They encountered no other enemies, and soon came to the thirty-ninth level.
“And that, I suspect,” said Lancelus, “is the Chamber of Stone.”
A pillared arcade led away from the main tower, leading to a domed turret that jutted from the tower’s side. A cold wind blew through the pillars, tugging at Ridmark’s gray cloak, and he saw Urd Morlemoch below him, the sea spreading away to the west and the rocky hills to the east. The arcade ended in a set of double doors, a pair of statues standing on either side of the arch.
But they were different from all the other statues Ridmark had seen in the ruins.
They were fashioned of gray stone, not white, and had been carved in the shape of two orcish women. Their faces were twisted with terror, their eyes bulging, their hands raised as if to ward off a blow.
“The dark elves have grotesque taste in art,” said Ridmark.
“I suspect,” said Lancelus, voice grim, “that they were not originally statues.”
Ridmark frowned. “The dark elves…their sorcery can turn living flesh to stone?”
“Who knows what their black powers can do?” said Lancelus. “Be on your guard.”
They strode to the double doors, and Lancelus pushed them open. The blue steel hinges rotated without a sound, and revealed an empty domed chamber, similar to the one where Ridmark had fought the urshanes. The eerie blue light from the ribbons of flame streamed through the through the high windows. The chamber was deserted, save for two more of the gray statues flanking a door on the other side of the room.
“Through there, I think,” said Lancelus.
“No guardian,” said Ridmark, looking around for mutated orcs or undead or urvaalgs. Or God knew what else. “If a high elven bladeweaver is so dangerous, would not the Warden assign a powerful guard to keep watch over her?”
“That is logical,” said Lancelus. “I…” He stopped and stared at the ceiling.
Ridmark followed his gaze.
A woman hung upside down from the apex of the dome, wrapped in a black cloak, her black hair hanging from her head like a banner. The woman looked elven, her face lean and alien and her ears pointed, and for a moment Ridmark wondered if this was Rhyannis, if the Warden had used his magic to suspend her from the ceiling.
Then she opened her eyes.
A chill went through Ridmark. The woman’s eyes were like pits into a bottomless void, a place of nothingness and freezing darkness without life.
“Oh,” said Lancelus. “A powerful guard, yes.”
The woman smiled at them, her teeth sharp and white.
“What is she?” said Ridmark.
“The most powerful creatures of the dark elves,” said Lancelus, “are created from their own blood. This woman is an urdhracos. Half of her ancestry is dark elven.”
“What is the other half?” said Ridmark.
The black cloak around her stirred, and Ridmark realized it wasn’t a cloak at all.
It was a pair of leathery wings.
“Dragon,” said Lancelus.
The wings unfurled, and beneath them she wore black steel armor over her slender body. The woman stretched, as if awakening from a long nap, and dropped from the ceiling. Her wings rose behind her, slowing her fall, and she touched down on the center of the floor. Steel gauntlets covered her hands, ending in long, razor-sharp talons. Her bottomless black eyes considered Ridmark for a moment, and then shifted back to Lancelus.
“So here you are,” said the urdhracos in Latin, her voice melodious and eerie. “This is the game we are to play, then?”
“You guard the elven bladeweaver Rhyannis?” said Lancelus, pointing his soulblade at her.
The urdhracos laughed, her wings flexing behind her. “You know well what I guard.”
“Release her to us,” said Lancelus, “and this need not end in bloodshed.”
Again the urdhracos laughed, mingled glee and rage filling her voice. “Is that so? Shall you demand that I stop the thirteen moons in their courses, perhaps, or reach into the heavens, pluck down the sun, and present it to you on a platter of silver?”
“Nothing so dramatic,” said Lancelus. “Release the bladeweaver to us, and we shall go on our way. If not, then we will fight.”
The woman grinned, her fangs long and sharp. “Then we fight.”
She opened her mouth and took a deep breath.
“Move!” shouted Lancelus, shoving Ridmark to the side.
Ridmark realized what was happening.
Dragons breathed fire.
He flung himself to the floor as the woman breathed out a blast of searing yellow-orange flame. The fire billowed across the chamber, and Ridmark felt the terrible heat of it washing over his face and hands. But fire could not burn upon white stone, and it winked out a moment later. Ridmark rolled back to his feet and charged the urdhracos, Heartwarden fueling his speed.
The woman laughed and jumped, her wings beating at the air. Ridmark slashed at her, but his sword missed the bottom of her feet by a few inches. She soared to the top of the dome and hovered there, wings beating, one hand braced against the apex of the dome.
Her other hand pointed at Ridmark, and ghostly blue fires began crackling around the steel talons.
Like the mutated orcs, she could use magic.
The blue flames turned black, and she thrust her hand. Ridmark raised Heartwarden, calling upon the sword’s power to ward him. A blast of shadow fire burst from the clawed fingers and slammed into Ridmark. He staggered back with a grunt of pain, the black fire raging against Heartwarden’s light, frost forming in a circle around him as the dark fire sucked the warmth from the air. The urdhracos was strong, much stronger than the magic-using orc Ridmark had fought outside the ruins, but Heartwarden held against her power.
The spell ended, the flames vanishing, and Ridmark considered his next move.
He could try throwing the dagger at his belt, but normal steel would not harm an urvaalg, and the urdhracos was far more powerful. Any missile weapon he found to use against her would have the same limitation. He had to close and land a blow, but with her wings and magic, she could stay ahead of him.
Unless Ridmark found a way to distract her.
