Frostborn: The Broken Mage

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Are you all right?” said Gavin hesitantly.

  “Not really,” said Calliande. “But I have no one to blame but myself, do I?” She felt Morigna staring at her and rebuked herself. She was not going to fall apart, and she certainly wasn’t going to do it in front of Morigna. “Irunzad. Which way to…to Dragonfall?”

  “This way, Keeper,” said Irunzad.

  “We will see this done, then,” said Ridmark. “Together.”

  Calliande hesitated, nodded, and the followed Ridmark and Irunzad. They made their way down the aisle between the stone tables laden with unimaginable wealth. Archways opened off the long hall on regular intervals, revealing chambers just as large as the main Vault, each one filled with relics and treasures. Irunzad kept walking until he came to the very end of the Vault, and then turned to an archway on the left. Unlike the other halls, this one was utterly empty, the floor bare and stark and marching to…

  Calliande sucked in a breath as another memory went through her.

  The doors at the end of the hall were not dwarven steel, but the golden metal the high elves used in their armor. Above the doors rested a massive skull of dark bone, at least six feet long with fangs like daggers.

  A dragon’s skull.

  “Dragonfall,” said Irunzad. “The ancient tomb of the dragons of old.”

  “I know,” murmured Calliande, talking a step towards the arch.

  “Hold, Keeper,” said Antenora, grabbing her arm. “There is a spell upon the arch.”

  Calliande blinked, shaking off her reverie. “What?”

  “She’s right,” said Mara. “A ward of some kind. Magic of a type I’ve never seen before.”

  “I have,” said Antenora, a strange note in her raspy voice. “Long, long ago upon Old Earth. It is the kind of magic wielded by the Keeper.”

  “Irunzad?” said Ridmark. “What do you know about this?”

  Irunzad hesitated. “It is a secret of the Kings.”

  “Please,” said Calliande. “Tell us.”

  The gaunt dwarf hesitated for a little longer, and then shrugged. “If the Keeper is not worthy of the secret, who is? Long ago, when the khaldari came to this world, Ardrhythain of the high elves told us to settle here.”

  “Ardrhythain?” said Calliande, surprised.

  “He said this was a place of power,” said Irunzad. “Long ago, dragons ruled this world, and waged war against the great darkness that the dark elves would later worship. The dragons died out, but their bones lay in Dragonfall, hidden from the world. There was great power in Dragonfall, power the dark elves might claim, so Khald Azalar was built to guard that power. This was a secret trust given to the Kings of Khald Azalar, to defend the power of Dragonfall from any that might misuse it.” The old dwarf lifted his chin. “We have kept that trust. Khald Azalar stood fast against the dark elves and the urdmordar, and the Frostborn destroyed us, but Dragonfall remains safe.”

  “Then how did I know about it?” said Calliande, trying and failing to remember. “Ardrhythain must have told me. He said…he said he knew more than he could tell me. Perhaps that was part of it.”

  “How do we get past the ward?” said Ridmark.

  “I do not know,” said Irunzad. He lifted a hand and waved it into the archway. There was a flash, and for a moment a shimmering curtain of translucent white light filled the enormous arch. The curtain faded away a moment later. “The Keeper cast it when she and the Dragon Knight entered Dragonfall all those years ago. I am not a stonescribe. I do not know how to unravel the spell.”

  Calliande cast the spell to sense the presence of magic, and the power of the ward flooded through her. It was unlike any magic she had encountered since awakening below the Tower of Vigilance. It was subtle and quiet, yet seemed to be as strong as the bones of the mountain around her.

  She had never encountered it before…but it was familiar to her, as familiar as her own hands.

  Before she fully understood what she was doing, she raised her hand and cast another spell, raking her fingers through the archway. White light glimmered, and the ward faded away.

  Silence fell over the others as Calliande stared at the doors of golden metal. She felt the presence of her staff behind those doors like the heat of a fire upon her face.

  “Well,” said Jager. “I suppose that was one way to get past the ward, wasn’t it?”

  “It’s time to finish this,” said Ridmark.

