The Dark Warden (Book 6)

by Jonathan Moeller

  It was a thin plan, Ridmark knew. But it was all they had left. He rebuked himself for his folly. He should have never returned to Urd Morlemoch, or he should have returned alone, without companions. Perhaps if he had returned alone, the Warden would have simply told him what he needed to know and let him depart without trouble.

  Ridmark moved from menhir to menhir, keeping to the shadows. More arcs of silent blue lightning sprang from Calliande’s hands, curling around the menhirs, and the ground vibrated beneath Ridmark’s boots.

  Perhaps Ridmark had been an even greater fool than he had thought. The Warden had planned for this, had laid the groundwork for Ridmark’s return nine years ago. Perhaps Ridmark had been a puppet of the Warden, every step taking him back to his inevitable return to Urd Morlemoch.

  Yet he had realized the error, if only at the last minute. Ridmark was going to free Calliande and get the rest of his companions out of here, or he was going to die trying. He owed them that.

  He reached the second circle and crouched behind a menhir. To his left he saw Jager moving in silence. Still the Warden did not stir. Ridmark hurried to the final circle, gazing up at the mound, the soulstone shining like a molten star upon the altar’s dark surface. Calliande floated just twenty yards away, chains of lightning leaping from her fingers to the standing stones.

  Ridmark hesitated, the rough soulstone in his right hand. For a moment he considered throwing the stone at Calliande. Yet he suspected the stone had to come into contact with her flesh. He had to get closer.

  Ridmark started up the mound, moving as fast and as silently as he could manage.

  Then Calliande threw back her head, the Warden’s voice thundering from her lips, and the ground heaved. The jolt knocked Ridmark from his feet and sent him rolling back down the mound. The gray mist in the archway brightened, and brilliant white light poured from the archway.

  The gate was open.

  Calliande came to rest atop the mound, the Warden’s black eyes fixed upon the archway.

  “At last,” murmured the Warden, and Calliande started walking towards the gate.

  Ridmark sprinted up the mound, the soulstone in his hand.

  He made it halfway up the slope before Calliande spun in surprise, the Warden’s bottomless black eyes staring at him.

  ###

  For a moment the Warden could not believe what Calliande’s eyes were reporting. Perhaps the human woman’s brain had malfunctioned, reporting false images to her eyes. The vast magic he had worked had put her flesh under a great deal of stress, and perhaps her brain was hallucinating, conjuring images of Ridmark Arban.

  Yet Ridmark sprinted at him nonetheless, and the Warden’s astonishment shifted into mild alarm.

  The former Swordbearer could not be here. There was absolutely no way he could have escaped from the spells atop Urd Morlemoch. The wild sorceress did not have the strength to break the spells, and neither did Heartwarden. They should have remained imprisoned against the menhirs until they died of thirst.

  All that was true, and yet somehow Ridmark was here.

  The alarm shifted to unease, perhaps even a hint of dread.

  Had the Warden overlooked something? Some small, important detail? It had happened before. He had not intended to imprison himself in Urd Morlemoch, yet he had spent the last fifteen thousand years there. Had he missed something this time?

  Ridmark Arban was free, so clearly he had.

  Fortunately, the problem was simple to solve. In Calliande’s body, his powers were reduced until he stepped through the gate to Old Earth, and most of his strength was tied into keeping the gate open. Still, that left ample power to blast Ridmark Arban and his followers to ashes.

  He pointed Calliande’s hand at Ridmark and summoned the killing fire.

  ###

  “Wait!” said Ridmark.

  Calliande did not move, fire playing around her hands.

  “Don’t you want to know how I got loose?” said Ridmark. If one of the others created a distraction, he could cover the final few steps to Calliande.

  “No,” said the Warden. Blue fire ripped from Calliande’s fingers, and Ridmark tried to dodge.

  Another column of blue fire appeared next to him, and Mara slammed into Ridmark, throwing him out of the path of the spell. The Warden’s attack missed and struck the ground with enough force to dig a smoking crater the size of a horse.

