The Dark Warden (Book 6)

by Jonathan Moeller

  Calliande sighed. Brother Caius was indeed wise, and more perceptive than she might have liked.

  “Ridmark and Morigna,” she said.

  “They are scouting,” said Caius. “As they have been wont to do lately.”

  “Did you know that they have become lovers?” said Calliande.

  Caius blinked. “I…did not. I suspected they would, sooner or later, though a man should not lie with a woman who is not his wife.”

  “No,” said Calliande, looking at the sky. “Ridmark’s wife is dead. Five years…a man like him was not made for solitude, I think. A man like him has no trouble finding companionship, if he wishes it. I think…God have mercy, I think I am gossiping like an old woman.”

  “You are over two hundred years old, if your calculations are correct,” said Caius.

  “Which means I should know better,” said Calliande. “I should not gossip. Forget that I said anything.”

  “Of course,” said Caius. “Are you jealous?”

  Calliande stared at him.

  He stared back without blinking.

  “No,” said Calliande. “Yes. Perhaps. I don’t know.” She sighed and bounced her forehead off her knees. “I sound like a simpering fool.”

  “You sound,” said Caius, “like a woman who has known a great deal of loss and pain, and is uncertain about the path ahead.”

  “If you will pardon the flippancy,” said Calliande, “what do you know of such matters? Are not friars sworn to vows of chastity?”

  “So we are,” said Caius. “But…I was not always a friar. Not always. Nor was my name always Brother Caius. I had a life before I came to Andomhaim and then to the church. Quite a long one, by both the standards of dwarves and humans.” He smiled. “I am not as young as I look. Which I suppose makes me ancient indeed.”

  “A life before the church,” said Calliande. “One with pain?”

  “No life is without pain,” said Caius. “But instead of trying to cleverly deflect attention to my past, which is both boring and not presently relevant, we should talk about your present, which is likely much more important.”

  Calliande laughed a little. “I should know better than to get into a debate of wits with a preacher. Perhaps I did know that in my past life.”

  “So, then,” said Caius. “What troubles you about Morigna and Ridmark?”

  “I have no right to be troubled about them,” said Calliande.

  “It is wrong for a man to lie with a woman who is not his wife,” said Caius.

  “This is true,” said Calliande. “Yet I cannot blame him for it. Nor her. Because…” She hesitated, trying to put her thoughts in order.

  “Because,” said Caius, “you wish that it was you?”

  “Yes,” said Calliande. “What a fool I am, Brother Caius. The Frostborn are returning, and I have a duty to stop them however I can. Yet I think upon this instead of more important matters.”

  “Perhaps,” said Caius, “but it is still important. We go into battle, and a warrior must have something to fight for. You wish to save the world from the Frostborn, but what is the world made of but people? And who do you fight for, if not the people closest to you?”

  “Morigna is closer to Ridmark than I am,” said Calliande. “At least now.”

  “Does that anger you?” said Caius.

  “It should,” said Calliande, “but it does not. I told you I cannot blame him. It…almost happened between us, on the day the wyvern attacked. It shouldn’t have, though. I should have known better.”

  “Why not?” said Caius. “The Gray Knight is a valiant man, and you, my lady Magistria, if you will forgive the observation, are a most lovely woman. At least by the standards of humans.”

  “I don’t know myself,” said Calliande. “Not truly.”

  “That does not change who you are,” said Caius. “Mortal man or woman is defined by action, not by deed. Your deeds have been brave and loyal.”

  “Mortal man is defined by memory, too,” said Calliande. “I do not remember myself. I do not remember if I had a husband sleeping in some other ruin of the Order of the Vigilant. What if I do? How could betray him with Ridmark? And how could I betray Ridmark like that?”

  “Plainly you could not,” said Caius, “not in good conscience.”

  “No,” said Calliande. “And memory defines mortals in more ways than one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I do not know for certain,” said Calliande, “but I suspect you were once a high dwarven noble of the Three Kingdoms. Something happened to you. Something that made you listen to a missionary, leave the dwarven kingdoms, accept baptism and the Dominus Christus, and join the church as a mendicant friar. Am I wrong?”