  “Yes,” said Calliande, her throat dry, her pulse throbbing in her temples. The strange, terrifying familiarity of the hall threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted to turn and flee back to the Vale of Stone Death. “Yes, it is. Thank you, all of you. For…”

  To her surprise, Morigna spoke. “Come along, Magistria. One cannot save the world by staring at the door.”

  Calliande nodded. “I suppose not.”

  They walked into the vast, empty stone hall, towards the doors of golden metal with the dragon skull mounted over them. As they drew nearer, Calliande saw that the doors had been carved with elaborate designs of dragons. A flight of shallow stairs led up to the doors, leading to a broad dais perhaps five or six steps above the floor.

  “Another spell in front of the doors,” said Mara. “A powerful ward, similar to the first one.”

  “I see it as well,” said Antenora. “It is more of the Keeper’s magic.”

  “It seems that you shall know how to open that ward as well,” said Morigna.

  “I hope so,” said Calliande, watching the golden doors draw closer. “I…”

  “Wait,” said Ridmark, his voice suddenly hard.

  He stopped and turned, looking towards the main Vault.

  A green-clad woman emerged from the Vault, striding towards them. She wore a hooded green cloak that concealed her features.

  Calliande blinked, raising her hand in alarm as she summoned power for a spell. Morigna and Antenora followed suit, while the others lifted their weapons. Mara peered at the approaching woman, her green eyes narrowed.

  “There’s a spell on her,” said Mara. “A powerful one. I can’t quite tell…”

  “Nor can I,” said Antenora. “I have not seen its like before.”

  That caught Calliande’s attention. Antenora was ancient, had lived with the Sight for nearly fifteen centuries. If she did not recognize the spell around the woman, that it meant it was magic she had never encountered before.

  Though there were any number of deadly creatures on Andomhaim that Antenora would not have encountered before.

  The woman stopped twenty yards away, her features obscured by the cowl of her long green cloak. She wore a green dress with golden trim upon the sleeves and hem, a dagger at her belt of black leather. The woman looked oddly familiar…

  Irunzad let out a strange croak as he saw her, a twitch going through his limbs.

  “Identify yourself,” said Ridmark.

  “I…I know her,” said Irunzad. “I’ve…I’ve never seen her before, but I know her…”

  The cloaked woman laughed and spoke in perfect Latin. “Do you not know me? You should. I have been waiting a very long time for your return, Calliande of Tarlion.”

  Calliande frowned. “You know me?”

  An unpleasant scent came to her nostrils. The air in the Vault had been odorless, yet now a smell like wet soil and rotting meat drifted past her. The smell was coming from the cloaked woman.

  And both Arandar’s and Gavin’s soulblades began to glow, as the swords usually did in the presence of dark magic.

  “Know you?” said the woman. “Perhaps. A more valid question. Do you know me?”

  She drew back her cowl, and Calliande flinched.

  The woman had blue eyes, a pale face, and long blond hair drawn back in a braid that made her look rather severe.

  She had Calliande’s face.

  “Who are you?” said Calliande, stunned. Was this a defense she had left around Dragonfall? Another magical trap? She cast the spell to sense the presence of magic, and de
tected a cloaking spell around her duplicate, one that prevented her from sensing any deeper.

  “No,” said Ridmark. He pointed his staff at the green-cloaked woman, his face hard. “No, that’s the wrong question. What are you?”

  The duplicate laughed. Calliande hoped she really did not sound that smug. “A better question, Ridmark the Gray Knight. You do seem the smartest one in your ragged little band. Not quite smart enough, alas, but all the better for me. Though you are hardly important in the greater scheme of things. A bonus, as it were.”

  “That doesn’t answer the question,” said Ridmark.

  “Mmm,” said the duplicate. “No, it really doesn’t, does it?” She pointed at Irunzad. “He knows.” She began to speak in orcish. “Tell them, little man. Tell them who I am.”

  “The Devourer,” whispered Irunzad. “You are the Devourer.”

  “Yes,” said the duplicate. “And you have served your function.”

  She reached out and closed a fist and Irunzad screamed, dropping the Key with a clang, and fell to his knees. Blood gushed from his nose and mouth, and the dwarf fell upon his side with a groaning gurgle. Calliande rushed to his side, preparing a healing spell, but it was too late. Irunzad was dead.

