The Dark Warden (Book 6)

by Jonathan Moeller

“Then we must pursue the Warden and destroy him,” said Arandar

  Gavin frowned. “You would kill Lady Calliande?”

  “I fear Lady Calliande is already lost to us,” said Arandar. “The Warden has taken her flesh for his own.”

  “The point is moot,” said Jager. “We decide to fight the Warden, fine. How could we overcome him? You saw his magic. He handled us as easily as if we were kittens. If we attack him, he shall slaughter us all. Or more likely, the urvaalgs and his glowing orcs will kill us along before we get anywhere near him.”

  “Then let us die as warriors,” said Kharlacht, “rather than trapped in a dream, or hiding in the ruins until the Devout find us.”

  “Is that it, then?” said Mara. “We have come this far and faced so much only to die here?”

  “I fear it is so,” said Caius.

  Arandar shook his head, sighed, and closed his eyes. “I see no other way.”

  “If my father could see me now,” said Jager, “I do not know if he would laugh or weep.” He drew himself up. “Well, if we are to die in one glorious last charge, let us…”

  “Wait,” said Ridmark.

  Again they all looked at him.

  “How did you break the spell?” said Ridmark. “The Warden’s magic should have been too strong for you.”

  Morigna hesitated. She looked almost embarrassed for a moment. “I…Mara transported herself away from the menhir. That caused the spell on her soulstone to collapse. I was able…”

  “Then the spells on us were powered by the soulstones?” said Ridmark.

  Mara nodded. “They were.”

  “Mara. What happened to your soulstone?” said Ridmark. “The one powering the spell upon you?”

  “I…don’t know, come to think of it,” said Mara.

  Ridmark hurried out of the circle, looking at the altars. Most of the soulstones still shone with the cold blue fire of the Warden’s magic.

  But the one against Mara’s menhir had gone dark.

  Ridmark picked it up. It was larger than the one Calliande had carried, its surface rougher.

  “Mara,” he said as the others stepped out of the circle. “You have the Sight. The stone. It’s empty?”

  “Aye,” said Mara. “But it’s still linked to the spells upon the menhirs, and those are tied to the wards around Urd Morlemoch. I suppose a powerful enough sorcerer could use it to draw upon the power of Urd Morlemoch’s wards.”

  “That would be a foolish idea,” said Morigna. “Those wards seal their master’s original body within Urd Morlemoch.” She waved a hand at the globe of blue light. “Any fool trying to use the power of those wards would imprison himself here, just as the Warden did.”

  Ridmark stared at the milky crystal of the soulstone, his mind sorting through everything he had ever heard about soulstones. Suddenly he felt the way he had in the hour before the great battle outside of Dun Licinia, the day he had taken command of the High Kingdom’s host. Utterly calm, his mind racing to consider the weapons at his disposal, and the iron certainty that he was about to face the fight of his life.

  Now the stakes even higher than the dark day he had fought Mhalek and his horde.

  “The soulstone is empty,” said Ridmark. “Nature abhors a vacuum, is that not what the philosophers say? Pour water into an empty vessel and it fills up.”

  “So what?” said Morigna.

  “So what would happen,” said Ridmark, “if we took this soulstone, still linked to the spells upon Urd Morlemoch…and touched it to Calliande while the Warden’s spirit was inside her body?”

  Morigna frowned. “I…do not know. I think…”

  She fell silent, her brow furrowing.

  “Oh,” said Mara. “Oh. Oh!” Her mouth hung open in surprise as she waved her hands. “That…that would work! That would actually work!”

  “Mara?” said Jager.

  “What would work?” said Morigna, and then her eyes went wide. “It would! Ridmark!” She reached up and kissed him hard upon the mouth. “Clever man!”

  “For those of us who are not so clever,” said Arandar with asperity, “would you please explain what is going on?”

  Kharlacht shrugged. “You get used to it.”

  “The Warden’s body is trapped within Urd Morlemoch,” said Ridmark. “He’s been looking for a suitable replacement for millennia, one strong enough to allow him to wield his magic, and who better than the Keeper of Avalon? That’s why he let me go all those years ago. He looked into the shadows of my future, and realized that I might one day return with the Keeper of Avalon. The he could take Calliande’s body for his own and abandon this world to the Frostborn. All he needs to do is cross over to Old Earth in Calliande’s body, and he’ll be free forever.”

