The Dark Warden (Book 6)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “The Warden’s minions?” said Kharlacht.

  “We avoid them if possible,” said Ridmark. “If we can sneak up behind him and slap the soulstone against Calliande’s back, well and good. If not,” he shrugged, “if not, then we will have to fight.”

  “Then let us fight, and may God grant us the victory,” said Arandar.

  Ridmark strode from the gates, the others following.

  He cut a circuitous path through the hills. To his surprise, they encountered no foes, whether Devout orcs, undead, or dark elven war beasts. The Warden’s minions had gathered around the rings of standing stones that encircled Urd Morlemoch, likely to guard the acolytes feeding their magic into the Warden’s great spell. Step by step Ridmark made his way towards the hill crowned with the grand circle and the snarling pillar of blue-green flame, moving as fast as he dared.

  But once the hill came into sight, he realized there was no chance that they could surprise the Warden.

  Devout warriors stood in ranks at the base of the hill, weapons in hand. The glowing veins beneath their skin pulsed and throbbed in time with the fire surrounding Urd Morlemoch. Undead stood among their numbers as well, blue fire burning in their eye sockets. Here and there Ridmark saw the twisted form of an urvaalg, the Devout keeping well away from them.

  “So many,” murmured Mara.

  They crouched behind a boulder not far away, looking at the waiting orcs.

  “Aye,” said Ridmark.

  “Any clever plans?” said Arandar.

  “If I am clever,” said Jager, swallowing, “I might be able to sneak past them and touch the Warden with the soulstone before he realizes that I am there.”

  “No,” said Mara. “One mistake and they’ll kill you. I should go.”

  “With the soulstone, you won’t be able to travel away if they catch you,” said Jager.

  “That would be no different than you sneaking in,” said Mara.

  “No,” said Ridmark. “No more time for cleverness. We hit them as hard and as fast as we can. Break through and make for the grand circle.” He glanced at the menhirs at the top of the hill, outlined in the harsh light of the blue-green flames. “Whatever happens, we have to touch Calliande with the soulstone.”

  “Then let us stop talking,” said Morigna, “and teach these Devout fools that their precious god will not save them.”

  “For once,” said Caius, hefting the warhammer, “I am in agreement with you.”

  Ridmark nodded, took a deep breath, and then spun around the boulder and ran at the Devout orcs, his dwarven axe in hand. The others followed him. White light flared as Truthseeker and Heartwarden burned with the fires of their power, reacting to the maelstrom of dark magic around them.

  For a moment the defenders did not notice. The Warden might have ordered them to stand guard, but many of the orcs were gaping at the vortex of magic swirling around Urd Morlemoch. One of the urvaalgs began to snarl, and the light from the drawn soulblades fell over them.

  That got their attention.

  The warriors spun, shouting commands. The undead started forward, and the urvaalgs charged, snapping and snarling as their claws raked at the earth. Ridmark raised his axe, both hands around the handle, his eyes tracking the urvaalgs as they advanced.

  Morigna shouted and whipped her staff in a circle over her head, its sigils shining with blue-tinted purple fire. The ground rippled like a banner caught in the breeze, and the spell threw dozens of warriors and undead and urvaalgs from their feet. Her spells had never covered such a large area before. Had she become stronger? Or perhaps fear had simply enhanced her strength.

  Regardless of the reason, Ridmark would not let the opportunity pass.

  He charged the stunned orcs, burying his axe blade in the skull of the nearest urvaalg. He barely slowed as he ripped the weapon free and beheaded a Devout warrior who started to rise. One of the undead reached for him, and Ridmark spun, taking off its arm and its head in short order. The warriors regained their feet and charged, and Ridmark fell back, blocking and ducking and parrying. A blow skidded off the plates of his armor with enough force to stagger him, and he barely kept his balance. Morigna shouted again, and the ground rippled around Ridmark, throwing the warriors to the ground once more.

  Then his companions struck.

