The Dark Warden (Book 6)

by Jonathan Moeller

  He was here, with them, in the threshold.

  “Mara,” said Morigna.

  “Almost there,” said Mara. “I need…”

  The man reached up and removed his spectacles, and Morigna flinched.

  His eyes were missing. Instead he had clusters of barbed tentacles, each one tipped with a razor-edged claw. His mouth yawned wide, far wider than a human mouth could open, and a rough black tongue rolled over jagged fangs. The black suit shredded as he hunched over, bony spines jutting from his legs and arms. Suddenly he looked a cross between a lizard and a insect.

  A cross between a lizard and an insect that was hungry.

  “Mara!” said Morigna, summoning her magic as the creature charged.

  Mara’s eyes opened, then opened wider, and she raised the dwarven dagger.

  Morigna focused her magic, the dark power she had stolen from the soulstone surging through her. For a moment she did not know what to do. She could have commanded the earth to fold and ripple beneath the creature, or roots to come up and encircle it, but she was reasonably certain that she was not standing on actual earth and that it held no roots.

  The answer came to her.

  She raised her palm and focused the power as the patterns for a new spell burned in her mind, and a blast of eerie blue flame erupted from her fingers and struck the charging creature. It staggered to a halt with a scream. The creature collapsed, the wrath of the magic burning it to ashes.

  Morigna gaped in astonishment. She hadn’t meant to hit it that hard.

  “What did you do?” said Mara, who looked as surprised as Morigna felt.

  “I do not know,” said Morigna. “I…”

  A dozen more men in suits surged through the crowd below the buildings, changing shape and growing more monstrous with every step.

  “Brace yourself!” said Mara, reversing her grip on the dagger.

  Morigna raised both hands and unleashed spells. Instead of folding the earth, her will flung a wave of snarling blue flame at the charging creatures, burning three of them to ashes. She cast the spell to summon roots, and instead howling coils of blue flame erupted from the ground and wrapped around the creatures. The coils burned into their flesh, black slime erupting from the wounds, and sent them tumbling to the ground in death agonies. Mara moved with sleek grace, the dwarven dagger driving into a creature’s heart. In the same motion she wheeled and opened another creature’s throat. Whatever the things were, they apparently needed to breathe, and the creature fell, choking on the black slime that served as its blood. Morigna burned down another, and another, the new power surging through her like a storm. Exultation filled her. She had never wielded power like this before. If the Old Man faced her now, he would not find her so easy to overcome.

  But even the new power was not enough. More of the misshapen things emerged from the mists, and Morigna felt the limits of her new power. Even with the stolen magic, she could not hold back the creatures for much longer. She flung out a blast of blue fire and threw the creatures back, sending them rolling across the road as the vehicles shot through them.

  And as Morigna did, she saw the figure watching her.

  It stood beyond the creatures, wearing a long black coat with a hood that concealed its features. Gloved hands gripped a long black staff, its length carved with odd symbols. Was that figure commanding the creatures?

  The hooded shape raised its staff, and the symbols pulsed with yellow-orange light, as if flames burned within the staff’s core. Morigna sensed the surge of magical power, and she prepared to strike back.

  But there was no need.

  The figure thrust the staff and a wall of flames erupted from the ground, rolling forward in a wave. The inferno ripped through the gathered creatures, reducing their flesh to ash and sending their bones rolling across the ground. The heat of the firestorm made Morigna’s eyes water.

  It was too much for the creatures. The survivors fled in all directions, some of them still on fire. The hooded shape lowered the glowing staff, the long coat whipping in the wind from the flames, and Morigna saw the figure was a woman. Beneath the long coat she wore dusty boots, faded black trousers, a long vest, and a ragged black shirt.

  The flames died away, the last of the creatures fleeing, and Morigna stared at the woman in the black coat.

  Mara spoke first. “Thank you for your assistance. I fear things would have gone badly if not for your help.”

  “Latin,” said the hooded woman. Her voice had an odd, worn rasp to it. “You…are speaking Latin?”