  “Go on,” said Jager.

  “But this,” said Ridmark, holding up the rough soulstone in his fist, “this is still linked to his wards. It’s still linked to the spells binding his old body to Urd Morlemoch…and it’s empty. Do you not see?” He looked at each of them. “If we touch it to Calliande, it will pull out his spirit and return it to his original body. He’ll be trapped in Urd Morlemoch once more…”

  “Then we take Calliande’s body and run like hell?” said Jager.

  “That is the plan, yes,” said Ridmark.

  “Clever indeed,” said Morigna. “I was ready to despair.”

  “It could work,” said Arandar. “If we fight our way through the Warden’s guardians. But will the Warden himself not destroy us?”

  “Easily resolved,” said Jager. “My darling wife uses her power, travels behind Calliande, and sucks out the Warden’s soul before he even realizes what is happening.”

  “Actually,” said Mara. “I can’t travel while holding an empty soulstone. I tried at the Iron Tower. An empty soulstone is too…heavy, sort of. Like a magical anchor.”

  “Then the odds are still against us,” said Arandar.

  “They are,” said Mara, “but perhaps not as much as you think.” She gestured at the ring of blue fire. “Look at all that light, sir knight. All of the Warden’s power is going into opening the gate. He will not have much left to spare for us. This time you might find Heartwarden will give you a shield against his power.”

  “That is another concern,” said Kharlacht. “Gray Knight, you have your axe, I have my dark elven greatsword, and the Swordbearer has a soulblade. We will surely face urvaalgs and worse things, and the others only have the dwarven daggers. How will we fight the beasts of the dark elves?”

  “There is an armory several levels below us,” said Ridmark. “We shall help ourselves to weapons and armor of dark elven steel. I will not lose any sleep by stealing from the Warden.”

  “Given the magnitude of his crimes,” said Caius, “I think we will not need to seek absolution for it.”

  “There is one other advantage we can give ourselves,” said Ridmark. He pointed at the stone table that held the skull of Judicaeus Carhaine and the sheathed soulblade Truthseeker. “We can give ourselves another Swordbearer.”

  Arandar blinked, looked at Ridmark, at Gavin, and then back at Ridmark.

  He started to smile.

  “You should take up the sword,” said Morigna, “if Heartwarden is to be denied you.”

  Ridmark shook his head. “I cannot. If I have broken my bond with one soulblade, another would reject me.”

  “Don’t look at me,” said Jager.

  “Believe me, no one was,” said Morigna.

  “Nor me,” said Mara. There was a glint in her eye. Likely she had realized what Ridmark intended. “I am half dark elven. If the sword would reject you, imagine what it would do to me.”

  “I am unworthy to bear a soulblade,” said Kharlacht, though the orc gave Ridmark a shallow nod. “I have too many failures in my past.”

  “The Dominus Christus forgives all sins,” said Caius, “to those who repent. But I, too, am unable to take up the soulblade. I have already given my vows as a mendicant friar, and I canno
t spill blood with the edge of the sword.”

  “Though the blunt edge of the mace is allowed?” said Kharlacht.

  “It is,” said Caius, “as many a Mhorite and Devout orc has discovered.”

  “Then,” said Gavin, “that would mean…”

  His brown eyes went wide as he understood.

  “No,” said Gavin. “No, I’m not worthy of it.”

  “Does not the Master of the Order and the Magistri create new Swordbearers?” said Morigna.

  “The Master does,” said Arandar, “but upon the field of battle, there is often no time for ceremony. A Swordbearer can pick up a fallen brother’s blade and bestow it upon a recipient he deems worthy, one who has displayed exceptional valor. Many new Swordbearers were made in such a fashion during the first days of our Order, when the urdmordar and their hordes besieged the walls of Tarlion itself.”

  “But I am not worthy of this honor,” said Gavin.

  “It is not an honor but a burden,” said Ridmark, “and you are worthy of it. You saw the danger in Aranaeus, Gavin, and you went alone into the Wilderland to find help. You refused to believe the lies around you, and when the arachar took your neighbors, you faced an urdmordar to help rescue them. Since leaving Aranaeus and Urd Arowyn, you have faced dangerous foes beyond count, and you have not flinched.”

