A dwarven man stood behind them, a few inches shorter than Caius and much thinner, so thin he was almost skeletal. His gray skin had a sallow, unhealthy tinge, and his eyes looked like bloodshot blue marble. He wore a ragged coat and trousers, his feet bare, and a dagger hung at his belt. His bloodshot eyes went wide at the sight of their weapons, and he fell to his knees, raising his hands to protect his face as he shouted a long string of ragged words in the dwarven tongue.
Caius stepped forward and answered him in the same language. The ragged dwarf blinked several times, and they spoke for a while. Then Caius nodded and stepped back, gesturing at Ridmark.
“The orcish tongue?” said the ragged dwarf in that language. “Ugh. A foul, uncouth language. I detest it. I detest it! But…but if we are all to communicate, I suppose I must employ it.”
Ridmark stepped forward. “Who are you?”
The dwarf squinted up at him. “And who the devil are you? You’re the trespasser! I live here, you know.”
“My name is Ridmark Arban,” said Ridmark. “We’ve come here on an errand. This is Brother Caius of the mendicant order, Sir Arandar and Sir Gavin of the Order of the Soulblade, Kharlacht of Vhaluusk, Morigna of Moraime, Jager and Mara of Coldinium, Antenora, the apprentice of the Keeper, and Calliande, a Magistria of the Order of Magistri.”
Yet the dwarf had stopped listening. Instead he stared at Calliande. He got to his feet and took a few hesitant, trembling steps towards her.
“You,” he whispered. “You came back.”
“Do…you know who I am?” said Calliande.
“I remember,” said the dwarf, blinking. “It was such a long time. Two hundred years. Two hundred and thirty years. You said…you said you would come back someday.” The dwarf started to weep and fell to his knees. “You…you came back, I…I had forgotten…”
“Who are you?” said Calliande. “I fear I cannot remember.”
“I…yes, that makes sense,” said the dwarf. “My name is Irunzad. I was the taalklavkar of Khald Azalar…ah, that is, the Master of the Keys of the Vault for the King of Khald Azalar.”
“The Keys?” said Jager. “That could come in handy.”
“Tell me who you are,” said Calliande. “Please. I do not remember. Anything you can tell me would…”
“Wait,” said Ridmark, holding up a hand. “Antenora. Mara. Do you see anything unusual about him?”
“No spells,” said Mara with a shake of her head.
“The dagger at his waist is enchanted powerfully,” said Antenora, “in a similar fashion as your own axe, Gray Knight, and the daggers that your companions bear.”
Morigna gestured, casting the spell to sense the presence of magical forces. “She is correct. I do not believe he can cast spells.”
“Spells?” said Irunzad. “I am not a stonescribe. Why would you think I could cast spells?”
“We have heard rumor of a creature that dwells near the Citadel of Kings,” said Ridmark. “A creature the deep orcs call the Devourer. Perhaps such a creature could take different forms to trick its victims.”
“The Devourer?” croaked Irunzad. “I know of what you speak. It is a devil from the darkest corners of the Deeps, a thing that feeds on the flesh and blood of the living, a creature that can change its shape with a thought. Sometimes the deep orcs bring victims to the Citadel of Kings for the Devourer to consume. It devours them entirely, even the bones.”
“If it lairs here,” said Ridmark, “then why haven’t we seen it already?”
Irunzad shrugged. “Who can say? I do not know what manner of creature the Devourer really is. Sometimes it wanders the upper halls of the city for years on end, consuming any that cross its path. Sometimes it haunts the Deeps and hibernates for decades, waiting. Sometimes it sits upon the King’s throne and broods for days on end.” He shuddered. “I have always tried to hide from the evil thing. Perhaps I have done so. Perhaps it simply has no interest in me. Or it is waiting to kill me until it finds the prospect amusing.”
“Tell me...tell me what you know about my last visit here,” said Calliande. “Please.”
