeded. Perhaps they would build kingdoms far from the reach of the urdmordar.

  “You do not think they will ally with the dark elves?” said Rilmael. He was more suspicious of the Liberated than I was.

  “No,” said Ardrhythain. “They will not. Those who remain on this world will be the bitter enemies of the dark elves. This the Sight has shown to me. However, the Sight has also shown me the potential for disaster in the threads of the future. The Liberated have divided into twelve nations, and eleven of those nations will travel to new worlds to found kingdoms. There they shall find magic they do not understand, and they may accidentally unleash disasters to make the urdmordar look feeble by comparison.”

  “Then why did you and the other archmages let them go?” said Rilmael.

  “Because we could only have kept them by force,” said Ardrhythain, “and if we did that, the urdmordar would prevail against us anyway.” He sighed. “But we still have a responsibility to the Liberated, to make sure they do not abuse their power and that they do not bring worse evil into the world. Consequently, the archmages and I have created the office of Guardian. For each of the twelve nations of the Liberated, we shall choose a Guardian, and we shall bestow them with a mantle of power. The Guardians will not be subject to the Threefold Law, but their mantles of power will give them immortality, and they shall be responsible for defending the Liberated from themselves.”

  “You wish us to become Guardians, lord archmage?” said Rilmael.

  I frowned. “I do not wish to abandon the fight against the urdmordar, nor to abandon the high elves.”

  “The high elves are doomed in any event,” said Ardrhythain. “The best we can hope for is to preserve a remnant of our people to carry out our task.” He sighed again. “Our time is passing, my friends. I believe I perceive the hand of God at work. Our task was to prepare this world for those who would dwell here one day. Our time is passing, but the age of the orcs and the dwarves and the halflings and the other kindreds the dark elves brought here is coming. In time, I foresee that the urdmordar shall be defeated, and I hope these new kindreds will have a chance to grow and thrive without the blight of the urdmordar or the shadow of Incariel consuming them.” He looked at us both. “Will you accept this responsibility? It is a heavy one, I know, and one that shall be thankless. But you are among the best of the battle mages, and you will exercise the responsibility well.”

  So Rilmael and I accepted Ardrhythain’s offer. I do not regret it, I do not curse the moment. I would do it again.

  But I knew not how hard the path would be.

  Ardrhythain took Rilmael aside and instructed him, and then he walked alone with me.

  “Your task,” said Ardrhythain, “shall be somewhat different.”

  “How so, lord archmage?” I said.

  “The nation of Liberated you shall guard do not plan to leave this world,” said Ardrhythain. “Instead, they plan to sail to the empty continent.”

  “Owyllain?” I said, startled. “Why go there?”

  “For two reasons,” said Ardrhythain. “As you know, the thirteen moons cause such complex tides that traveling by sea is nearly impossible. Once Owyllain is warded against gates and travel spells, the Liberated believe the urdmordar will be unable to follow them. Second, there is an unlocked Well of magic on that continent, and the Liberated desire to harness its power for themselves.”

  “What?” I said, stunned. All the high elves knew of the Wells of magic, for we used them to empower our most potent spells. But all the Wells had locks on them to some degree or another. Some of the locks were natural. Others were artificial, created by the archmages, for if too much power was drawn from the Wells, it might destroy the world and free Incariel from its prison.

  “Yes,” said Ardrhythain. “This was a secret known only to the archmages, but somehow the Liberated learned of it.” He frowned. “They desire to leave behind the Threefold Law but wish to use the Well of Storms to make themselves immortal once more and conquer the world. They cannot. The Well of Storms is too dangerous and too unstable to be tapped safely. If anyone tries to use its power, they will likely destroy themselves and possibly the world. That will be your task, Guardian Rhodruthain. You must try to save the Liberated of Owyllain from themselves, but more importantly, you must make sure that no one tries to tamper with the Well of Storms. The future of this world and any kindreds who reside on it will depend on you.”

  “So be it,” I said.

  ***

  Chapter 5: Respite

  Rhodruthain fell silent, his throat aching.

  It had been a long time since he had spoken so much.

  “And you have remained here ever since, guarding the Well of Storms,” said Morigna.