  Kharlacht mowed his way through the ranks of the warriors, his greatsword rising and falling, the blade glowing with the spilled blood of the Devout. Caius, as usual, fought near him, crushing skulls with his massive warhammer and stunning the warriors long enough for Kharlacht to land killing blows. An urvaalg lunged at Caius, and he swung the warhammer. It impacted the urvaalg with enough force that its skull collapsed like a pumpkin thrown from a tower. Jager and Mara darted around the melee, Jager cutting throats and tripping orcs, leaving them vulnerable to Caius’s and Kharlacht’s devastating blows. Mara disappeared and reappeared in flashes of blue flame, cutting the throats of Devout warriors and vanishing again before their fellows noticed. It was hardly an honorable way to fight, but it was certainly effective.

  The two Swordbearers were like a storm.

  Arandar fought with skill and experience, Heartwarden augmenting his strikes with speed and power. He took the head from a warrior, crushed one of the undead, and ripped open an urvaalg from maw to heart with a single slash. Gavin was less skilled, but fought with no less strength. A blow from his shield shattered a Devout warrior’s skull and sent the orc motionless to the ground. Truthseeker tore through two of the undead, the white fire ripping apart the creatures. The soulblade’s flame seemed almost joyful, as if the weapon was glad to fight the creatures of dark magic after its long imprisonment in Urd Morlemoch. Ridmark saw the training he had given Gavin reflected in the new Swordbearer’s attacks, saw echoes of Kharlacht and Caius as well.

  Ridmark cut down another warrior, and the ground heaved. Massive tangles of roots, thick as a grown man’s legs, erupted from the earth and seized half a dozen Devout orcs. The warriors bellowed, trying to tear themselves free, but the roots bent and flung them to the ground.

  He cut down one more urvaalg, and then he was through. The way was clear to the top of the hill.

  Ridmark started running, and blue light flared ahead.

  An orc in a long black robe strode towards Ridmark, his right temple bulging and glowing with a tumor. Blue fire burned around his left hand, twining with strands of darkness, and the orcish wizard pointed at Ridmark. He doubted the wizard had anything like the Warden’s power or Valakoth’s. But Calliande was not here to disrupt the wizard’s spells, and Ridmark did not carry a soulblade that would protect him from a killing spell.

  He sprinted at the wizard, raising his axe to strike, but he knew it was too late.

  The wizard jerked and tried to scream as Mara appeared behind him, raking her dagger across his throat. He fell to his knees, still trying to cast a spell, and Mara drew a second dagger and buried both the blades between his shoulders.

  The wizard’s fire faded to nothingness.

  “Good timing,” said Ridmark, still climbing the hill. The ground trembled beneath his boots. How much longer until the Warden’s gate to Old Earth consumed Calliande’s soul?

  “I’ve had practice,” said Mara. She frowned as she did when preparing to travel, but nothing happened. “What? Wait. Ridmark…look out!”

  Blue fire blazed around a dark figure standing just outside the outer boundary of the grand circle. It was an ancient orc draped in a ragged robe of black leather, twin tumors rising from his temples like glowing horns. A staff of bones danced with shadows in his right hand, the tusked skulls atop them clicking as he waved his hands through the gesture of his spell.

  “A fine trick, half-breed,” hissed Valakoth, “but it shall not save you from me. A pity you did not become one of the master’s beasts.”

  He leveled the staff at Mara, and a bolt of blue fire erupted towards her. Mara jumped back, but the bolt veered to follow her. Valakoth’s power would prevent
her from traveling, and the orcish wizard’s spell might kill her.

  Ridmark threw himself forward and slammed into Mara, knocking the diminutive woman out of the way. The spell struck him instead, and he screamed as the cold pain spread through him.

  ###

  Dark magic and earth magic mingled together within Morigna, and spells of a strength she had never been able to cast before tore into her enemies. Her earth magic shook the ground, throwing the orcs so hard that they snapped their necks when they landed. Masses of roots rose from the ground to rip her foes apart, and she conjured columns of acidic mist so potent that they stripped the flesh from the Devout in a matter of seconds, leaving only crumbling bones behind.

  But even with her newfound power, she still faced stronger opponents.

  Such as Valakoth. She saw Ridmark rolling down the side of the hill, his limbs limp.