“I remember,” said Irunzad, his bloodshot eyes going glassy. “It was so long ago. The Frostborn wiped us all out, but you and the Dragon Knight defeated them. A few of us were left, and we tried to hold out until the Three Kingdoms sent aid, but the deep orcs came and slew all but me. Then you came with the Dragon Knight. You told me of Dragonfall and the Vault, and that you had to hide your staff within Dragonfall. The Frostborn would return, one day, and when that day came you needed your staff. I opened the Vault, and you cast mighty magic within it. Then you and the Dragon Knight departed. You told me…you told me to conceal the Key and then to flee Khald Azalar, for it would be many years before you returned.”
“Why didn’t you flee?” said Calliande.
“I tried,” said Irunzad, blinking. Tears appeared in his bloodshot eyes. “But…but I…”
“What happened?” said Calliande, her voice gentle. Ridmark saw the regret and the guilt in her face. Likely she blamed herself for what had happened to Irunzad.
“I lost the Key,” said Irunzad, shuddering. “I was the Master of the Keys, and I failed in my trust. I lost the Key!”
“Well,” said Morigna with some asperity, “do you know where it is?”
“I tried to get out through the Gate of the West,” said Irunzad, “but the gorgon spirit had been loosed during the battle. I could not go through the Gate of the East. Urdmordar haunt the forests along the banks of the Moradel, and they would capture and devour me. So I tried to go out through the mines, into the Deeps, and use the Deeps to reach Khald Tormen.”
“The Key was taken from you,” said Ridmark. “The dvargir? The kobolds?” If the dvargir had carried the Key back to Khaldurmar as a trophy, Ridmark and Calliande and the others would have no choice but to go to the dvargir city and steal it back. At least they would not have to worry about the Traveler or Mournacht getting into the Vault of the Kings before they returned.
“No,” whispered Irunzad. “Basilisks.”
“Basilisks?” said Calliande. “Why would they take the Key?”
“They didn’t,” said Irunzad. “There is a nest of basilisks just within the mines. I stumbled into their nest, and I barely escaped with my life. I…I dropped the Key as I fled, and I have been too much of a coward to retrieve it.”
“You cannot blame yourself,” said Calliande. “A basilisk is a deadly foe. That you are still alive is something of a miracle.”
“Or its own punishment,” said Irunzad. “For two hundred years I have tried to get that Key back. I have wandered Khald Azalar, hiding from the deep orcs and the kobolds and the dvargir and the Devourer and every other creature that has wandered up from the Deeps. Yet I have found no way to retrieve the Key.”
“I have a spell,” said Calliande, “that can shield us from the basilisk’s power. We can get the Key back.”
“You can?” said Irunzad. “Oh, by the gods of stone and silence. I can fulfill my trust at last.”
“Where is this nest?” said Ridmark. They had to hurry. The Citadel of Kings was deserted, but there was no telling when the Devourer might return or awaken. Or, for that matter, when the Traveler and Mournacht might arrive accompanied by their armies.
“In the mines,” said Irunzad. “A short distance from here.” He sketched a description of the route, and Ridmark felt a chill.
“God and the saints,” said Jager. “We walked right past it. That one tunnel by the lake with the petrified kobolds? We walked right past it.”
“That is good news,” said Ridmark.
“How?” said Jager. “Well, other than the fact that we are still alive.”
“It means,” said Arandar, “that the basilisks are currently sleeping.”
“Hibernating,” muttered Irunzad. “They don’t sleep. They hibernate.”
“Hibernating, then,” said Arandar. “We can get in and get out without waking the basil
isks.”
“That will be difficult,” said Calliande. “My magic…during the fight with the basilisk, I noticed that my magic drew its attention. When Morigna hit the basilisk with a spell, it went right after her, and followed her through the gloom.”
“Do you think your warding spell might wake the basilisks up?” said Arandar.
“I don’t know,” said Calliande. “I suppose we are going to have to find out.”
Morigna took a deep breath. “There might be another way. Ridmark. I have to talk to you alone.”
###
Morigna led Ridmark a short distance away in the great hall, far enough from the doors to the Vault of the Kings that the others could not overhear. Well, Mara would likely overhear. The woman had ears that could put a cat to shame, but she already knew what Morigna had to say.
“What is it?” said Ridmark.
