Frostborn: The Undying Wizard

by Jonathan Moeller

  Morigna looked at him, watching his gray cloak hang against his back. She knew the measure of Jonas Vorinus, and now that she knew the measure of Ridmark Arban, and she was certain that Ridmark would find and kill Jonas.

  And what then?

  Morigna would not go back to the Old Man, not after she had learned how much Coriolus had kept from her over the years.

  But where else would she go?

  She looked at Ridmark and had an idea.

  “Morigna?” said Calliande. “Do you need healing?”

  “No,” said Morigna, “no, I am fine.”

  She followed the others up the stairs to the barracks.

  ###

  Ridmark took one step into the entry hall and stopped.

  “Someone has been here,” he said.

  There were fresh footprints in the rock dust. Not many – only two or three people had come through the chamber since Ridmark and his companions had passed through. And as far as he could tell, none of the new footprints went to the barracks below.

  “Morigna, Calliande,” he said. “Check your…”

  But both Morigna and Calliande shouted in alarm and began casting spells.

  Ridmark turned, seeking foes, and every last dwarven glyph carved into the floor and the walls blazed with ruby-colored light. The arcane sigils began to glow as well, shining with an eerie crimson radiance of their own.

  “Run!” said Calliande. “All of you…”

  The light blazed brighter, and Ridmark realized what the massive warding spell had been designed to do. It wasn’t built to hold a summoned creature, or to shield Thainkul Dural from attack.

  It had been a trap for Ridmark and his friends all along.

  And they had walked right into it.

  Sheets of translucent crimson light erupted from the floor and slammed into the ceiling. Pain erupted through Ridmark, and his muscles locked into place, holding him immobile. He growled in fury and tried to step forward, tried to move, but his legs refused to obey him. He managed to turn his head, and saw the others pinned in place by the spell.

  Like flies trapped in amber.

  “Calliande,” Ridmark grated. “The spell. The…”

  Calliande stood motionless, sheathed in a cocoon of red light, as did Morigna.

  A familiar voice cut into his thoughts.

  “Ah, splendid. You are all here. We can begin, finally.”

  Ridmark forced his head to turn, and saw a figure clad in a long, hooded gray coat standing near the gleaming gates. The figure drew back the hood, revealing a lined face with watery blue eyes and wispy white hair.

  The Old Man.

  Chapter 17 - Prizes

  “Surprised?” said Coriolus. He made a flipping gesture with one hand. “Oh, go ahead and speak. You can talk, but you cannot move. A useful aspect of this particular spell. It makes interrogations so much easier.”

  His voice was the same, but the cringing resentment and fear had vanished. The wariness in his face had evaporated, and in its place Ridmark saw utter confidence and surety, the kind of confidence than sprang from decades of wielding great power.

  It reminded him of Agrimnalazur in the moments before their final battle in Urd Arowyn. That cheered Ridmark – Agrimnalazur had perished in the end.

  Of course, she could just have easily killed them all.

  “You are,” said Ridmark, “quite a skilled actor.”

  Coriolus offered a mocking little bow. “Why, thank you. I have had much practice over the centuries. Tell me, how much of my little tale did you believe?”

  “None of it,” said Ridmark. “I was sure you were lying.”

  Coriolus wagged his finger like a teacher chastising a pupil. “I was sure of that, too. But deception is only one possible purpose of a lie. Misdirection is another.”

  “Such as,” said Ridmark, “making us believe that you had nothing to do with the dvargir.” Kzargar’s complaints flashed through his mind. “Or keeping us from realizing that you are a disciple of Shadowbearer.”

  “Oh, you are as clever as I was warned,” said Coriolus, moving closer to the edge of the magical trap. A few quick steps, and Ridmark could have crushed the Old Man’s skull with a blow from his staff. But the bands of crimson magic held his limbs fast. “A pity you weren’t just a little cleverer. Then you would not be here. But that would be bad for me.”

  “And that, above all,” said Ridmark, “is your primary concern.”

  “Of course,” said Coriolus.

  “Except for heeding the wishes of Shadowbearer,” said Ridmark.

  He expected the Old Man to take umbrage, but Coriolus only smiled.