  “No!” said Morigna, the fury filling her. She leveled her staff and unleashed her full power at Valakoth. Roots erupted from the ground to wrap around him, the ground beneath his boots rippled, and a blast of blue first burst from her staff, screaming towards him like a bolt from a ballista.

  Yet Valakoth’s wards blocked every one of her attacks. Shadows swirled around him, crumbling them into dust. The ground around him rippled, but blue fire burst from his staff and turned the earth into smoking ash. The shadows drank the flame of her final attack, grounding out its power around him.

  The ancient orc’s eyes turned towards her, and he gestured with his staff.

  A lance of darkness leapt towards her, and Morigna drew upon all her power. Shadows of her own swirled around her, dispersing Valakoth’s attack. The sheer force of the wizard’s spell knocked her back, her head ringing with the effort of holding back the orc’s wrath.

  Still Valakoth’s assault continued, and Morigna put all her strength into holding back his power.

  ###

  Truthseeker thrummed like a living thing in Gavin’s hand.

  He felt the soulblade’s power flowing through him, filling him with strength and washing away his weariness. It made him feel as if he had the strength of ten men. Yet thanks to his training from Ridmark and Kharlacht and Caius, Gavin was a disciplined enough fighter to hold the euphoria at bay, to prevent it from driving him foolishly to his doom.

  Of course, even if he kept his head, doom might find him anyway.

  Through Truthseeker he felt the dark magic around the ancient orc upon the slope. He also felt the dark magic in Morigna’s spells. Morigna had sworn that she did not use dark magic, sneering at and mocking anyone who dared to suggest such a thing. Her spells now burned with it, and he felt the power snapping back and forth between her and Valakoth like a pair of enraged dogs snarling at each other.

  Morigna might have used dark magic, but Valakoth was far stronger, and both were dwarfed by the power radiating from the hilltop.

  They could not stop the Warden if Valakoth killed them first, so Gavin raced at the orcish wizard, Truthseeker’s magic giving his legs speed. He seemed to fly at the wizard, even as the battle slowed around him. Valakoth’s eyes turned towards him and widened, recognizing him as the greater threat. Morigna could pound away at Valakoth all she wanted, but Truthseeker would tear through the orcish wizard’s wards like paper. Valakoth flung another spell at Morigna, turned, and leveled his staff at Gavin.

  Gavin kept running, hoping to close the distance, and Valakoth unleashed his power.

  A lance of blue fire and writhing shadow burst from the staff of bones. Gavin skidded to a stop and raised Truthseeker in a parry, calling upon the sword’s power to shield him. The spell struck him and Truthseeker rang like a bell, the sword’s soulstone flaring and pulsing as it struggled to hold back Valakoth’s attack. Gavin gritted his teeth and tried to force himself forward, but Valakoth’s spell held fast.

  More white light flashed as Arandar charged, Heartwarden in his fist. Valakoth whirled with a furious snarl at the sight of a second Swordbearer. He threw a spell into Arandar, and Heartwarden burned bright as it fought off the killing magic. Yet the pressure around Gavin eased, and he was able to move forward again. Still another blast of blue flame shot over the melee at the base of the hill as Morigna resumed her attack, and this time her spell knocked Valakoth back.

  “Fools!” screamed the First of the Devout. “You will not stop the master! Perish! Perish!”

  He raised his staff over his head and howled to the sky, and the sky answered him back.

  A stream of blue flame broke off from the ring encircling Urd Morlemoch and stabbed into him. His staff transformed into a shaft of blazing fire, and Valakoth screamed with agony or ecstasy, or perhaps both. His free hand came up, fingers hooked into claws, and volleys of blue flame and twisted shadow erupted from him. One stream tore into Gavin, Truthseeker chiming as it struggled to hold back the attack. Still another struck Arandar, and a third shot down to the hill to strike Morigna.

  Gavin braced himself, preparing to charge when the attack faded.

  Instead it intensified.

  “Die!” shrieked Valakoth. “Die in the name of the master!” The ancient wizard’s screams cycled into mad laughter.

  Gavin gritted his teeth, trying to move forward, trying to think of a plan.

  The inferno of dark magic engulfed him.

  ###

  It was not enough.

  Morigna dropped to one knee, both hands clenched around her staff. She felt her wards collapsing beneath the assault.

