His magic had transported him away.
Ridmark had seen such spells in Urd Morlemoch, but humans could not use them safely. Not without risking complete and irreversible madness. Jonas could not have gone far. Not without losing his mind.
On the other hand, perhaps he could. Perhaps Jonas’s strange shadow-magic allowed him to travel safely.
Right back to Calliande and the others, maybe?
And Rotherius, it seemed, had escaped.
He hurried back across the marshes, leaving the dead Red Brothers behind.
###
Morigna blinked, trying to ignore the headache behind her eyes, and looked up.
Calliande stood over her, face pinched and weary, Kharlacht, Caius, and Gavin waiting nearby. Morigna started to sit up, and a wave of dizziness went through her.
“Easy, now,” said Calliande, helping Morigna up. Morigna wanted to wave the other woman away. She was not some weakling child to require aid!
Nevertheless, she was quite dizzy.
“What happened?” she said. Two dead Red Brothers lay near the boulders, their blood the color of their masks. There was no sign of Jonas or the other assassins.
Or of Ridmark, for that matter.
“I’m not sure,” said Calliande.
“Those shadows,” said Morigna. “What were they?”
“Dark magic,” said Gavin.
“Clearly,” said Morigna, getting to her feet with a groan, “but of what kind?”
“I don’t know,” said Calliande, “but I must have fought it before, because I knew how to ward against it. Though I don’t remember it.”
“That,” said Morigna, “makes absolutely no sense.”
Calliande shrugged, looking towards the path. “I wish it did.”
“Where’s Ridmark?” said Morigna.
“I don’t know,” said Calliande. “He took the soulstone and ran off into the swamp, and Jonas and the other assassins went after him. I…”
A gray-cloaked man came into sight, a staff in his right hand, a leather pouch in his left.
“Ridmark,” said Calliande.
“You might want this back,” said Ridmark, handing the pouch to her.
“Thank you,” said Calliande. “What did you do?”
“I lured Jonas and the assassins into a pocket of marsh gas,” said Ridmark, “and set it on fire.”
“That explains the noise, I expect,” said Caius.
Kharlacht started laughing.
“What?” said Morigna. “What is so funny?”
“The Gray Knight,” said Kharlacht, “is prone to mad plans. The nest of drakes at the stone circle.” He shook his head, still laughing. “The ursaar and the cave-in.”
“The kobolds and the enraged spitfangs,” said Caius.
“Challenging me to a duel,” said Kharlacht.
“The spiderlings and the trap in Urd Dagaash,” said Gavin.
Morigna stared at Ridmark. “Perhaps God does indeed exist, since it seems to be nothing short of a miracle that you are still alive.”
“I cannot argue,” said Ridmark. “Three of the assassins are dead. Rotherius got away. Jonas escaped through some sort of shadow-spell.”
“What was it?” said Caius. “I have never seen magic like that.”
“I don’t know,” said Calliande. “Shadowbearer had similar powers.”
Kharlacht grunted. “Shadowbearer could come and go as he pleased, disappearing and reappearing against through his magic.”
“I couldn’t ward against his spells,” said Morigna.
“It was an attack on the spiritual level,” said Calliande. “Your magic controls the elements, earth and air and animals. But it can’t heal or ward against that kind of attack. You had no way to deflect the spell. And why would the Enlightened of Incariel want you alive?”
“I know not,” said Morigna. “I have never heard of these so-called ‘Enlightened’ before today.”
“Ridmark, this is dangerous,” said Calliande. “If Shadowbearer is the Master of the Enlightened, if they’re all obeying his commands…then Andomhaim is in terrible danger. Not just from the return of the Frostborn, but from the Enlightened. Imagine men like Jonas Vorinus and Paul Tallmane ruling over Andomhaim. They would kill countless innocents…and if Shadowbearer is giving them magic…”
Ridmark nodded. “You’re right.” He looked at the hill. “Perhaps the Old Man shall be able to tell us more.”