  “The fools in the Enlightened of Incariel,” said Coriolus, “worship strength. Oh, they are right to do so, do not mistake me. But they make an error. Every last Enlightened and Initiated assumes that one day, he will become the strongest of all. That he will rule and dominate. But they fail to understand the true nature of strength.”

  “And that is?” said Ridmark.

  “There is always something stronger,” said Coriolus. “A man must serve someone.” He waved a thin hand. “After all, you and the dwarf and the orc and the so-called Magistria claim to follow the Dominus Christus and his God. They are illusions, of course, but the principle is the same. You have chosen to serve a master. I have merely chosen to serve a more effective and powerful one.” He turned his head. “Isn’t that right, Initiated of the Second Circle?”

  Boots scraped against the floor, and Jonas Vorinus came into sight, still wearing chain mail. His strange shadow-magic had healed the burns from the explosion, and he looked healthy as ever, though his hair and one of his eyebrows had not grown back.

  “You’re looking less charred than I expected,” said Ridmark.

  Jonas spat. “You’re in no position to gloat, fool.” He started to draw his sword. “Let’s hear you gloat when I…”

  Coriolus sighed and gestured. The floor beneath Jonas’s boots rippled, and Jonas fell to the floor. He scrambled backward, glaring at the Old Man with hatred.

  And more than a hint of fear.

  “The Dux will be wroth if you kill me!” said Jonas. “I am the Dux’s favored servant!”

  “I care nothing for the good opinion of Tarrabus Carhaine,” said Coriolus. “However, the Dux cares nothing for what happens to you, and neither does Shadowbearer. They prefer results, not excuses. Killing unless necessary is so wasteful. Annoy me again, however, and you may make me reconsider.”

  Jonas got to his feet and took several steps back.

  “So,” said Ridmark. “You were the one yanking Jonas’s leash, I take it?”

  “I am an Initiated of the Second Circle of the Enlightened of Incariel!” said Jonas. “I am no man’s dog.”

  “I let Jonas have his chance,” said Coriolus. “Though my intent was to drive you here all along. I raised the undead to draw you to Moraime. I knew the fools in the town would blame me, and you would investigate. And once you spoke with me, I would blame the dvargir. And after the dvargir forced you to retreat, I would lure you here…and my trap would take care of the rest. Though if you died at any time, it would be simple to retrieve the empty soulstone, which is what Shadowbearer really wants.” He craned his neck, looking behind Ridmark. “I see you triggered the flood trap. Kzargar must have been more enthusiastic than I instructed. I would chastise him for disobedience, but since he is trapped behind the flood at the moment, I suppose I shall simply have to keep his promised payment.”

  “They it is safer to snatch a cub from a lioness,” said Ridmark, “than to cheat a dvargir.”

  Coriolus smiled. “Kzargar and his thugs do not concern me.”

  “Such an elaborate game,” said Ridmark, seeking for some flaw in the trap, some way to escape. Perhaps if he delayed long enough, Calliande or Morigna would find a way to break the spell. “Wouldn’t it have been easier just to kill us and take the soulstone?”

  “Immensely,” said Coriolus. “But I hav
e not lived this long by failing to take opportunities when they present themselves. Shadowbearer wants the soulstone, true.” A cold smile spread over his bearded lips. “But he would not object to having the Magistria in his grasp. And you, Gray Knight, have the enmity of the Dux of Caerdracon. Since the Dux will rise high in the new order, there is no harm in doing him a favor now by capturing you alive.”

  “But I captured him!” said Jonas. “I…” Coriolus looked at him, and Jonas fell silent.

  “So you are one of the Enlightened of Incariel?” said Ridmark.

  “Not at all,” said Coriolus. “The Enlightened are a relatively modern order, little more than a century old. I am older by far.”

  Ridmark stared at the old wizard, and something clicked into place.

  “You’re one of the Eternalists,” said Ridmark, “are you not?”

  Coriolus smiled. “Clever indeed.”

  “Is that your original body?” said Ridmark.