  All the power she had taken from the soulstone, all the power of her earth magic, and it was still not enough. She was still helpless before a stronger wizard.

  If only she had possessed more power. Perhaps she could have saved them.

  Perhaps she could have saved Ridmark.

  She tried to see if he was still alive, but she could not see past the storm of shadow and blue flame.

  ###

  The pain from his headache dragged Ridmark back to consciousness.

  He sat up. His limbs felt as if they had been dipped in ice, and his chest as if it had been beaten with wooden rods. He jerked to his feet, leaning upon the haft of his axe for support. A storm of shadow and flame roiled back and forth over the hillside. Gavin and Arandar stood frozen, their soulblades flaring as they fought to defend from the assault, while another volley of blue flame flew at Morigna. Kharlacht and Caius and Jager fought below against the remaining Devout orcs, while Mara…

  He stumbled a bit, and Mara caught his arm.

  “I can’t get any closer,” said Mara. “He’ll blast me to ashes if I try, and I can’t travel. The others are overwhelmed. What are we going to do?”

  Valakoth shrieked with incoherent laughter, shaking his staff of bones over his head as the dark magic poured from him.

  “This,” said Ridmark, and he drew back his arm, stepped forward, and flung his axe with all his strength.

  The weapon had not been balanced for throwing, but Ridmark’s aim was true. Valakoth, his attention focused upon the Swordbearers and the sorceress, never saw it coming. The heavy blade sank into his chest with a loud crack, and the wizard flinched. Valakoth looked at the axe in his chest, then at Ridmark, his eyes wide and surprised.

  The dark magic around him fizzled and went out, and Valakoth fell dead upon his face.

  “Oh,” said Mara. “I suppose that works, too.”

  Ridmark grunted, ran to Valakoth’s corpse, and ripped his axe free. The others hurried to join him. They all looked exhausted, and sweat glistened on Morigna’s face. Jager and Kharlacht and Caius had all taken wounds despite their dark elven armor.

  “Is anyone hurt?” said Mara.

  “There’s no time,” said Ridmark. “That gate is almost open.”

  “She was using dark magic,” said Arandar.

  Ridmark blinked and looked at Morigna, who looked caught between anger and embarrassment.

  “If we live through this, we can worry about it later,” said Ridmark. “Follow me. Either
we stop the Warden now, or the Warden takes Old Earth and the Frostborn destroy our world.”

  He turned and started up the hill, bloody axe in hand, and the others followed him in silence.

  Chapter 22 - The Long Game

  The grand circle blazed with blue and green light.

  The circle was a huge, ugly thing, as large as the one where Coriolus had tried to possess Morigna. Three rings of carved black menhirs stood in concentric circles around a central mound, their carvings glowing with dark magic. A black altar of rough stone stood atop the mound. Atop the altar the soulstone shone with crimson light, and the Matriarch’s soulcatcher had been driven into the rock. Behind the altar rose a tall stone arch, nearly twenty feet high, its interior shimmering with gray mist. Sometimes within the mist Ridmark glimpsed the city of glass and steel the Warden had shown them from Urd Morlemoch.

  In a matter of moments that arch would become a gate to Old Earth.

  Calliande floated before the altar, her eyes closed, her arms outstretched, blond hair and green cloak billowing around her. Arcs of blue lightning leapt from her fingers to dance around the menhirs, and her lips moved in a constant stream of soundless words as the Warden cast his spells.

  It was a terrifying sight. Ridmark had never seen dark magic worked on this scale before. Perhaps no man of Andomhaim had ever seen dark magic worked on such a scale.

  Yet it gave him a glimmer of hope.

  The entirety of the Warden’s attention was upon the gate, and he hadn’t yet noticed the fighting at the foot of the hill. If Ridmark could sneak up behind him and touch the soulstone to Calliande …

  He looked at the others and they nodded, fanning out in silence around the perimeter of the outer circle. Ridmark planned to sneak up behind the Warden and touch Calliande with the rough soulstone. If that didn’t work, if the Warden saw him and killed him, the others would charge the Warden at once, hopefully distracting him long enough for someone to grab the stone and use it.