“You mean to press on, then?” said Caius.
“Perhaps it would be better to turn back,” said Gavin.
Morigna scowled at them. “Why not? We have come this far. Or do you think the Old Man is allied with these Enlightened fools?”
“Actually,” said Ridmark, his voice hardening, “I don’t think we can go back.”
He pointed.
Dark shapes moved up the slope, clad in rusted armor, ancient weapons in their hands, blue fires dancing in their empty eye sockets.
Undead orcs, dozens of them.
“Well,” said Caius, “I suppose that answers the question of who raised the undead. Jonas couldn’t kill us himself, but he has sent his minions to kill us instead.”
“Prepare yourselves,” said Ridmark, lifting his staff.
Chapter 10 - Shadows
Ridmark watched the undead orcs come.
As before, they moved in a mindless, thoughtless mob. Part of his mind prepared himself for more fighting, his arms and legs relaxing, his heart hammering against his ribs.
But the rest of him wondered about the timing. Had Jonas raised the undead? If so, why hadn’t he thrown them into battle at once?
Or had someone else been observing them, waiting until Jonas and his assassin allies had been driven back before attacking?
Ridmark didn’t know, but he intended to find out.
Assuming they lived through this.
Calliande cast a spell. Ridmark’s staff vibrated in his hands, shining with a light of its own. Morigna drew herself up, purple fire crackling around her fingers.
“Are you able to keep this up?” said Ridmark, looking his staff.
“I don’t have much choice, do I?” said Calliande, sweat tricking down her face. Her voice only shook a little.
“The path,” said Morigna. “Further down the hill, do you see where it narrows between two boulders? If we can drive the undead past that point, I can conjure a wall of acid mist between the boulders and hold the undead at bay.”
“So the undead simply march into the mist and dissolve?” said Gavin.
“Less work than destroying them ourselves,” said Kharlacht.
The undead orcs drew closer, weapons raised.
“Then first,” said Ridmark, “let us drive the orcs back.”
He hurried forward, and Kharlacht, Caius, and Gavin followed him, weapons ready. The undead surged forward, and Ridmark struck. His staff landed with enough force to knock a tusked skull from the rotted stump of its neck. The undead collapsed, the blue light fading from its eyes. Around him Kharlacht and Gavin and Caius attacked. Caius’s mace shattered bones and crushed skulls, while Gavin lopped off limbs and heads with quick strikes of his orcish sword, and Kharlacht’s heavy blade cut them in twain.
The undead orcs were strong and fast, but Ridmark and the others had Calliande’s magic, and the undead were unskilled. The assassins from the Red Family had been skilled and capable fighters. The undead fought with crude power, but with neither skill nor grace.
Ridmark forced his way through the creatures. Morigna cast a spell, and roots erupted from the stony soil of the hillside, curling and entrapping a dozen of the undead. Gavin chopped through the bound undead. Step by step they drove the creatures back, leaving a carpet of crumbling bones and rusted armor in their wake.
And then Ridmark saw the gap in the path, the twin boulders looming together like a long-crumbled arch.
He dodged a rusted axe and lashed out with his staff, shattering an orcish skull. The corpse fell backward,
slowing down the others.
Another wave of undead, nearly a hundred strong, climbed up the slope.
“Morigna!” shouted Ridmark. “Now!”
###
Morigna took a deep breath, putting her thoughts through the patterns of spell casting.
She felt terrible. The shadows that Jonas had conjured had disrupted her connection with the earth magic, and she had tried a dozen times to fight off Jonas’s attack.
But she had been unable to concentrate through the pain.
If not for Calliande and Ridmark, she would be dead.
Or, worse, Jonas’s captive, helpless to defend herself against him.
The thought terrified her. Strength and power were important. The Old Man had taught that to her, and her experience of life had agreed with him. She had wanted to be strong, so strong that no one could ever hurt her again.
The way she had been hurt the night the dvargir had killed her parents, the day the urvaalg slew Nathan.