  “My fourth, in truth,” said Coriolus. “I was one of the first of our Order.” His smile was almost wistful. “We had grand dreams of overthrowing the Magistri and ruling the realm of Andomhaim ourselves. Alas, the hour was not yet ripe. We were not strong enough. I foresaw that the Magistri and the Swordbearers would destroy us. The others did not, the prideful fools, and the Eternalists were crushed.”

  “But you fled,” said Ridmark, “and have lurked near Moraime ever since.”

  “Well, not ever since,” said Coriolus. “Only for the last few decades. I find it necessary to change bodies every so often.” He sighed and rolled his shoulders. “And this one…this one is nearing its end.”

  “So you’re going to claim a kobold’s body?” said Ridmark. “Like Talvinius, perhaps?”

  Coriolus blinked. “Talvinius? You knew him?”

  “Not personally,” said Ridmark, “but he died after his spirit possessed the body of a kobold of the Deeps. Perhaps that will be your fate as well.”

  He expected the Eternalist to take offense, but Coriolus threw back his head and roared with laughter, so loudly that even Jonas looked surprised.

  “What is so funny?” said Jonas.

  “Talvinius had to possess the body of a kobold?” said Coriolus. “Ah, but that is delightful. He was terrified of snakes, lizards, anything with scales. It was his own fault, I suppose. The idiot did not apply himself diligently to the practice of magic, and never mustered the skill to take another human body for his own. Little wonder he had to settle for a kobold.”

  “That’s what this is about,” said Ridmark. “You need a new body.”

  “Indeed,” said Coriolus, “and it’s time to proceed. But first, I want to enjoy a little reunion.”

  He stepped past Ridmark and faced Calliande.

  ###

  Calliande struggled against the magic holding her fast.

  But it was futile. The magic of the elaborate warding spell was too strong. If she had been outside the trap, she could have broken it. But inside, it was as if both her limbs and her magic had been sheathed in steel chains. She could not cast a spell. She could not move.

  She could not even open her mouth to speak.

  Had Coriolus wished it, she knew, he could have commanded her lungs to stop, and she would asphyxiate in short order.

  She fought against the spell with all her strength, but it was useless. She heard Ridmark taunting Coriolus, heard the voice of Jonas Vorinus, but it barely registered. She had to break free. She had…

  Coriolus stepped before her, standing just beyond the wall of ruby-colored light. Jonas trailed after him, glaring at Ridmark. For a moment Coriolus simply stared at Calliande, his expression distant.

  He crooked a finger.

  “You can speak, Calliande,” he said. “It has been such a long time.”

  “You…know me, then?” said Calliande, her voice hoarse.

  “Not well,” he said. “Not as well as some of the other Eternalists. They always looked down upon me, thought I was weaker.” He smirked. “But they are all dead and I am not. He who laughs last laughs best, does he not?”

  “But you know who I am?” said Calliande.

  “I saw you speak,” said Coriolus, his eyes distant. “The day you addressed the assembled Magistri and Comites and Duxi in the hall of the High King in Tarlion. Ah, such grand words you spoke! You convinced them. You even convinced me for a time.” He tilted his head to the side. “You…do not remember? Any of it?”

  Calliande said nothing, hoping to draw him out. Sometimes in her dreams she saw herself speaking to an assembly of old men and women in the white robes of the Magistri, but whenever she tried to grasp the memory, it faded away.

  “The Master said that she had lost her memory entirely,” said Jonas.

  “Indeed,” said Coriolus. “And while Shadowbearer is by no means infallible,” Jonas scowled at that, “it appears he was entirely correct. She doesn’t know who she is. Or what.”

  “Are you so certain of that?” said Calliande, hoping to shake the Old Man’s smug confidence.

  “I was certain you were dead,” said Coriolus. “You convinced them with your fine speech, that your mad plan would work…after all, your first mad plan had worked. But when your splendid rhetoric wore off…it really was just a foolish plan, wasn’t it? To sleep away the centuries? I was sure you were dead. The Tower of Vigilance burned in 1388, and the Vigilant were slain and forgotten. You were forgotten.” He shook his head. “Of all the fates that might have awaited Calliande of Tarlion, the thought that you might be utterly and completely forgotten…that never even occurred to me. And that you will die never remembering who you are…ah, but Shadowbearer’s cruelty is almost artistic in its profundity.”