  “You are not entirely accurate,” said Caius, “but, no, you are not wrong.”

  “Whatever happened to you,” said Calliande. “Whatever tragedy that made you leave the Three Kingdoms and join the church…if you forgot it, would you have still accepted baptism and a new name? Would you still be the man you are today?”

  “I suppose not,” said Caius. “I suspect I would have remained at Khald Tormen.”

  “You would be a different man,” said Calliande. “I don’t know who I really am. You say I am valiant and kind, but I can only remember the last eighty days or so. Suppose we succeed and I recover my memories. I will become again the woman that I was. How might that change me?”

  “Surely not for the worse,” said Caius.

  “Do you think so?” said Calliande. “I was willing to seal myself away below the Tower of Vigilance for centuries. I had to know that everyone I ever knew or loved would be dead by the time I awoke. Any friends. Any brothers or sisters.” The brief memory of her father, the one thing she recalled from her past life, flashed before her eyes. “Even a husband and children, if they did not go into the long sleep with me. Everyone I ever knew. I was willing to outlive them and awake into a world of strangers, all to stop the Frostborn.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “What kind of woman does such a thing to herself?”

  “A brave one,” said Caius.

  “Bravery and folly are not mutually exclusive,” said Calliande. “Nor are they separate from pride. Perhaps I was a proud fool, and am now paying the price for it.”

  “You do not know that for certain,” said Caius, “so it is foolish to castigate yourself for something that you may not have even done.”

  “I know,” said Calliande, taking a deep breath. “I know this, too. Let us say that I followed the desires of my heart and body and seduced Ridmark. Then I recovered my memories, and they changed me into another woman entirely. Would that be fair to him? Or to me?”

  “Likely not,” said Caius.

  “So, you see, I am not angry with Morigna,” said Calliande. “How could I be, for taking the opportunity when I could not?” She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against her knees for a moment, and then took a deep breath and looked Caius in the eye. “I hope she brings him joy, maybe even convinces him to leave some of his guilt behind. I hope he is a good influence upon her, because God knows that she is entirely too much in love with power. And I hope she does not lead him down a dark path, because he is in more pain than he understands.”

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  “You are wiser than you know, my lady Magistria,” said Caius at last.

  “No, I’m not,” said Calliande. “A wiser woman would not find herself in this dilemma in the first place.”

  “I am an old man,” said Caius, “and I have learned that we cannot control our hearts. Not even the khaldari, the dwarves, who prize becoming as cold and hard and unyielding as stone. We can only govern our actions.”

  “Simple to say,” said Calliande, “but harder to do.”

  “The best advice always is.”

  That made Calliande laugh. “Fine words from a preacher.”

  “It does make delivering a sermon easier,” said Caius. He peered into the deepening gloom.

&n
bsp; “What is it?” said Calliande, getting to her feet. Caius could see better in the dark than she could.

  “Ridmark and Morigna return,” said Caius. “I think Ridmark has been wounded.”

  They came into sight. Morigna had her bow and tattered cloak. Ridmark matched her pace, but he was leaning more heavily upon his staff than was his wont, and the right side of his chest was shiny with blood.

  Calliande stifled a curse and hurried into the tower. The others got to their feet, reaching for their weapons, and Ridmark walked through the stone arch, Morigna trailing after him.

  “What happened?” rumbled Kharlacht, his greatsword in his hands.

  “Urvaalgs,” said Ridmark. He looked almost haunted. “Two of them. Took us off guard.”

  “Two urvaalgs?” said Jager. “And you’re still alive?”

  His smile was nearly a rictus.

  “I don’t want history,” said Ridmark, “to repeat itself.”

  ###

  Ridmark sat against the wall as Calliande examined the cuts across his ribs.