She told Ridmark what had happened to her to the Farmers’ Quarter and the foundry level, how the shadows had risen up around her in response to her fear. When she finished, she braced herself, waiting for him to become angry, for him to push her away in disgust or fear at the dark magic that had tainted her.
He did none of those things.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said at last.
“Because,” said Morigna. “I do…not know what to do. The dark magic is inside me, Ridmark. I should never have touched that damned soulstone.”
He tapped the pouch at his belt. Calliande carried the soulstone that Shadowbearer had apparently stolen from Cathair Solas. Ridmark carried the rough soulstone that had powered the Warden’s trap at Urd Morlemoch. It was not as powerful as Calliande’s soulstone, not as potent, but nonetheless it was dangerous.
“If you hadn’t,” said Ridmark, “we would have died, the Warden would have enslaved Old Earth, and there would have been no one to stop Shadowbearer from calling the Frostborn back to our world.”
“Maybe,” said Morigna. “I always thought power was the only thing that mattered. I never thought that power would turn on me.”
“The Old Man taught you that,” said Ridmark, “and look what happened to him.”
“True,” said Morigna. She took a deep breath, watching his face. “What should we do?” She looked away, alarmed by how well she could see him in the gloom. “I do not think I can reverse the changes. They are likely permanent and will continue. Maybe I…”
He reached up, put his hand on her cheek, and very gently made her look at him.
“You haven’t used dark magic since the Vale, have you?” said Ridmark.
“No,” she said. “Not since I almost lost control of it.”
“Then it seems these changes are passive ones,” said Ridmark. “You cannot control the night vision, and the shadows only come when you are threatened. So long as you don’t use dark magic again, you ought to be safe enough. For now.” He took a deep breath of his own. “You must talk to Calliande, though, once she recovers her powers.”
“I can think of a thousand other things I would rather do than admit any weakness to that woman,” said Morigna.
“You unfairly judge…” He stopped, fell silent for a moment, and then started over. “When she recovers her staff, she will have the memories and knowledge of the Keeper. The Keepers of Andomhaim defended the High Kingdom from dark magic for seven hundred years before Calliande went below the Tower of Vigilance. If anyone will know how to help you, she will.”
“The Keepers defended Andomhaim by destroying wielders of dark magic,” said Morigna. “How do you think Calliande will react?”
“She already knows most of it,” said Ridmark. “She knows you took the dark magic to free us at Urd Morlemoch. And I am certain she will not hurt you.”
“Why not?” said Morigna. “She does not like me.”
“You don’t like her, either,” said Ridmark, “but you’ve both gone into danger together. She knows your heart, and you know hers. You have worked together when necessary. Besides, if she wants to hurt you, she will not, because I will not allow it.”
She blinked. There was such iron certainty in his voice that it made her feel better.
“All right,” said Morigna. “I believe you. So. Are we going to do this?”
“You will be taking most of the risk,” said Ridmark. “Do you want to do it?”
“No,” said Morigna. “But if Calliande does not recover her memory, then the Frostborn return and the world dies, is that not so? I am not terribly concerned about the world, but…you live in the world…so…”
He leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss.
“Then you will do this?” he said.
Morigna nodded.
“Very well,” said Ridmark. “Let’s go rob a basilisk’s nest.”
Chapter 11: Nests
“And here,” Jager murmured, “we are.”
Calliande nodded, gazing at the dark hole that led to the basilisks’ nest.
Irunzad had led the way from the Citadel of Kings, down the stairs, and to the Gate of the Deeps. It had taken less than an hour and a half to return to the natural cavern dominated by a large lake, glowing ghost mushrooms ringing its shore.
That, and a score of petrified kobolds scattered through the cavern. Previously Calliande had thought them the victims of the dvargir. Now, knowing that basilisks slept in the tunnel beyond, she felt a renewed sense of dread. They had passed a few yards from mortal danger and never even realized it, and without the map Jager had found, they might have wandered into the basilisks’ lair.
Though without the map, they might have wandered through the mines until they starved to death.
“Master Irunzad,” said Mara, her voice calm, detached. She had likely sounded that way, Calliande realized, as she planned assassinations as a sister of the Red Family. “Do you recall where you dropped the Key?”