Ridmark realized he was standing too close to Lancelus. One good blast of flame could kill them both. Ridmark dashed to the center of the chamber, and the urdhracos turned to follow him. She grimaced, pushed away from the dome, and swooped to the far wall, her black wings folding behind her. Ridmark turned, watching her for any signs of flame or magic.
Why hadn’t she stayed hovering? She could have rained fire and spells down upon them with impunity. Perhaps hovering simply took too much effort. Even supernatural strength had its limitations.
She began to advance, one step at a time, her clawed hands held low and ready at her sides.
“I’ll take the right,” said Ridmark. “You take the left. Stay far apart so she cannot strike us both with her fire at once.”
Lancelus gave a curt nod and did as Ridmark asked, moving to the left. Ridmark advanced towards her, Heartwarden ready in his clenched fists. The urdhracos looked back and forth, pale lips pulled back from her fangs in a snarl. He did not know how long it would take before she could breathe fire again. Part of him wanted to charge and strike before she reacted. But she would be fast, at least as fast as the urvaalgs, and she might well intercept his attack.
“What a pathetic game this is,” said the urdhracos. “A pitiful farce, unworthy of my time.” Her dark eyes turned to Ridmark. “Better to lie down and die, foolish boy. It is better than the fate that awaits you here.” She laughed. “Bathe in the light of my fire, and you shall never know pain again.”
“A gracious offer,” said Ridmark, “but I fear I must decline.”
“Then your fate is upon your own head,” she said.
Lancelus sprinted forward, soulblade raised, and the urdhracos’s head snapped around to stare at him. Ridmark took the opening and charged, Heartwarden augmenting his speed. At the last minute t
he urdhracos saw the threat and spun to meet him, her steel talons rising to deflect his swing. She was slender, and Ridmark stood a foot tall than her, but she blocked his strike without difficulty.
The urdhracos roared in fury, orange-white light flaring to life inside her mouth.
Ridmark sidestepped and swung Heartwarden down, aiming for her legs. The urdhracos saw the blow coming and dodged, her mouth opening as she prepared to spit fire upon him. Ridmark pivoted, and brought his boot down onto the back of her knee. Superhuman strength or not, the urdhracos stumbled, and Ridmark tripped her.
She landed upon her back, the fire blasting from her mouth to lash at the domed ceiling overhead. The terrible heat of it forced Ridmark back, the glare stinging his eyes. The fire winked out, and Ridmark lunged, hoping to land a blow before the urdhracos recovered her balance. Lancelus attacked with a shout as the urdhracos regained her feet, and she ducked under his swing with the sinuous grace of a serpent. Her backhand caught him in the belly with enough force to throw him to the floor.
She started to turn, but Ridmark was already moving. Heartwarden came down and sliced deep into her left wing. The urdhracos screamed in fury and pain, and Ridmark tried to rip his sword free. The creature proved faster, her fist slamming into his chest. The power of the blow threw him backward, Heartwarden still clenched in his grasp. He caught his balance as the urdhracos thrust out her hands, dark fire crackling to life around her fingers.
He called upon Heartwarden, catching the black flame upon the sword’s glowing blade. The force of it hammered at him, yet Ridmark drove himself forward, moving closer to the creature. She snarled, fingers hooked, and poured more power at him. Heartwarden shuddered in Ridmark’s grasp, the sheer strength of the urdhracos’s magic threatening to tear the blade from his hand.
He kept moving, and the creature's spell ended.
Ridmark threw himself forward, Heartwarden blurring. The blade bit into the urdhracos’s slender neck and took off her head in a burst of black blood. The body twitched, jerked, and collapsed atop its wings.
Silence fell over the domed chamber.
Ridmark let out a long breath, fighting a wave of exhaustion that passed through him, and hurried to Sir Lancelus’s side. He feared the older knight had been slain. Lancelus coughed and sat up, blinking as he wiped blood from his mouth.
“God!” he said. “She hit hard. I thought I was done for.” He blinked, and took the hand Ridmark offered to help him stand. “You…you killed her. You actually killed her. I thought urdhracos were only legends, but…my God, you killed her.” He shook his head. “You have deprived the Warden of a valuable servant this day.”
Ridmark shrugged. “She was trying to kill us.”
“Her wings,” said Lancelus. “How did you know to strike at her wings?”
Ridmark shrugged again. “It seemed the wisest choice when fighting a creature with the power of flight. And I suspected…”
“Suspected what?” said Lancelus, staring at the corpse.
“She relied overmuch upon her flight,” said Ridmark. “It is a common fallacy. The Magistri rely too much on their magic, I think, and neglect to keep themselves fit. A swordsman will rely too much upon his blade, and forget to train himself with other weapons. If I kept her upon the ground, I thought, she would make a mistake and I could defeat her.”
“And you were right,” said Lancelus. The older Swordbearer grinned and laughed loud and long again. “What a warrior you are, Sir Ridmark of the House of the Arbanii! You ought to have perished a dozen times since you set foot within the ruins. Yet here you are, storming the tower of the Warden. What a tale you shall have to tell, if you live to return!” He rubbed his beard. “A most remarkable destiny must await you. Yes. I am sure of it.”
Ridmark frowned, uneasy at the older man’s sudden mood swing. Still, men reacted in many different ways when faced with death, and the urdhracos had almost killed them both. “We have not been victorious yet. It is a foolish commander who claims a triumph before the knights have even saddled their horses.”
“Yes, yes, quite right,” said Lancelus. All trace of levity vanished from him, and he was grim once more. “Yes. One more test awaits us. One more. Shall we face it?”
Ridmark nodded, and they walked to the door on the far side of the domed chamber.
***
Frostborn: The First Quest Page 10