  “What?” said the Warden. “How did you do that?”

  Mara disappeared in a swirl of blue flame, and Ridmark got back to his feet.

  “You’re making,” said Ridmark, “a very big mistake.”

  “Clearly,” said the Warden. “I should have killed you all.” Calliande tilted her head to the side, the bottomless black eyes narrowing. “Why do you struggle? Why do you not embrace the end? Do you not see what the purpose of your life was?”

  “And what purpose was that?” said Ridmark, taking a cautious step forward. The Warden did not attack. Perhaps the ancient sorcerer simply did not see him as a threat.

  “To bring my freedom to me,” said the Warden. “I looked into the shadows of your future, Ridmark Arban. I saw the path your life would take. I saw your wife die from your folly, and I saw your expulsion from the Order.” Ridmark’s fingers tightened against the soulstone. “All that was of no importance…for I saw that the shadow of your future crossed great events to come, the return of the Frostborn and the awakening of the Keeper.”

  “Then you tricked me,” said Ridmark.

  “I merely told you the truth,” said the Warden. “Just enough of the truth to give you a purpose when your wife perished. A quest for the fallen knight to redeem himself. Enough to make you come back here with the Keeper, both of you seeking the truth. I did not coerce you. You came to Urd Morlemoch of your own free will, and you returned of your own free will.”

  “Then my entire life has been your strategy?” said Ridmark.

  “Yes,” hissed the Warden. “Do you not see, Ridmark of the Arbanii? I told you that our game had never ended, that you had been playing from the moment you first set foot within Urd Morlemoch. Now the game ends.”

  Again Calliande raised her hand, the killing fire burning around her fingers. Ridmark started forward, hoping to reach her before the Warden cast his spell, and knowing once again it was too late.

  A burst of blue flame screamed over the mound and struck Calliande, driving her back several steps towards the altar. Ridmark glimpsed Morigna running outside the inner circle, her staff in hand.

  “Ah!” said the Warden. “You stole power you lack the strength to master! So that explains how you escaped.” Shadows writhed around Calliande’s hands. “You should have remained in your dreams. That would have been a kinder death than the one you shall receive now.”

  White light blazed at the foot of the mound, and Arandar and Gavin charged up the hill, Truthseeker and Heartwarden burning in their hands. Caius and Jager and Kharlacht followed, each coming from a different angle, forcing the Warden to turn his attention from threat to threat. Calliande’s face twisted in a snarl, and she leaped atop the altar, dark magic shimmering around her. Ridmark took a cautious step forward. He wasn’t as much of a threat as Morigna and the two Swordbearers. If the Warden focused upon them long enough for Ridmark to draw closer…

  Calliande’s face stilled into a mask of icy calm, and the darkness of the Warden’s eyes grew deeper.

  “Die, then,” said the Warden, his voice still calm.

  His dark magic sprang from him like a storm. Bolts of power struck Arandar and Gavin, sending them rolling away down the hill. Morigna disappeared in a volley of blue lightning bolts that ripped from Calliande’s right hand. Invisible force caught Kharlacht and Jager and Caius, sending them sprawling to the ground. The same force caught Ridmark, and he knelt and rolled, catching his balance as the Warden’s power washed over him. The assault was so strong they could not resist.

  Yet it was not nearly as strong as the power the Warden had di
splayed in Urd Morlemoch. He had indeed left behind most of his power, and much of what remained was holding the gate open. If Ridmark could just get a little closer…

  Invisible force seized him and lifted him into the air.

  “And you,” said the Warden. “The Gray Knight. The poor, broken fool questing to redeem himself. Think on this as you die. You were my instrument. All your suffering, all your victories, all your determination, their sole purpose was this. To free me and give me dominion over Old Earth and a thousand other worlds. Now your purpose is fulfilled, and your life ends.”

  Calliande closed her fist, and the invisible power closed around Ridmark with crushing force.

  Blue fire flashed, and Calliande went sprawling, her darkness-filled eyes wide. She hit the ground with a gasp and rolled. Mara stood atop the altar, her hands outthrust from the shove that had knocked Calliande over.