“In there,” said Irunzad, gazing at the tunnel with fearful eyes. A memory floated out of the mists choking Calliande’s past. Dwarves were usually stoic to the point of absurdity. Caius was something of an exception, but to her knowledge he was the first dwarf to have been baptized. Yet Irunzad was not, and for a follower of the gods of stone and silence to show so much fear…
Mara gave no reaction. “Of course. Though if you could recall specifically where, that would be helpful.”
“There…was a tunnel,” said Irunzad, his lined face tightening as he tried to remember. “Then a wider cavern. Beyond that, a large chamber with a…a vent in the floor. Heat rose from the vent, but no toxic fumes. The basilisks were clustered around it, and they had several nests in the chamber.”
“Heat,” said Morigna. “In the wilds, lizards prefer heat, and even with all their power, one supposes that basilisk are simply large, truculent lizards.”
“I found the basilisks in the chamber with the vent,” said Irunzad. “I dropped the Key in there. I think…it should still be in there. The basilisks would have petrified or eaten anyone who has ventured in since.”
“Eaten?” said Gavin.
“They do not always turn their victims to stone,” said Irunzad. “They somehow feed upon those they turn to stone, but they also enjoy meat.”
“Charming beasts,” said Jager. “I can see why they get along with the dvargir so well.”
Kharlacht grunted. “Given that the last basilisk we faced turned Rzorgar to stone, it seems a strained friendship.”
“True,” said Mara, rolling her shoulders as she stepped forward. “We should get this over with.”
Morigna nodded and went to Mara’s side. “It is possible one or more of the basilisks will be awake to keep guard over the others.”
“Then we go in, get the Key, and leave again,” said Mara.
“I am not convinced,” said Arandar, “that this is a good idea.”
Neither was Calliande. Ridmark had said that Morigna could protect herself from the basilisks’ gaze, some ability that would shield her without awakening the creatures. He hadn’t elaborated further, and nei
ther had Morigna. Perhaps that meant the dark magic Morigna had taken from Urd Morlemoch would somehow protect her.
Arandar clearly thought that, too. The Swordbearer’s suspicion was obvious, but so far he had not forced the issue. For once, Morigna was not taunting him, and seemed content to ignore him. Perhaps she had chosen prudence for once.
“Neither am I,” said Jager. “I’m the expert thief. I should go in.”
Mara shrugged. “You don’t have any way to protect yourself from the basilisk’s gaze.”
“You don’t,” said Jager.
“I can travel away,” said Mara. “Morigna can shield herself in a way the basilisks won’t detect. Calliande’s magic and the power of the soulblades will rouse them. We don’t know how many basilisks are in there…”
“There were at least six,” said Irunzad, “when I lost the Key.”
“More could have come since,” said Ridmark. “Which is why we should get this over with before something else comes along. Gavin, Arandar. Keep watch over the tunnel. If the basilisks come rampaging out, you’ll be best able to defend yourselves. The rest of us will keep guard for anything else that comes out of the Deeps.”
Calliande nodded and summoned power, preparing herself to cast the ward against the basilisks’ power if needed. The others moved into position.
“Are you ready?” said Mara.
Morigna nodded. “Of course. This is no different than stealing eggs from a bird’s nest without getting caught. I have done that many times.”
“Uglier birds this time,” said Jager.
Morigna scowled at him. “If I fail, you can enjoy the pleasure of telling my statue that you were right.”
“Be careful,” said Ridmark, and Morigna nodded at him, a flicker of emotion going over her face. She did love him, Calliande thought. Despite her abrasiveness and arrogance, despite her love of power, she did love Ridmark.
Did she love him more than she loved power?
“All right,” said Mara with placid calm. “Let’s go.”
###
Mara moved in silence down the tunnel, her short sword ready in her right hand, the tip pointed low. The floor was rocky and covered with sand, which made it a challenge to move without noise, but she managed it. Morigna followed suit, her expression hard and tight in the gloom. Clusters of glow mushrooms on the walls provided some light, at least enough for Mara to use. Morigna, with her altered vision, likely had no trouble.
Frostborn: The Broken Mage Page 16