“You suspect something, my lady,” said Gavin.
“Antenora,” said Mara.
“Who?” said Jager. Gavin didn’t recognize the name.
“The sorceress Morigna and I met in the halfway place between this world and Old Earth, when the Warden tried to open his gate,” said Mara.
“Oh,” said Gavin. He had forgotten about that detail.
Of course, a lot of things had happened that day.
“Antenora?” said Morigna, her sour expression turning to puzzlement. “Truly?”
Mara shrugged. “You saw the power she wielded against those spirit creatures in the threshold. Gales of fire and blasts of flame. I am certain she could conjure a fire hot enough to kill these trolls.”
“But how could she be here?” said Morigna.
“I don’t understand,” said Gavin.
Morigna gave him a withering look. “I am shocked.”
“The Warden’s spell,” said Mara, “joined together the thresholds of Old Earth and this world, their…shadows in the spirit realm, I suppose. Once the Warden joined their thresholds, apparently he would have been able to open his gate and step through it to Old Earth. When Morigna and I were pulled into Old Earth’s threshold, we encountered Antenora. She sensed the Warden’s spell and came to see what was happening. She claimed to have been an apprentice of the Keeper, the original Keeper, and wanted to redeem some long-ago treachery.” She looked at Morigna. “She did say she would try to find the Keeper.”
“Which means Calliande,” said Caius.
“Even if she left the threshold of Old Earth and crossed to the threshold of our world,” said Morigna, “she would be trapped there.”
“Perhaps not,” said Mara. “She reached the threshold of Old Earth, did she not?”
“I…had not considered that,” said Morigna.
“I am shocked,” said Gavin.
She scowled at him.
“If it is indeed this sorceress,” said Arandar, “do you think she is trustworthy?”
“I do not know,” said Mara. “I thought she was telling the truth about who she was, but I have been mistaken before.” She shrugged. “Perhaps we are all wrong, and Mournacht has acquired a new form of dark magic, or the Traveler has a spell I have never seen him use before.”
“If it is Antenora,” said Morigna, “and the trolls are fighting her, we should aid her.” Gavin blinked in surprise. “I pay my debts, and if not for her help, Mara and I would never have escaped the threshold.”
“If we encounter her, we shall aid her,” said Arandar. “And if our logic is in error, if some other creature is doing this…we shall avoid it. Let our enemies fight among each other.”
“That is my kind of fight, sir knight,” said Jager.
They left the clearing and the dead behind.
###
Gavin crouched behind the fallen log, gazing at the motionless shapes standing atop the low ridge. They had not moved, and though he could not see clearly through the trees, his impression was that they were guards around a camp.
But he didn’t think they were moving at all.
Something stirred behind him, and he whirled, starting to draw Truthseeker from its scabbard. But it was only Morigna, her staff in her right hand, her black eyes glassy as she communicated with the ravens under her control.
“Those are not guards,” she muttered. “Or if they are guards, they have been on watch for a very long time.”
“Statues?” said Arandar, crouching next to Gavin.
Morigna closed her eyes and nodded.
“The gorgon spirit’s work?” said Arandar.
“Possibly,” said Morigna, some of her usual asperity coming into her tone. “Or a mad artist has decided to carve statues in the heart of a troll-haunted fortress. Which do you think is more likely, Swordbearer?”
Arandar sighed and straightened up.
“Ridmark Arban,” he said, walking towards the ridge, “must have the patience of a saint.”
“He tolerates you, does he not?” said Morigna, but Arandar did not look back.
Gavin got to his feet and followed the Swordbearer and the sorceress to the ridge, pushing his way past the pine trees. He scowled as the needles raked at his hands and neck. Twelve stone figures of orcish warriors stood atop the ridge. The statues had uncanny detail to them, the work so fine that Gavin could make out the stitches in the seams of their leather armor. Despite the detail, the statues had a weathered look to them, as if they had stood out in the wind and rain for a long time.
The weathering did nothing to soften the looks of fear and horror upon the stone orcs’ faces.
“Not Mhorites,” said Arandar. “No facial scarring.”
“Vhaluuskan, I think,” said Kharlacht. “Their clothes and armor are similar to those we saw in Khorduk.”