  The force holding Ridmark sputtered and wavered as the Warden’s attention turned away from him.

  “You were wrong about me,” said Mara.

  “Plainly,” said the Warden as Calliande sat up. “But this is one mystery I have no interest in solving.”

  Again fire gathered around Calliande’s hand.

  It was Ridmark’s very last chance.

  He threw himself forward just as the spell went off, the deadly magic striking his chest. He landed atop Calliande, driving her to the ground, the Warden snarling in fury. Pain erupted through Ridmark, but his right hand came down, the rough soulstone coming to rest against Calliande’s forehead.

  The soulstone blazed with white fire, and a furious howling noise came from the gate.

  The Warden screamed, and Ridmark screamed with him as the magic ripped into his heart.

  ###

  Calliande wept in silence, defeated.

  The Watcher stood nearby, head bowed.

  Failed. She had failed. It had all had been for nothing. The Warden would enslave Old Earth, and the Frostborn would destroy Andomhaim. The Order of the Vigilant had sacrificed itself for naught. Calliande had locked away her memories, lost everyone she had ever loved, and slept for two hundred years all for nothing. She had walked to her death at Urd Morlemoch, and Ridmark and the others had come to their deaths with her.

  The crimson lightning writhed and snapped in the mist around her. Any moment the Warden would complete his spell, and she and the Watcher would be consumed at last…

  “What?” said the Watcher. “What…is that?”

  Streaks of white fire shot through the mist, quenching the red lightning. The mist itself began to swirl, spinning away in ragged tatters. Calliande felt the world twist and heave around her.

  “This is it, isn’t it?” said Calliande in a heavy voice. “This is the end. God forgive me for all that I’ve done.”

  “No,” said the Watcher. “I do not understand. What is the Gray Knight doing? This shouldn’t be possible.”

  “The…Gray Knight?” said Calliande.

  For the very first time since the Warden had called her the Keeper of Avalon, Calliande felt a flicker of hope.

  “Get ready,” said the Watcher, his eyes wide. “You shall have one chance. You must take it.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Calliande, and then the world ripped apart around her.

  ###

  “Ridmark!” shouted Mara.

  She sounded concerned. Ridmark was in agony. He suspected the spell intended for Mara had hit him much harder than he had thought.

  Yet the soulstone blazed with white fire in his grasp, Calliande shaking beneath him. The gate let out a low howling noise, and the crimson glow of the soulstone atop the altar sputtered and dimmed. Ridmark realized that Calliande was not shaking, that Calliande had gone limp. The mound itself was shaking.

  Calliande groaned, and the darkness in her gaze drained away.

  The soulcatcher embedded the altar sputtered and melted like a candle, and the crimson light from the soulstone went dark.

  ###

  Calliande woke to a great deal of pain and confusion.

  Her body ached and throbbed, and her head pulsed as if she had just channeled a colossal amount of magic. Ridmark lay atop her, which under other circumstances she likely would have found enjoyable, but he looked on the verge of collapse. A howling roar filled her ears, blue and green lights playing madly around her.

  “Ridmark?” said Calliande, her voice a croak. “What…what happened?”

  “Calliande,” he said, pushing off her. Then his eyes rolled up and he collapsed, blood pouring from his nose. Calliande sat up with alarm as Mara came running at her, a dark elven dagger in her hand.

  “It’s you,” said Mara, skidding to a halt. “It worked.”

  “What happened?” said Calliande. Above her rose a stone altar and a massive arch of black stone, a sheet of white light sparking within it. “I…”

  Ridmark shuddered once and went still.

  “We have to go,” said Mara, gazing at the arch. “When he touched the Warden with that soulstone, it ripped apart the binding on that spell. All that power has to go somewhere. I think the hill is going to explode.”

  “Ridmark,” said Calliande.

  He had stopped breathing. There was dark bruising under the skin of his neck and jaw and hands, and she realized that he had been hit by a spell of potent dark magic, one that had inflicted such a pounding that his heart had stopped. She summoned all the power she could manage to hold, the Well’s magic flaring around her fingers, and placed her hands upon him.