She had trusted in her magic and wits, certain they would see her through any danger. Even Nathan’s death had not shaken her confidence. If he had listened to her, he would still be alive.
But even all her power had been useless against the shadows.
She had trusted in her strength, and her strength had not been enough.
Morigna did not know what that meant.
But she could ponder it later after they escaped the mob of undead climbing the hill.
She summoned power from the land around her and gestured. The magic surged through her, and a wall of mist filled the gap between the two boulders. The undead passing through it caught fire at once, the mist burning into their bones and decayed flesh. A dozen of the creatures remained trapped on the near side, but Ridmark and the others cut them down.
More undead creatures pressed into the mist, Morigna’s magic eating into them and setting them aflame. Soon a heap of smoking, sizzling bones and dissolving flesh blocked the gap between the boulders.
“That,” said Gavin, lowering his sword and breathing hard, “is a most unpleasant smell.”
For once, Morigna could not disagree with him.
“Why are they still walking into the mist?” said Kharlacht as another corpse collapsed into charred bones.
“They’re puppets of dead flesh upon strings of dark magic,” said Ridmark. “They won’t turn back unless their master commands them.”
“Jonas,” said Morigna. “The wretch failed to defeat us, and so he loosed his undead.”
“I’m not sure it was him,” said Ridmark. “The marsh gas burned him badly, and I think his shadows carried him away to safety. And we didn’t see any undead on our way here.”
“Perhaps Jonas turned them invisible,” said Gavin, “the way he did with his assassins.”
Another corpse fell sizzling and smoking.
“Surely hiding that many undead at once would strain Jonas’s powers?” said Caius.
“I think it more likely,” said Calliande, “that Jonas has an ally, one that raised the undead and watched the fight from afar. Once he saw that Ridmark had beaten Jonas, he sent the undead into the fight.”
“Another Initiated of the Enlightened?” said Caius.
“Perhaps,” said Calliande. “Maybe one of the dvargir.”
The undead on the other side of the misty barrier began retreating.
“And whoever the necromancer is,” said Ridmark, “he’s still observing us. Calliande. Can you sense him?”
She worked the spell to sense the presence of magic.
“The undead,” she said, her eyes darting back and forth behind closed lids. “Lots of undead. But…I can’t sense anyone working spells nearby.”
“Morigna,” said Ridmark. “Your ravens?”
She shook her head. “The fighting scared them off. I’ll have to summon more.” The admission of weakness galled her. “It will take time.”
But Ridmark did not look upset. “When you can. If you can bind more birds, have them look around.” He rubbed his jaw, the black stubble rasping beneath his palm. “Though I suppose that standing circle would be an excellent place for a necromancer to hide.”
“Yes.” Morigna hesitated. “Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “All of you.”
Ridmark blinked. “For what?”
“For saving my life,” said Morigna. “For keeping Jonas from taking me prisoner.”
“Shadowbearer wanted me alive, too,” said Calliande, her eyes still closed. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
“Do you have any idea why Jonas wanted you prisoner?” said Ridmark.
“None,” said Morigna. “It must be a grudge. A reward Shadowbearer promised him for capturing the soulstone.”
“But Jonas said it was a favor for another of Shadowbearer’s servants,” said Caius.
Morigna shrugged. “I know not. I’ve never been more than a hundred miles from Moraime. Certainly I doubt there are many others in the town who are part of this cult of Incariel.”
“The undead,” said Gavin. “They’re moving off.”
“Likely they will keep watch upon the hill,” said Ridmark.
“Then what do we do now?” said Kharlacht. “If we try to fight our way out, they could overwhelm us.”
Ridmark shrugged. “We’ll do what we came here to do.” His eyes moved to Morigna. “Let’s speak with the Old Man.”
Morigna swallowed and nodded. “This way.”
“Ridmark!” said Calliande, her eyes shooting open.
“You sense something?” said Ridmark.