  “Yes,” said Rhodruthain. “The Liberated built Cathair Animus around the Well of Storms, but I kept them from drawing too much power from it. They hated me for it, but they could not break my wards and could not stop me. Yet they built a mighty civilization that filled Owyllain, and for a time, they equaled and even exceeded the sciences of the high elves at their heights.”

  He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against his staff of reddish gold, the metal hot against his skin. Tired. He was so tired, in a way he had never been during the fifteen millennia of his Guardianship.

  It was the damned mist filling his mind, eating away at him.

  “But the Sovereign followed the Liberated here,” said Rhodruthain. “He knew about the Well of Storms. He came here to claim the power and built Urd Maelwyn as his seat. I tried to counsel the Liberated to destroy him at once, but they refused. The Sovereign was too cunning for them, to cunning for us, and one by one he destroyed the gray elven kingdoms. Cathair Animus was abandoned, and I warded it so no one could enter. And now…and now the end is almost at hand. The Kratomachar is coming. The New God is rising. The Seven Swords shall be reunited, and all shall end in ashes and sorrow. I have failed.”

  He opened his eyes and saw Morigna staring at him, sympathy on her face. That seemed peculiar. She had never been particularly sympathetic to him before.

  “You have fought for so long, for so hard,” said Morigna. “Do you not deserve some rest, Guardian?”

  “No,” said Rhodruthain, shaking his head to clear it. That damned mist. It was so hard to think. “I cannot. I must guard the Well. I must. The Maledicti cannot enter Cathair Animus. The way is already prepared for the New God.”

  He looked at the Well.

  Or, specifically, he looked past the Well, to the double ring of dark elven steel that stood on the far side. The ring with seven slots on its side, waiting for the Seven Swords. Rhodruthain had tried a hundred times to destroy the damned thing. He had been successful every single time, of course, but the ring had immediately rebuilt itself.

  “Have you not earned a respite?” said Morigna.

  Rhodruthain shook his head. “I cannot.”

  “But you can,” said Morigna. “Help is at hand.”

  He blinked at her.

  “You summoned the Shield Knight and the Keeper as I counseled, remember?” said Morigna. “And they have come. They have gathered an army, and they wait outside to help you. They shall defend Cathair Animus from the Masked One and the Maledicti. You just have to lower the wards to let them inside, and the Well of Storms shall be defended.”

  Relief flooded through Rhodruthain, and he nodded.

  Yes. Yes, Morigna was right. Rhodruthain remembered having summoned the Shield Knight and the Keeper. The Keeper’s magic and the Shield Knight’s sword would destroy the Maledicti.

  The mist in his thoughts thickened.

  Rhodruthain just had to release the wards around Cathair Animus and allow them inside.

&nb
sp; He raised his hand, preparing to summon the power for the spell.

  ***

  Chapter 6: One Last Hope

  Morigna nodded, a smile appearing on her face as Rhodruthain gathered the power.

  And as he did, the Sight blazed to life inside him, forcing its way through the mist choking his mind.

  A moment of clarity burned before his eyes, and the memories flooded through him. Morigna wasn’t here. Morigna couldn’t be here. The Maledicti and the Masked One had surprised her and bound her spirit within the Durance of Urd Maelwyn. Her counsel had kept the madness at bay, but with her gone, the mist had flooded Rhodruthain’s mind, and it had become harder and harder to think.

  Rhodruthain looked at Morigna.

  No. Not at Morigna.

  The Sight saw through the illusion to the true guise of the creature that stood before him.

  It was an undead orcish warlock swathed in a gray robe. Mist poured from the voluminous sleeves and the heavy cowl, and the Sight saw the potent dark magic radiating from the creature. Cold, insidious magic poured from the warlock, filling Rhodruthain’s mind with poisoned mist.

  It was the Maledictus of Shadows, one of the seven high priests of the New God. For twenty-five years, he had been attacking Rhodruthain, filling his mind with the mist, polluting his thoughts with shadows. Rhodruthain had fought him off again and again, but the battle had taken its toll, and his strength was almost at an end.

  And the Maledictus had almost convinced him to lower the wards around Cathair Animus, which would let the Masked One and the Maledicti enter.