“Look at their feet,” said Morigna. Their feet and legs had sunk several inches into the earth. “They have been here for a long time. Years, possibly.”
“Can the transformation be reversed, Brother Caius?” said Arandar.
“Yes,” said Caius. “It can, if the gorgon spirit is commanded to do so. The trouble is…just because the victim is turned to stone, the processes of the body continue.”
“The processes of the body?” said Gavin.
“Digestion,” said Caius. “The need for food and drink. Unless it is reversed soon, the victim dies and all that remains is a statue. If the petrification is reversed after long enough, the body simply crumbles into dust when it returns to flesh.”
“A man will die in a few days without water,” said Mara, her voice quiet. “Those orcs have been there for years.”
“And the gorgon spirit was likely bound to obey the King of Khald Azalar,” said Caius. “It will continue defending Khald Azalar until…”
“Until when?” said Arandar.
“Until the world crumbles into dust,” said Caius, “or there are no more foes left in the Vale of Stone Death.” He considered for a moment. “There might be…a warding stone, a totem rod, for controlling or binding the spirit. Maybe a helmet or a crown. But Khald Azalar held a hundred and fifty thousand dwarves at its height. Whatever controlling totem binds the spirit could be anywhere.”
“Suffice to say,” said Arandar, “we had best avoid the creature.”
“Perhaps that is why Calliande chose to hide her staff here,” said Jager. “If she knew this gorgon spirit was loose in the Vale, she could go to sleep certain that any thieves would become part of the landscape.”
“We’ll have to ask when she catches up to us,” said Gavin.
“She will not give you an answer,” muttered Morigna, both hands grasped around her staff, her head bowed, “because she does not remember why she did it. A terribly foolish way to go about it. One thinks she could at least have left herself a note or…”
She flinched, and then straightened up with a hiss.
“What is it?” said Arandar.
“The ravens,” Mara said. “I think they’ve seen something.”
Morigna gave a shake of her head. “Orcs, to the north. I have never seen their like. They have…”
“Spines,” said Mara, her voice grim. “The Anathgrimm.”
“We need to go, now,” said Arandar.
“No,” said Morigna, looking around. “No, it is too late. There is no place to take cover, and they are running to the south. By the time we try to take cover, they will have found us…”
“How many?” said Arandar, drawing Heartwarden. The sword shimmered with white light.
“At least thirty,” said Morigna. Gavin drew Truthseeker, feeling the sword’s power thrum up his arm. “Maybe forty. The ravens were too spooked to get any closer. The orcs…the ravens are afraid of them.”
“We shall make our stand here,” said Arandar. Kharlacht raised his dark elven greatsword, and Caius his mace of bronze-colored dwarven steel. Jager and Mara drew the blades they had taken from Urd Morlemoch. Morigna’s fingers t
ightened around her staff, purple fire flickering within the symbols carved upon its length. “We have the high ground. Kharlacht, Caius, Gavin. With me. We will hold the front. Jager and Mara, hang back and keep the Anathgrimm off Morigna. Morigna, kindly bring your spells to bear against the orcs. Distract and slow them, preferably.”
Morigna scoffed a little. “So you will not refuse the help of a wicked outlaw sorceress in your hour of need?”
“If we do not fight alongside each other, we are going to die,” said Arandar. “Perhaps you last thought can be one of smug satisfaction that your pride has gotten us both killed.”
Gavin snorted. “A fine argument.”
“Do shut up and fight,” said Morigna.
Gavin set himself and waited, Arandar on his right and Kharlacht upon his left. He adjusted the scarred shield on his left arm, the shield he had taken from Tarrabus Carhaine’s slain men-at-arms in Aranaeus. Strange that it had survived so much danger alongside him, danger that he was not sure he would have survived himself.
Perhaps it would see him through one more battle.
A moment later the first of the Anathgrimm burst from the trees, and Gavin saw what had frightened Morigna’s ravens.
He had seen mutated orcs before. The arachar had consumed the blood of Agrimnalazur, making them stronger and faster and instilling them with furious bloodlust. The deep orcs in Thainkul Dural had been blind, yet able to see heat and hear things no human ear could detect. The Devout, the servants of the Warden, had been larger and stronger than normal orcs, their blood shining with the cold blue light of the Warden’s dark magic.