“Wraiths,” said Calliande.
The single wraith near the ruined fortress wraith had almost been enough to kill them. The six below the crypt would have killed them, had Ridmark not been so clever.
“How many?” Morigna asked.
“A dozen, at least,” said Calliande. “Probably more.”
“They have trapped us like rats in a pit,” said Kharlacht with a growl, the red haze of orcish battle fury brightening in his black eyes. In that moment Morigna could almost believed he could carve his way through the undead on his own.
“Aye,” said Morigna, “but we have a way out. The Old Man.”
Ridmark looked at her. “His power is strong enough to resist that many wraiths?”
“I do not know,” said Morigna. “But he has survived here for all these years, has he not?”
“And will he welcome strangers arriving with a half-dozen wraiths on their tails?” said Caius.
Morigna grinned at the dwarven friar. “Probably not. But if a half-dozen wraiths turn up on his doorstep, he will have no choice but to fight. And there are wards around his home.”
“I haven’t sensed anything,” said Calliande.
“They are latent,” said Morigna. “They only activate when foes draw near. He uses them whenever orcish or kobold raiders move through the marshes.”
“But will the Old Man see us as foes and activate the wards to keep us out?” said Caius.
“We have no choice in the matter,” said Ridmark.
“Ridmark,” said Calliande. “They’re getting closer. We…”
“Run!” said Ridmark.
Morigna saw the wall of mist darken. She wondered if her spell had unraveled, or the master of the undead had started countering her magic.
But the wraiths flowed unharmed through the wall of mist, the air growing cold against Morigna’s skin.
She turned and sprinted after the others, her tattered cloak flying around her.
###
Ridmark raced up the path.
The others followed, their boots scraping against the rocky ground. His arms and legs burned from the day’s fighting. He would need rest soon, and he suspected the others would as well. He did not know how much a toll the use of that much magic had taken Calliande and Morigna, but he suspected it was significant.
If they did not get behind the Old Man’s wards, if the Old Man’s wards were not strong enough to turn aside the
wraiths, they were dead.
It was as simple as that.
He ran across the broad ledge that Kharlacht had described. It would have been ideal for an ambush – Jonas and his men could have stood against the face of the hill, and driven them back to the edge. Just as well that Jonas had grown impatient. Another path, narrower than the first, ascended at a steep angle along the stony face of the hill.
Ridmark ran for the path.
White light flared, and he ran into an invisible wall. He stumbled backward across the ledge, just in time to see a shimmering field of light fade away from the path. Sigils of white fire burned for a moment upon the rocky slope, and then faded away.
The Old Man had already activated his wards.
“That was the spell of a Magistrius,” said Calliande. “A ward. Powerful one.”
“Then it seems the Old Man is indeed a renegade Magistrius,” said Caius.
“Can you break the ward?” said Ridmark.
“No,” said Calliande. “No, it’s too strong. Maybe if I had an hour or two to wear it down, but…”
Ridmark understood. They didn’t have an hour. They didn’t have five minutes.
The air grew colder.
“Morigna,” said Ridmark. “Did the Old Man tell you how to bypass his wards?”
She gave a sharp shake of her head. “No. Only that if I wanted to survive, I had better be inside of them.”
“How generous,” said Calliande.
“Calliande,” said Ridmark. “My staff. Enspell it, and I will hold off the wraiths for as long as I can.”
“You’ll die,” said Calliande.
“We shall fight alongside you,” said Kharlacht.
“No,” said Ridmark, looking around the ledge. Could they climb up the hillside? No, it was too steep and too rocky. “She doesn’t have enough magic to make all your weapons effective against the wraiths. But she can augment mine, and you can escape while I hold the wraiths.” He pointed toward the marshes. “The slope is steep, but if you’re careful, you can manage it. Head back to Moraime. Abbot Ulakhur and Sir Michael must be warned about Jonas’s treachery.”
Frostborn: The Undying Wizard Page 13