  “They have to be cleaned first,” said Calliande, frowning as she concentrated. “Urvaalgs have all kinds of poisons upon their talons, and if I heal the cuts first, I might seal up the poison within you.” She dabbed at one of the gashes, every touch sending a pulse of pain through his chest.

  He had endured worse.

  “You know what you are doing,” said Ridmark. “Do as you think best.”

  “This will likely hurt,” said Calliande.

  “That seems a just punishment,” said Ridmark, “for the folly of having an urvaalg slip past my guard. Certainly the consequences could have been worse.”

  Calliande frowned. “You think this is your fault.”

  Ridmark said nothing. Morigna stood at the other side of the tower, alternating between bickering with Jager and glaring at Calliande. She knew that Calliande could heal him, but Morigna nonetheless did not like Calliande touching him.

  Though considering how badly his side hurt, there was nothing enjoyable in the sensation.

  “I should have paid better attention,” said Ridmark.

  Calliande nodded. “The urvaalgs caught you off-guard, while you were distracted.”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “I should have known better.”

  “Your attention never wanders,” said Calliande, dabbing away a bit of crusted blood. “The only thing that I can think of that might distract you would…”

  He blinked and they looked at each other for a moment.

  “Oh,” said Calliande with a bit of embarrassment. “Forgive me. I did not mean to pry.”

  Ridmark closed his eyes. “How long have you known?”

  “Since the night before we left the Iron Tower,” said Calliande. “You went into the woods during the wedding feast. I thought you just wanted to be alone. But Morigna had already gone into the woods, and, well…neither of you came back until much later. It wasn’t hard to realize what had happened.”

  Ridmark sighed. “I didn’t plan it. I did want to be alone. Then I happened across her and, well…”

  “Nature took its course?” said Calliande. “That seems the most polite of the available euphemisms.”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “She was…insistent. Though the responsibility is mine.”

  Calliande snorted. “Knowing Morigna, I am sure she would insist that the responsibility is hers alone.”

  “I should have been on my guard,” said Ridmark. “Else those urvaalgs would not have caught us.”

  “Urvaalgs are stealthy,” said Calliande, discarding one cloth and picking up another. “And if…ah, nature was taking its course, I imagine you would have been distracted.”

  “It was after,” said Ridmark. “So I am merely a partial fool, rather than a complete one.”

  “That would have been an ignoble end,” said Calliande, “ripped apart while you were sporting with your lover the wild sorceress.”

  Ridmark looked at her.

  “No, no,” said Calliande, squeezing the bridge of her nose. “Forgive me. That was…inappropriate. You owe me nothing, and I have no right to mock you like that.”

  “Do not chastise yourself,” said Ridmark. “I owe you a great deal. You have saved my life not once but many times, and you have healed my wounds again and again. I promised you that I would help you find your staff and your memory, and if I live long enough I will do so.”

  A ghost of a smile appeared on her face. “I would not have been able to save your life if you first had not saved mine.”

  “And if,” said Ridmark, thinking of the kiss they had shared the day the wyvern had poisoned Kharlacht, “and if things had been…different, if we had been different people. Or if we had met at a different time. I wish things could have been different.”

  Her smile was sad. “So do I, Ridmark Arban. But we are who we are, I fear.”

  “And we have a duty,” said Ridmark.

  “To stop the return of the Frostborn,” said Calliande.

  Ridmark nodded. He was starting to get a headache. Likely the day’s exertions had caught up to him. “I cannot do it without your help.”

  “Nor can I do it without yours,” said Calliande. She hesitated. “Are we friends?”

  “Very good friends,” said Ridmark. “Always.”

  Her smile was wider than it had been in some time.

  “Though given what awaits us in Urd Morlemoch,” said Ridmark, “always may not be a very long time.”

  Calliande laughed, drawing a suspicious look from Morigna, who then glared at Jager. “Someday we shall have a conversation without you saying something gloomy, and then the sun will stop overhead and water will flow uphill.” She dabbed a little more blood from the cuts. “These can be healed safely now, I think. Brace yourself.”