The Anathgrimm looked stranger than them all.
The first orc that reached the bottom of the shallow ridge wore a strange patterned black mask over his face and tusks, his black eyes gleaming with crimson battle rage. An instant later Gavin realized that the black material of the mask was actually dense bone, the bones growing from the warrior’s temples and scalp to encircle his face like a living mask. Gleaming steel chain mail covered his torso, and massive bony spikes rose from his shoulders and elbows and his forearms. They did indeed make the orc look spiny, though those spikes of bone were anything but fragile.
Two more Anathgrimm emerged from the trees, and then five more.
“You will have to aim for their throats,” said Mara in a quiet voice. “There is another layer of bone armor beneath the chain mail, covering their torsos. I do not think even a Swordbearer’s strength will drive a blade through it.”
Gavin nodded, his fingers tightening against Truthseeker’s hilt.
“Humans, a Vhaluuskan orc, a halfling, and a dwarf,” shouted the lead Anathgrimm warrior in the orcish tongue, his deep voice buzzing with a strange cadence. Gavin realized that the bone mask vibrated in time to his words, distorting his voice. He also realized that the Anathgrimm had failed to recognize that Mara was half dark elven. “A peculiar party.”
“No stranger than yours, sir,” said Arandar. “I have not seen your like before.”
“We are the Anathgrimm,” said the orcish warrior, “the servants of our lord and master and god.”
“God?” said Arandar.
“The greatest of all the dark elven lords,” said the orc, “the rightful master of the earth.” The Anathgrimm smiled, revealing black teeth the same color as his mask and tusks. “You may know him as the Traveler.”
“There is only one God,” said Brother Caius, “and his son the Dominus Christus.”
“A folly,” said the Anathgrimm. “The Traveler is the rightful god of this world, and in time all kindred shall be his slaves, even as we are. Your kindred, too, are the rightful slaves of the Traveler.”
“Tell me,” said Arandar. “What brings the servants of the Traveler to the Vale of Stone Death?”
“We have come to crush a fool,” said the Anathgrimm. “A proud rebel who calls himself Mournacht, who reveres the false blood gods, who thinks to place himself above the Traveler. We shall crush him utterly and lay his head before our god’s feet.” The big orc tilted his head to the side. “Perhaps you shall serve the true god.”
“I rather doubt that,” said Arandar.
The Anathgrimm snarled and raised his right hand, and suddenly cold blue flames played about his bone-armored fingers. “Perhaps not. For I am Zhorlacht, a priest of the Traveler, and in his name I shall slay you. Kill them!”
The Anathgrimm ran forward in silence. To complement their bone armor, most of them wore heavy steel plate and chain mail, massive shields upon their left arms and steel maces in their right fists. They did not move quickly, but they did move steadily, climbing up the slope to present a solid wall of wood and steel. Zhorlacht stepped forward, raising his right fist, a surge of dark power snarling around his fingers as a bolt of blue fire burst from his arm and howled forward.
Gavin jumped to intercept it.
He raised Truthseeker, and the soulblade’s power flared in response to the Anathgrimm wizard’s dark magic. Truthseeker blazed into white fire, and Gavin called upon the sword’s strength. The bolt of blue flame slammed into Gavin, only to shatter against the shell of white light shining from the soulblade. A strange chiming noise filled his ears as wizard’s spell collapsed, and through the glaring haze of competing magic Gavin saw Zhorlacht lower his hand, his dark eyes narrowed.
The spell ended, and Gavin spun to face the Anathgrimm. The armored orcs climbed the slope, their heavy boots tearing the ground. Gavin braced himself, preparing to attack.
Morigna struck first.
She waved her staff and the ground rippled. Roots burst from the earth and coiled around the orcs’ legs liked dirt-caked ropes, yanking them from their feet. The ground rippled like a banner caught in the wind, and more of the Anathgrimm fell, their armor clanking as they lost their balance. For a wild instant Gavin wondered if they would be like turtles, held down by the weight of their armor and unable to stand, but the orcs started to regain their feet at once.