  “We are,” said Mara.

  “A long time,” said the woman. “I have not heard someone speaking Latin for a long time.” She snorted. “At least not as a native speaker. The priests try, but…it is not the same.”

  “If you will forgive the question,” said Mara, “might my friend and I know your identity?”

  The hooded woman was silent for a long moment. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “Why,” said Morigna, “would we hesitate? You did save our lives. Unless, one suspects, you have an ulterior motive.”

  “I do,” said the woman. “You know the Keeper, don’t you?” A strange note entered that worn voice. Hope? Desperation? Fear? Morigna could not tell. “I can sense the echo of her magic upon you.”

  Morigna and Mara shared a look.

  “The Keeper?” said Morigna. This woman knew Calliande? That seemed unlikely. Calliande had never mentioned knowing a hooded woman with command of magical fire. Of course, Calliande couldn’t remember anything that happened before three months past.

  Had this woman known Calliande before she went into the long sleep?

  “The Keeper of Avalon,” said the hooded woman. “She left this world with Malahan Pendragon long ago, when all hope seemed lost, when the darkness threatened to swallow the world.” She waved her staff at the opening gate. “The magic of the gate drew my notice. I recognized it. It was the same magic that opened the gate to the world where the Keeper went with Malahan. You are from that world. You know the Keeper, I am sure of it.”

  “Let us propose a bargain, then,” said Morigna. “If you tell us who you are, we shall tell you what we know of the Keeper.”

  The woman laughed without humor. “Very well. Though you might not enjoy the knowledge.”

  She drew back her hood, and Morigna managed not to flinch.

  Beneath the hood the woman’s skin was the pallid gray of a corpse, her face marked with deep scars. Her eyes were a harsh, vivid yellow, the color of sulfur, her hair a brittle mane of black.

  “Not a pleasant sight, is it?” said the woman.

  “I have seen worse,” said Mara.

  The scarred woman laughed. “You are kind.”

  “Thank you,” said Mara, “but I really have seen worse.”

  The yellow eyes narrowed. “I suppose you have, at that.”

  “How shall we address you?” said Mara.

  “I do not remember my name,” said the woman. “It has been too long. You may call me Antenora, if you wish.”

  “Antenora?” said Morigna.

  “A poem,” said Antenora. “Long ago, there was a poet named Dante. He wrote of heaven and hell and the realms between, and named the nine circles of hell. In the circle of Antenora he housed the blackest traitors. I took the name Antenora to myself when I read his poem, for I am a traitor.”

  “A traitor?” said Morigna. “Whom did you betray?”

  “Myself,” said Antenora. “A better man than myself. A better woman than myself. But it was so long ago. I have suffered for it. Do you not see?” She gestured at her scarred, corpse-like face. “I have suffered and suffered, and still it is not enough. Tell me what you know of the Keeper.”

  “We are hard-pressed for time,” said Mara, “so I will be brief. The Keeper is on our world, and she has taken it upon herself to defend our realm from the Frostborn, fell creatures from another world. She is in grave danger. A sorcerer of the dark elves has seized her body f
or his own, and will use her soul to power this gate.” She waved a hand at the sheet of blue-green fire. “Once the gate is open, the sorcerer will come through and use his power to subjugate Old Earth.”

  “I will fight him,” said Antenora. “I have stood in the Keeper’s stead to defend this world from the powers of dark magic. Often I have failed, but if this sorcerer comes, I will fight him.”

  “Then you will fail again,” said Morigna. “Your magic is strong, but his is stronger by far. He will sweep you from his path.”

  The venomous yellow eyes narrowed. “I sense the taint of dark magic within you. Perhaps you are allied with this sorcerer.”

  Morigna glared right back. “And what of you? By your own words you have betrayed one of the Keeper’s predecessors. Perhaps you wish to continue with her successor?”

  Antenora snarled in silence, the runes upon her staff bursting into flame.