  “I had to rewrite his brain, you see,” said the Devourer with placid calm. “I needed the Key to get into the Vault, but I couldn’t take the chance that some wandering dvargir might make off with it. So I whispered in his ear and twisted his thoughts, and had him lose it in the basilisk nest.”

  “Why?” said Ridmark. “To what purpose?”

  The Devourer smiled. “Haven’t you guessed yet? I think the halfling might be starting to figure it out.”

  “Your smell,” said Jager in a slow, cautious voice. “It’s familiar. It’s like…”

  Calliande got to her feet, white fire crackling around her fingers. “Enough games.” She pointed at the Devourer, preparing to attack with the magic of the Well. “Tell me what you are.”

  “Patience,” said the Devourer.

  “That still doesn’t answer the question,” said Ridmark.

  “I always forget what limited minds you creatures have,” said the Devourer. “Very well, then. I shall explain as you would to a child, or perhaps an idiot.” The blue eyes shifted to Calliande. “A long time ago, I saw you traveling with the Dragon Knight, leaving the kingdom of Andomhaim. I followed you.”

  “Why?” said Calliande.

  The false face smiled, showing white teeth. “Because I am very hungry.”

  “Hungry?” said Calliande.

  That smell. That damnable smell. She had smelled it somewhere before, she was sure of it.

  “Such great magic you carried,” said the Devourer, her voice almost dreamy. “Such potent magic. I have never sensed its like upon this world. So I followed you here, and watched as you secured your power in the tomb of the dragons. I thought to claim it when you left…but you locked it behind potent wards.”

  “One of which she just dismissed,” said Ridmark.

  “Yes,” murmured the Devourer, her cloak stirring in the still air of the Vault. “You left after that. I would have taken you then, but the Dragon Knight accompanied you, and I dared not face him. For that matter, I didn’t need to take you. I knew you would return one day. I need only wait. So for two hundred years I have waited, feeding upon the scavengers picking upon the bones of Khald Azalar.” Her smile widened. “But they were only the appetizers, the seasoning upon the feast to come. And now, at last, my patience has been rewarded. You are here…and how I shall enjoy your suffering!”

  “Oh,” said Jager. “Oh, I remember. No, no, no. This is bad.”

  “What is it?” said Ridmark, not taking his eyes from the Devourer.

  “I know that that thing is,” said Jager, pointing at the false Calliande. “Remember Coldinium? The catacombs? The Hunter in the Dark?”

  Suddenly Calliande remembered exactly where she had smelled that odor before, and dread flooded through her in a black wave.

  “Oh,” said Gavin, raising Truthseeker.

  “You’re a malophage,” said Ridmark.

  The Devourer’s cold smile widened. “Some of your kindred have named me that.”

  The dark elves had summoned several kindreds to this world during their long war against the high elves, orcs and halflings and dwarves and the manetaurs and numerous others. Some, like the orcs and the halflings, they had enslaved, used as soldiers and servants. Others broke away and fought against the dark elves, like the dwarves and the manetaurs.

  And others feasted upon the dark elves themselves, like the malophages.

  The malophages came from an alien world, and regarded all other kindred as cattle. They feasted upon pain and torment in equal measure, and cared nothing for kingdoms or laws or morals, only their endless hunger. The dark elves could not control them, so they unleashed the malophages upon the high elves. In time the high elves destroyed almost all of them, save for a few who hid themselves away in the Deeps. Calliande and the others had fought a malophage in the catacombs below Coldinium, and while they had driven off the creature, they had not been able to kill it.

  “So you’re here to kill the Keeper and consume her power,” said Ridmark.

  “Now you understand,” said the Devourer. Orange light glimmered in her eyes, began to flicker in her veins. “I have waited such a long time for this. All that power, locked away behind those wards that only you could access…ah, it was maddening! Now I shall feast! Now I shall gorge myself upon your magic!”

  “If you kill me,” said Calliande, “you won’t be able to open the final wards upon Dragonfall.”