  “And your speech,” growled Ridmark, “is certainly tedious in its pomposity.”

  “True,” said Coriolus. “Ever a failing of mine. I do like to talk, and there has been so little opportunity for it in the last century.” He grinned and spread his hands. “And now that I have a captive audience, how can I resist?”

  “You like to talk, fine,” said Calliande. “Then talk. Tell me who I am, if you claim to know.” If she kept him talking, perhaps Ridmark would figure out something clever, or Morigna might break free of the spell. She considered asking Coriolus about Dragonfall, but stopped herself. Perhaps he knew of Dragonfall, but did not know of its importance. If she brought it to the forefront of his mind, then he might go there after she died.

  Because he was likely to kill them all…and then he would take the soulstone and present it to Shadowbearer.

  “I admit it would bring me great pleasure,” said Coriolus, “simply to see the look of consternation upon your face. But, alas, I must refrain. I think Shadowbearer will reserve that pleasure to himself, and only a fool would cross him. And I have my own affairs to conduct.”

  “Such as?” said Calliande.

  Coriolus’s smile widened. “You met Talvinius?”

  “Briefly,” said Calliande. “As Ridmark told you, his spirit was trapped in the flesh of a kobold shaman.”

  “And he tried to possess you, I take it?” said Coriolus.

  “He did,” said Calliande. “It did not end well for him.” The realization came to her. “Your body is old and failing. You need a new one, one with magical ability, and so you lured me here to claim mine, just at Talvinius did.”

  “You are,” said Coriolus, “half-right. I only need one more thing from you.”

  He gestured, and Calliande’s jaw clamped shut. The Old Man stepped into the ruby light, and for a moment Calliande hoped it would trap him. But Coriolus’s own spell would not touch him. He plucked the pouch containing the empty soulstone from Calliande’s belt.

  Then he stepped out of the trap and gazed at Morigna with a predatory smile.

  ###

  Morigna fought against the spell with impotent fury.

  She tried to summon magic, but the trap disrupted her power. She tried to move, but the crimson light held her fa
st.

  Once again, her strength had been insufficient.

  Coriolus stopped a few paces away from her, weighing the pouch in his right hand.

  “Dear little Morigna,” he said. “How I have waited for this day.”

  Morigna realized she could speak.

  “And what day is that?” she spat. “A day for betrayal?”

  “Betrayal?” said Coriolus. “Hardly. How is this a betrayal?”

  “You ought to know,” said Jonas, “given that you betrayed Nathan to his death.”

  Morigna glared at him. “Be silent when your betters are speaking.”

  Jonas growled and started to draw his sword again, but Coriolus looked at him.

  “You really ought to take her advice, Initiated,” he said.

  Jonas flinched and released his sword.

  “That’s better,” said Coriolus, turning back to Morigna. “And this is not a betrayal. Does a freeholder betray the pig when he leads the beast to the slaughtering block?”

  A chill went through Morigna. “What do you mean?”

  “Who do you think you are, Morigna daughter of Litavis?” said Coriolus. “My adopted daughter? Perhaps a surrogate niece? My student? No. You are none of these things. You are,” he paused for a moment, searching for the word, “my fattened calf. And the hour of the feast has come at last.”

  Morigna sneered. “So you are going to kill and eat me, then?”

  “Not at all,” said Coriolus. “Well. Perhaps in a metaphorical sense.”

  “Say what you mean, old fool, without the needless words,” said Morigna.

  “Absolutely not,” said Coriolus. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing the expression on your face when you learn the truth for fourteen years…and I am going to savor this. You see, I came to Moraime twenty years ago, seeking a new host. The Old Man already lived in the hills. A failed initiate of the Magistri, living in fear of an order that had forgotten him years ago.” He glanced at Ridmark. “The story I told you was mostly true, by the way. It was only about the previous owner of this body. I expelled his feeble spirit from this flesh and claimed it for my own. But the Old Man was already old, and even with my skill at necromancy, I would need another body within a few decades. A young one, a healthy one, a body that would last me for many years. And one with strong magical ability.”