  “For God’s sake!” said Mara. “This is not the time to squabble. That sorcerer is about to open his gate, and if he comes through, he will conquer this world in a day.” She smiled a cold smile. “And…you owe the Keeper a debt, do you not, Antenora? Or a debt to her successor? If the sorcerer comes through the gate, he’ll destroy the Keeper in the process, and you will never have a chance to repay your debt.”

  “If the Keeper is in danger upon your world, we must aid her,” said Antenora.

  “I can get us back,” said Mara. “But I will need to concentrate for a few moments to gather my strength. Can you keep those…creatures from attacking us for that long?”

  Antenora smiled. “The cockroaches, you mean?”

  “Those are the largest roaches one has ever seen,” said Morigna.

  “Then you have never been to New York,” said Antenora. “Or Novum Eboracum, I suppose you would say. Suffice it to say the creatures swarm like cockroaches. They are the scavengers that haunt the ways between the worlds. The raw magic radiating from this gate will draw them like flies to carrion.” She lifted her staff. “I will hold them off while you gather your power. And then I shall follow you to your world.”

  “How precisely shall you accomplish that?” said Morigna.

  “I know how a gate between worlds works,” said Antenora. “The thresholds of the two worlds must be joined before physical passage is possible. Once you have returned to your world, I shall transit to your world’s threshold, and make my way from there.” She turned, fire crackling down the black staff. “Go! Already the scavengers return. Tell the Keeper I shall find her. I shall repay my debt. Go!”

  More men in dark suits appeared, striding through the speeding vehicles, and they changed, claws and tentacles and spikes sprouting from their limbs and faces.

  “Help her,” said Mara, putting one hand on Morigna’s shoulder and closing her eyes. “And stay in physical contact with me. When I go, I think you’ll have to be touching me to come along.”

  “I should not dream of letting go,” said Morigna, summoning her own magic.

  She flung bolts of blue flame at the charging scavengers, striking down one after another. Antenora’s magic was more effective. The scarred sorceress summoned gales of flame, reducing the creatures to heaps of charred bone covered in smoking ash. Waves of heat rolled over Morigna, and Antenora’s long coat billowed behind her in the hot wind. Her magic did not seem that different than Morigna’s, save that Antenora’s power commanded fire instead of earth and air.

  Mara threw back her head and screamed, her fingers digging into Morigna’s shoulder.

  Blue fire rose up to devour her, and everything went black.

  Chapter 20 - Knights

  Mara awoke and found herself lying upon a floor of chill stone, the cold wind moaning around her.

  Her first thought that she was desperately tried of waking up on the floor. She had spent years sleeping in alleys and fields and forests, but she had a soft bed in Jager’s house in Coldinium, and she really ought to start using it.

  Then the memories forced themselves through the sluggish ache filling her brain, and she sat up.

  Once again she was stop the highest tower of Urd Morlemoch. A ring of blue fire blazed through the hills outside the ruins, encircling Urd Morlemoch entirely. The Sight revealed colossal currents of magic moving around the citadel, pouring into the gate the Warden was opening in the grand circle to the east. The spells upon the menhirs seemed puny by comparison. Jager and Ridmark and all the others remained transfixed against the menhirs, still bound in the spell.

  How long had Mara been gone? An hour? If the Warden was right, if the river of time flowed faster upon Old Earth, it would have been longer. They would not have much time before the Warden completed his spell and opened the gate.

  “Morigna?” said Mara, getting to her feet. If she had left the sorceress behind in the threshold of Old Earth…

  “I am here.” Morigna limped into sight, leaning upon her staff. She looked as weary as Mara felt. “Thank you. I feared we would not escape that place.”

  “What of Antenora?” said Mara. “Do you see her?”

  Morigna shook her head. “Unless you brought her back with us, I fear she shall have to find her own path to Andomhaim.”

  “I dislike leaving her at the mercy of those creatures,” said Mara.

  Morigna barked a laugh. “Better to say we left those creatures at her mercy. She seems to have experience dealing with them. We must attend to our own problems.” She turned to face the stone circle, the blue glow from the soulstones and the Warden’s floating sphere falling over her face. “I believe I can dispel the enchantments with the power I have taken.”