  “This is harder on you than it is me,” said Ridmark.

  Calliande shrugged. “I’ve healed much worse.”

  She lifted her hands, white light burning to life around them, and waved a palm over the cuts. One by one she healed the wounds. Ridmark felt a strange cold sensation as she did, and the pain vanished. He knew that she had to take the pain of the wounds into herself, that some Magistri simply could not heal because they could not endure the pain. Calliande did not cry out, though her lips thinned to a tight line and her eyes narrowed, a muscle twitching in the side of her neck.

  At last she sighed and slumped back. “Done. How do you feel?”

  “Fine,” said Ridmark. “A headache, but nothing serious.”

  She frowned and placed a palm on his forehead. “You didn’t hit your head, did you? You’re likely dehydrated from the blood loss, though the healing will help with that. Go drink water until you’re sloshing like a barrel.”

  “As you command,” said Ridmark, and Calliande smiled and gathered up her supplies. “Thank you.” She nodded, and Ridmark retrieved a fresh tunic and jerkin and donned his gray cloak, returning the dwarven axe to its loop at his belt.

  “How are you feeling?” said Morigna when he rejoined the others.

  “Better,” said Ridmark.

  “Quite remarkable, really,” said Jager, “given that I had seen butchered pigs with less blood upon them.”

  “Calliande knows her business,” said Ridmark. Morigna’s eyes narrowed a bit, but she said nothing.

  “It occurs to me,” said Kharlacht, “that if you slew two urvaalgs, others may be nearby. We must take precautions.”

  “How will we guard against them?” said Gavin. “They’re hard enough to see in daylight. At night they’ll be almost invisible.”

  “My spell,” said Morigna. “To sense when someone walks upon the earth. I can cast it around the base of the tower.”

  Ridmark frowned. “Will you not have to stay awake to maintain it?”

  “I can cast it as a ward,” said Morigna. “It will not be as effective, true, but urvaalgs are heavy. Their weight upon the earth will activate the spell. It will wake me at once, and I can sou
nd the alarm.”

  “What if one of those ugly ravens chances to land upon the slope?” said Kharlacht.

  “That will wake me up, too,” said Morigna. “Given how close we are to Urd Morlemoch, one suspects that an overabundance of caution would not go amiss.”

  “True,” said Ridmark, looking around. “Where’s Mara? Didn’t she…”

  Even as he spoke, a column of blue fire swirled next to him, and Mara appeared out of nothingness.

  “It’s coming!” she said, the blue fire fading from her veins and eyes. “I think it followed me here!”

  “What?” said Jager. “What’s coming?”

  “The urhaalgar,” said Mara. “It is…”

  A small dark shape darted through the arch of the ruined tower and skidded to a stop. The creature was gaunt, and about Jager’s height. Gleaming black scales armored its thin body, and hundreds of bony spines jutted from its back and the sides of its arms and legs, every spine dripping with poison. A long, barbed tongue rolled over its fangs, and its eyes burned like coals.

  The creature was an urhaalgar. The urvaalgs had been war beasts, but the dark elves had used urhaalgars as spies and assassins and infiltrators. The creatures could move with perfect stealth, and when they put their minds to it, they were even harder to find than an urvaalg.

  So why had this one shown itself?

  Before Ridmark could consider any further, the urhaalgar threw itself forward with a screech.

  A blast of white fire shot across the ground, filling the ruined tower with dazzling radiance. Calliande’s spell slammed into the urhaalgar and threw it against the wall with enough force to crack bone. The creature staggered, the right side of its body a mass of smoking char.

  Ridmark took off its head with one sweep of his axe. The urhaalgar collapsed, black slime leaking from the stump of its neck.

  “Brace yourselves,” said Ridmark. “There will be more coming. Urhaalgars never hunt alone.”

  “No,” said Mara. “It wasn’t after us. Gray Knight, there’s someone else out there. A man, I think, a knight of Andomhaim.”

  “A knight?” said Ridmark.