  “I have only known you a few days,” said Arandar, “but I have seen your bravery. You have never shown your back to the foe. You walked into this place of horror without fleeing. Few men could do the same. Do so with Truthseeker in hand, and you will have a far greater chance of defeating the foes you face.”

  “But you need to take the soulblade,” said Gavin. “To prove your son’s innocence, to rescue your children from Tarrabus. I cannot take it.”

  Arandar smiled. “Even if I present the blade to Tarrabus, it still belongs to the Order, and would be granted to a new Swordbearer in time. You should be that Swordbearer, Gavin.”

  “I’m only sixteen years old,” said Gavin.

  “I was eighteen when I became a Swordbearer,” said Ridmark, “and at that age I had not seen a third of the foes you have seen.”

  “Just take the damned sword already,” said Morigna. “As much as it pains me to admit it, you are certainly a far worthier bearer of the weapon than many we have met from the High Kingdom.”

  “High praise, indeed,” said Gavin. He blew out a long breath. “So be it. If it is necessary…then I will take up Truthseeker.”

  “Then let us proceed at once,” said Arandar, crossing to the table and picking up Truthseeker. He gazed at Judicaeus Carhaine’s skull for a brief moment, and then shrugged and tucked it away in his belt pouch. “Whatever lows Tarrabus might have sunk to, there is no doubt that Judicaeus himself was a brave man. What is left of his mortal remains should lie in honor below the Basilica of the Knights in Tarlion.”

  “I agree,” said Ridmark.

  “Gavin, take this,” said Arandar, holding out the sheathed soulblade. Gavin swallowed and took Truthseeker in both hands. The soulstone embedded in the base of the blade started to flicker a little at his touch. “Now kneel, with both hands around the hilt.”

  Gavin nodded and knelt, the sword between his hands, the sheathed tip resting upon the white stone of Urd Morlemoch. Arandar lowered Heartwarden and placed the flat of the blade upon Gavin’s left shoulder. The sword’s white flame grew brighter, and some of the light seemed to sink into Gavin.

  “Gavin of Aranaeus,” said Arandar. “Do you swear in the name of God and the Dominus Christus to wield this soulblade against creatures of dark magic? If you agree, say that you so swear.”

  Gavin swallowed. “I so swear.”

  “Do you swear to defend the weak, to succor the orphan, to guard the widow, and to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves?”

  “I so swear.”

  “Do you swear to stand ever vigilant against the urdmordar, the dark elves, the dvargir, the undead, the Frostborn, and any other creatures of dark magic or wielders of dark magic?”

  “I so swear.”

  Arandar nodded. “Do you swear to keep to all these promises in the face of torment and death?”

  “I so swear,” said Gavin, his fingers tight against Truthseeker’s hilt.

  Arandar lifted Heartwarden and placed the blade upon Gavin’s other shoulder. “Then by my authority as a Knight of the Order of the Soulblade, I grant you the soulblade Truthseeker. Wield it wisely and well, and hold always to your oaths.”

  Heartwarden blazed with white light, a corresponding spike of pain going through Ridmark’s skull. He staggered a bit, and Morigna’s fingers closed tight around his arm. Truthseeker answered with a similar pulse of white flame, the soulstone in its blade shining like a piece of the sun. Gavin let out sound halfway between a gasp and a strangled groan and leaned against the soulblade like a cane, shivering as if he had been plunged into a freezing bath. Ridmark remembered the sensation well. Gavin would feel the soulblade’s magic within him, a well of power he could use to make himself faster or stronger, to sense the presence of magic, to heal others, to shield himself from dark magic.

  “Rise, Sir Gavin,” said Arandar, raising Heartwarden. “Knight of the Order of the Soulblade.”

  Gavin got to his feet, drawing the soulblade as he did. White flames curled up and down Truthseeker, and Gavin stared at the sword in wonder.

  “I can feel it,” he said. “Like it’s in my head.”

  “A link has been forged between you and the sword,” said Mara. Arandar glanced at her. “I saw it happen.”

  “Indeed,” said Arandar. “You will be able to draw upon the sword’s magic to imbue yourself with greater strength and to heal others.”