  “Is that safe?” said Mara, watching the taller woman with unease. “That was dark magic. It…”

  “This is Urd Morlemoch,” said Morigna, her voice harsh. “Nothing in here is safe, and I will not leave Ridmark to die in that spell!” She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and opened them again. When she did, the glimmer of blue light had returned. “Guard me, please, while I cast the spell.”

  Mara nodded and adjusted her grip on the dwarven dagger. Morigna closed her eyes and gestured, blue fire flaring around her fingers, beneath her skin, and in the sigils of her staff. The Sight showed Mara the power that Morigna gathered. It was quite a bit more magic than Morigna had even been able to summon before.

  Just what had that dark magic done to her?

  Morigna shouted and slammed her staff against the floor, and bursts of blue flame lanced from her to strike the menhirs.

  For a moment nothing happened.

  Then the spell upon the circle simply collapsed, and the men pinned to the menhirs fell motionless to the ground.

  ###

  Ridmark Arban’s head swam.

  Two sets of memories warred inside his mind. In one he was a husband, a father, a Swordbearer of the court of Dux Gareth of the Licinii, living at Castra Marcaine with his wife and children. In another he was an exiled wanderer, grim and alone, forever seeking the answer to the question of the Frostborn.

  The seeking had nearly killed him, and the finding of it certainly had.

  Ridmark reached for the set of memories he wished to keep, but they faded away like mist in the dawn.

  A woman’s voice filled his ears.

  “Wake up,” she said. “Can you hear me? Ridmark, can you hear me?”

  His eyes opened.

  He was lying on cold stone, ribbons of blue fire dancing across the black sky overhead. A woman was looking down at him, a woman with hard black eyes, black hair pulled away from her lean face, her hands grasping either side of his head, those black eyes full of doubt and anguish.

  Aelia?

  No.

  “Morigna?” said Ridmark.

  He sat up, and she pulled him close in a tight embrace.

  “I thought,” she whispered, “I thought you might not awaken, that…”

  “Awaken from what?” said Ridmark, and suddenly all the memories came crashing back. Calliande and the soulstone. Urd Mo
rlemoch and Valakoth. The Warden and the Frostborn…and the gate to Old Earth.

  “Oh,” said Ridmark. “We are in a lot of trouble, aren’t we?”

  “I am afraid so,” said Morigna.

  “Then we had best move,” said Ridmark, getting to his feet and looking around.

  The others were awakening. Mara knelt by Jager, helping him up, and for once the master thief had no joke upon his lips. One by one the others stood, looking around and blinking. Outside of Urd Morlemoch a ring of blue fire burned through the hills, leaping from the rings of standing stones, and to the east a blue-green fire shone like a fallen star.

  “I am surprised,” said Caius at last, “that we are still alive.”

  “I am sorry,” said Ridmark. “I warned you against this, all of you. I told you we might come to this end if we came to Urd Morlemoch…”

  “Yet we followed you nonetheless,” said Morigna. “What is done is done. What matters is what we do next.”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “You are right.”

  “How did we escape from that false dream?” said Gavin, pushing back his sweaty hair. “It seemed…it seemed so real.”

  “The Gray Knight was right,” said Mara with a smile. “The spell didn’t work properly on me. I was able to break free and awaken Morigna, and she broke the spell on the rest of you.”

  “Thank you,” said Ridmark. “Both of you. That must not have been easy.”

  For a moment Morigna looked haunted. “You have no idea.”

  “It was a bold deed, my love,” said Jager, “but I fear all that remains for us is to choose how to die.”

  Arandar scowled. “Do not speak counsels of despair.” He drew Heartwarden, pain pulsing through Ridmark’s skull, and pointed the soulblade of the floating globe of light that held the Warden’s previous body. “Perhaps if we destroy that body, it will collapse the villain’s spells.”

  “Do not bother,” said Morigna. “Not even a soulblade could penetrate the globe. The sun will burn out and the world crumble into ash before that globe fades.”