  “Once I kill you,” said the Devourer, “I will absorb your power, and your magic will be mine. Then I can dissolve the wards and enter myself.” The false face looked back and forth, smiling. “Your other companions carry powerful magic as well. I shall enjoy feasting upon them and listening to their screams.”

  “You are making,” said Ridmark, “a dangerous mistake.”

  “Oh?” said the Devourer. “Do enlighten me, mortal.”

  “We have the magic of a Magistria,” said Ridmark. “We have two sorceresses of elemental magic. We also have two Swordbearers, and soulblades can kill even a malophage. Is this a fight you really want?”

  The Devourer let out a reedy, unsteady giggle, the sound bereft of any trace of sanity.

  “For two hundred years I have waited to devour the Keeper’s magic,” said the Devourer. “How it has tantalized me! To feast upon it, I would kill you all. I would kill every mortal in Andomhaim! Enough talk! The banquet is at hand…and the time has come to feast!”

  The Devourer took a step forward, and her form rippled and changed.

  The false image of Calliande vanished, and in its place appeared the true form of the malophage.

  It was so ghastly that a scream rose unbidden to Calliande’s throat, her skin crawling with horrified revulsion.

  A score of long, whip-like tentacles, each as thick as one of Kharlacht’s legs, swirled and danced over the malophage. The creature’s house-sized body looked like a ghastly fusion of a slug, a jellyfish, and a toad, its hide translucent, revealing dozens misshapen organs floating in thick slime. Orange light blazed here and there from hundreds of nodules scattered randomly upon its flesh, eyes that allowed it to see in every direction at once. A dozen gaping mouths lined with needle-sharp teeth opened and closed on its misshapen body.

  Calliande had fought many evil creatures since awakening – urvaalgs and ursaars, undead animations, the Devout and the Anathgrimm. Yet all of them had been at least partly natural creatures, even if twisted by dark magic, and the Warden and the Traveler had possessed their own terrible, corrupted majesty, dark lords mantled in their grim power. She could understand why the Devout and the Anathgrimm had worshipped the Warden and the Traveler as gods, even if she had no wish to do so herself.

  The malophage, though, was utterly alien. There was no trace of anything na
tural, of anything comprehensible, in its twisted form. It was a force of sadistic rage and malevolent hunger, and it wanted to devour her.

  Unless she fought back, it was going to consume her.

  The Devourer shot forward, moving with terrific speed despite its amorphous bulk.

  Chapter 13: Hunger

  A tentacle lashed at Ridmark’s face, and he swung his staff with both hands. His old staff would have been useless against a malophage, but the staff of Ardrhythain proved effective against the rubbery, flesh-like material of the malophage’s razor-edged tentacles. The tip of the tentacle rebounded from the staff, and Ridmark landed a quick blow, dodged another tentacle, and then struck again.

  He doubted the Devourer even felt the blow.

  Around him the others attacked. Kharlacht, Gavin, and Arandar all attacked in a rush, blades rising and falling. Kharlacht’s greatsword ripped into the malophage’s writhing tentacles, but the soulblades bit far deeper, flaring with white fire as their power struggled against the dark magic within the creature. Morigna’s acidic mist rolled over the center of the Devourer’s body, while Antenora flung a gout of flame that left a long burn down the malophage’s flank.

  The smell was hideous.

  White light flashed around Ridmark, and suddenly he felt stronger and faster as Calliande’s magic closed around him. The white glow spread around the others, and they began moving with greater speed, which was just as well, since the malophage’s tentacles were a blur.

  “The body!” shouted Ridmark, dodging around another tentacle. “Aim for the central body! That’s the only place where it is vulnerable.” Already he saw the wounds inflicted upon the tentacles regenerating, even the wounds left by the soulblades. The malophage could recover from almost anything, but it took longer to repair damage inflicted upon the organs in its central core. Ridmark had learned that fighting the malophage in the catacombs below Coldinium several months ago. Though they had not killed that malophage, only driven it off.

  They might not be able to drive off the Devourer. For one, this malophage was larger and stronger than the Hunter in the Dark. And if it had waited two hundred years to feast upon Calliande’s magic, the creature might refuse to flee, might insist upon fighting to the death.