  “I think…yes, I understand,” said Gavin. He frowned, and the weapon glowed brighter. “This…this will take some getting used to, I think.”

  “Hopefully we will live long enough for that to be a possibility,” said Morigna.

  “Welcome to the Order, Gavin,” said Arandar. He grinned. “It is always an honor to welcome a new brother to our Order.”

  “You shall do well,” said Kharlacht. He frowned. “So long as you remember to move your feet properly when parrying.”

  “You will bring honor to both Truthseeker and the Order,” said Caius. “Andomhaim needs more men like you.”

  “If we live long enough to escape,” said Jager, “when we return to a proper town I shall buy you your first drink and your first whore.”

  “Jager,” said Mara, “that’s not appropriate.”

  “True,” said Jager. “It is your first, isn’t it?” Gavin turned a bit redder.

  “Gavin,” said Mara, “I have met many different knights and noblemen, and I can say that you are one of the very few I am glad to know.”

  “Try not to get yourself killed,” said Morigna. “Carrying that sword all the way back to Tarlion would be most inconvenient.”

  “You will do well,” said Ridmark. “Better than I did.”

  “Thank you,” said Gavin. “All of you. For your trust in me.”

  “I suspect,” said Jager, “you shall have the opportunity to repay that trust soon enough.”

  “If you wish,” said Ridmark. “I am taking this soulstone to free Calliande and stop the Warden. No one else has any need to accompany me. I…”

  “No,” said Morigna.

  “I almost led you to your deaths,” said Ridmark.

  “We came of our own volition,” said Kharlacht.

  “Gray Knight,” said Caius. “You shall have our aid, whether you will it or not.”

  “Calliande is our friend, too,” said Gavin. “She has healed every one of us more than once. We will not abandon her.”

  “Too much is at stake to turn back,” said Arandar. “For all of us, and for the world.”

  Ridmark nodded. “Then let us rescue Calliande, and save two worlds while we’re at it.”

  Chapter 21 - Wrath of the Devout

  Ridma
rk stepped through the gates of Urd Morlemoch, adjusting his new armor.

  The citadel had been deserted, which had let them loot the armory and move through the streets without hindrance. Ridmark suspected the Warden’s minions had moved to the grand circle where Mara and Morigna had seen the gate opening.

  They would have to fight before they reached the Warden.

  Just as well they had come prepared.

  Ridmark wore a cuirass of overlapping plates of blue steel, similar to what Kharlacht had taken from the Tower of Bones all those years ago, and Gavin, Jager, and Mara had equipped themselves with similar armor. Mara and Jager carried short swords and daggers of blue steel, while Caius had helped himself to a massive two-handed hammer. Arandar had feared that the metal was infested with dark magic, but Mara and Morigna confirmed that the weapons and armor bore no enchantments. The superior metallurgic skill of the dark elves meant that the metal was lighter and stronger than normal steel, and more importantly, could wound urvaalgs and other creatures of dark magic.

  “I do not think,” said Caius, “that it will be hard to find the Warden.”

  “No,” said Ridmark, looking into the darkness of the Torn Hills.

  Or, at least, the hills that should have been dark.

  A beam of flame encircled Urd Morlemoch, leaping from stone circle to stone circle. The beams converged upon a large hill several miles to the east. A pillar of bluish-green flame erupted from that hill, covering everything in eerie, sickly light. Ridmark had no arcane ability and no longer carried a soulblade, but even he could feel the waves of tremendous power radiating from the grand circle atop the hill.

  “It’s not open yet,” said Mara, “but soon. Another few hours, I think.”

  “Then we have no time to waste,” said Ridmark.

  “What is the plan?” said Morigna.

  He looked at her. She seemed…different, somehow. Stronger, perhaps. Or simply jittery, as if she had consumed too much tea. Perhaps it was simply the strain of the danger.

  “We confront the Warden,” said Ridmark. “Distract him if at all possible. While he is distracted, I’ll touch the soulstone to Calliande.” He tapped the pouch at his belt that held the rough soulstone from Urd Morlemoch. “If I am killed, take the stone and continue. Calliande has to survive this, has to reach Dragonfall and retrieve her staff. Someone needs to stop the Frostborn and Shadowbearer, even if we are all killed here.”