  Agony howled through her as she felt his pain as if it were her own. For a moment it was too much, and the spell threatened to slip away from her. She gritted her teeth and fought through the agony, and bit by bit the pain lessened as the magic healed Ridmark’s damage.

  His eyes shot open, and he sat up, breathing hard.

  “Ridmark,” said Calliande.

  He looked at her. “It is you, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Thank you. I thought…I thought all was lost. Thank you for coming back for me.”

  “Goddamn it,” said Mara, more agitated than Calliande had ever seen her. “We have to go right now.”

  Ridmark stood and helped Calliande up, and she cast the spell to detect the presence of magic. The sensations coming through the spell alarmed her. “She’s right. That thing, whatever it is…”

  “The Warden’s gate,” said Ridmark. He hurried to the altar and snatched up the soulstone, its depths white and cool once more.

  “It’s about to collapse,” said Calliande. “That won’t be…clean.”

  The others hurried to the top of the mound. Calliande saw the white fire of a soulblade and looked for Arandar’s face, but instead saw Gavin, the boy armored in blue dark eleven steel. Had he taken up Truthseeker? Arandar followed him, face grim and weary, his armor and shield spattered with the blue-glowing blood of the Devout. Then came Caius and Kharlacht and Jager, the master thief hurrying to his wife’s side. Morigna came last of all, leaning on her staff. Dark circles ringed her black eyes, and something seemed off about her. Yet she rushed forward and caught Ridmark in a hug.

  “You madman,” she said. “You actually did it.”

  Ridmark started to say something, but Calliande never found out what.

  The mound lurched beneath them, and the howling noise from the gate rose to an agonized scream. The light from the menhirs flickered and twitched, and the altar began to glow, sinking into the mound as it did so.

  “Go!” roared Ridmark, and raced ran down the mound and into the rings of menhirs. The slope shuddered and heaved, and it took all of Calliande’s concentration to keep her balance. Soon they reached the bottom of the hill, the bodies of Devout orcs and undead and urvaalgs lying thick upon the sickly grass. Had Ridmark and the others fought their way through all that? Calliande risked a look back and saw blue-green flames devouring the top of the hill, the menhirs melting in the heat.

  They ran through a narrow ravine between two hill
s. The howling noise from the hill rose to a molten scream, so loud it threatened to rip Calliande’s head in half.

  “There!” shouted Ridmark, pointing at the side of a low cliff. “Take cover! Now!”

  He urged them on, and Calliande scrambled against the base of the cliff, squatting beneath it, the others ducking around her. Calliande looked at the light staining the black sky, the terrible screaming noise audible even through the cliff. When the explosion came…

  The ground jolted beneath her as if she had stepped upon a trapdoor.

  Roaring sound and blazing light filled the world.

  Chapter 23 - One Hundred Thousand Years Of War

  A long time later, Ridmark sat up, coughing.

  The air was heavy with dust and a harsh, burnt smell. The light of the standing stones had faded and the ring of fire around Urd Morlemoch had vanished. Only the light from the ribbons of flame overhead remained.

  Ridmark got to his feet, a white glow catching his eye. Calliande knelt over Kharlacht, healing his wounds, her face tight and drawn.

  “You should save your strength,” said Kharlacht.

  “No,” said Calliande. “Not when you have taken these wounds in my defense.” She shivered a bit and straightened up. “Done.”

  “Is everyone all right?” said Ridmark.

  Caius coughed out a laugh, his brown robes matted with dust. “Well, we have taken no fresh wounds, and we are still alive. That in itself, I think, constitutes a miracle.”

  “For once,” said Morigna. “I will not argue with you.”

  “My God,” said Ridmark. “No argument? You must indeed be exhausted.”

  She offered him a wan smile, which concerned him all the more. Morigna was never without a sharp retort. She had exhibited strange new powers in the battle, and both Arandar and Gavin had said that she had used dark magic. What had happened to her in Urd Morlemoch?