But in that moment of distraction, he struck.
Gavin raced forward, Truthseeker filling him with strength and speed. He whipped the soulblade around in a sideways slash, all his strength and the sword’s magic driving the blow, and the blade sheared through the exposed neck of the nearest Anathgrimm. The bone-masked head hopped off the armored shoulders in a spray of green blood and rolled away down the slope. Another Anathgrimm started to get to his feet near Gavin, raising his mace, and Gavin struck first. Truthseeker sheared through the warrior’s wrist, the mace rolling away, the hand still grasping its handle. The orc howled in pain and rage, and Gavin killed the warrior with a quick thrust.
Next to him Arandar crashed into the disorganized Anathgrimm line, Heartwarden blazing in his fist. Gavin was a competent swordsman by now, but Arandar was far better, a Swordbearer at the height of his physical strength with decades of experience. In the time it took Gavin to take two Anathgrimm, Arandar killed five of them, carving his way through the orcs with ease. A moment later Kharlacht and Caius crashed into the line as well, Kharlacht’s dark elven greatsword rising and falling. Caius had traded his mace for the massive two-handed dark elven war hammer he had taken from Urd Morlemoch’s armories, and he brought the huge weapon down in a tremendous swing. The head of blue steel smashed into an Anathgrimm warrior’s chest, crushing his cuirass and smashing the bone armor encircling his torso. Morigna waved her staff again, and more roots burst from the ground, reaching up to entangle the orcish warriors. The roots could not hold the Anathgrimm for long, but it was long enough for Gavin and the others to land killing blows. For a moment the Anathgrimm attack wavered, and Gavin thought they might win free.
Then Zhorlacht began another spell, flinging a lance of darkness and blue flame at Gavin. He jumped back, snapping his soulblade to guard position, and called upon the sword’s power for protection. The soulstone in the blade blazed like a star as the blast of dark magic struck Gavin, its power repelling the Anathgrimm wizard’s spell. That gave the orcish warri
ors near him a chance to reform, and when Zhorlacht’s spell unraveled, Gavin found himself facing a unified wall of shields. He lashed out with Truthseeker, putting all his strength into the blow. The soulblade left a deep crack in one the shields, but it did not break. A spear darted over one of the shields, and Gavin could not get out of the way in time. The spearhead pierced his leather jerkin and slammed against the plates of his dark elven armor. The armor held, but the sheer force of the blow rocked Gavin back, the breath exploding from his lungs. The Anathgrimm orcs rushed at him, and only the speed granted by Truthseeker’s power let him avoid their weapons. Around him the others retreated, forced back by the discipline and skill of the recovering orcish warriors.
Orcish warriors, Gavin realized, who had just received reinforcements.
Another group of Anathgrimm rushed around the base of the ridge, charging past the petrified orcs to attack Morigna, Jager, and Mara. Gavin wanted to aid them, but he dared not turn his attention from the warriors in front of him. Morigna whirled to face the new attackers, and conjured a wall of acidic mist across the slope, the ground hissing and smoking beneath the acid.
That proved less effective than Gavin hoped. The Anathgrimm simply closed their eyes, lowered their heads, and sprinted through the wall of mist. Their bone armor seemed immune to the acid, and the burns upon the exposed sections of their flesh did not appear to trouble them. Morigna cursed and began another spell, and Mara disappeared in a swirl of blue flame. She reappeared behind one of the Anathgrimm, opening the warrior’s throat with a quick slash of her short sword, and then whirled, tripped another, and disappeared. Jager sprang into the chaos left in her wake, quick as lightning, his short sword darting to stab and cut. Mara and Jager fought together remarkably well, and they gained enough time for Morigna to work more magic, the ground rippling beneath the feet of the warriors and knocking them over.
Gavin dispatched an orcish warrior and turned to face another foe. He did not manage to get his shield up in time, and the blow from the warrior’s mace clipped his shoulder. Pain exploded through him, and he stumbled back with a hiss. Again the Anathgrimm raised his mace, and Gavin just managed to get his shield up time. The steel head of the mace bounced off the shield, sending a fresh wave of pain down Gavin’s arm and into his chest.
Frostborn: The Gorgon Spirit Page 11