“How you fear the prospect of freedom!” said Imaria, her voice ringing out from above. Calliande twisted and saw Imaria flying overhead, and she struck once more, hurling a blast of fire towards Imaria. Again she missed, the blast drilling into the ceiling.
More cracks spread through the ice, and a few chips fell from the dome.
That gave Calliande an idea.
###
Fire struggled against shadow as Ridmark battled Tarrabus.
Ridmark found himself on the defensive, Caledhmaer’s hilt in both hands. Tarrabus came at him in a flurry of blows, the sword of darkness slashing high and low or thrusting for Ridmark’s face and chest. Ridmark retreated around the altar, trying to disengage long enough to reach the soulstone, but he could not. Tarrabus’s blade seemed to be everywhere, and Ridmark dared not turned his attention from Tarrabus.
A half-second of inattention would be fatal.
He had one advantage. He could take Caledhamer’s hilt in both hands and use the strength of both arms to attack and parry. Tarrabus seemed only able to hold his sword of darkness with his shadow hand, probably because it would slice off his hand of flesh if he tried to take the hilt with both hands. Ridmark could block every one of Tarrabus’s attacks with Caledhmaer, and Tarrabus had no choice but to retreat before his.
The result was a stalemate. Tarrabus’s attacks kept Ridmark on the defensive, but neither could Tarrabus land a killing blow. Ridmark supposed they would dance around each other forever, or until the first one made a mistake that the other could exploit.
They broke apart, circling each other. On the other side of the altar, Calliande and Imaria continued their magical battle, white fire and elemental flame struggling against waves of shadow. Ridmark wished he could aid her, but he dared not take his attention from Tarrabus even for a second.
“This is madness,” said Ridmark. “You know it is madness.”
Tarrabus grinned, his teeth flashing white in his yellow beard. “It is vengeance.”
“And what would that get you?” said Ridmark. “You wanted to rule the world. All you’ll get is a world full of tortured people as insane as Imaria.”
A spasm of emotion went over Tarrabus’s face. “That is your doing. If you hadn’t interfered, if you had just died when you were supposed to die, I would have been victorious.”
“Maybe,” said Ridmark. “And then Tymandain Shadowbearer would have taken the Well, and it would have ended like this anyway.”
Something like despair went over Tarrabus’s expression, and he snarled and came at Ridmark again.
“You understand nothing!” shouted Tarrabus as he attacked.
Ridmark found himself forced back on the defensive.
###
Calliande held her power ready, preparing to strike. She drew as much of the magic of the Keeper’s mantle as she could hold, fusing it with the magic of elemental flame. She wished Antenora was here. The ancient sorceress had far more practice with elemental flame.
Calliande hoped that Antenora was still alive.
Imaria reappeared, hovering above one of the menhirs, the wings of shadow rippling behind her. Calliande thrust her staff towards the dome and released her spell, a shaft of elemental flame ripping from the end of the staff.
It missed Imaria entirely, and her corpse-like face sneered with contempt.
The shaft of fire smashed into the dome and exploded through it with much more force than Calliande expected. It ripped open a hole, daylight streaming through it and into the gloom of the citadel, and the surrounding sheet of ice exploded in a spray of glittering debris with enough of a thunderclap that both Ridmark and Tarrabus paused to turn a shocked glance in their direction.
A half-dozen of the icy shards slammed into Imaria.
She let out an astonished scream as the icy shards stabbed into her flesh, punching through even the urkrazdor armor. The impact drove Imaria from the air, and she struck the ground and bounced, slamming into one of the menhirs with a clatter of armor.
Calliande could have struck Imaria then, but she had no choice but to dodge. Chunks of ice rained around her, and she barely avoided having a slab of ice the size of a coffin take off her head. Calliande caught her balance, whirled, and focused her mind and will upon the altar and the damned soulstone that had caused so much misery and death.
“No!” said Imaria, her voice hoarse.
Calliande started to cast a spell, summoning all the fire of the Well that she could call, and then the twisted world gate seemed to explode.
A cold wind blew through the chamber, and shards of darkness burst from the void of the gate. One of the shards intercepted Calliande’s spell and shattered, both her attack and the splinter of darkness vanishing. The other shards of darkness unfolded and expanded, swelling into the shape of warriors covered head to foot in plate mail, greatswords clenched in their armored hands and shadows bleeding from their blades and the eye slits of their helms. They were the same kind of creatures that Imaria had summoned during the ambush in Khaluusk, warriors formed from the shards of Incariel itself.
“Kill them!” shrieked Imaria. Calliande flung another bolt of white fire, but Imaria vanished before the spell could reach her.
A half-dozen shadow warriors raced towards Calliande. Others hurried towards Tarrabus, and more emerged from the black hole of the gate. That was bad. The warriors were shards of Incariel itself, and to defeat them Ridmark had been forced to use his sword’s power to stop time. Except Calliande feared that Ridmark didn’t dare use that power. She doubted it would affect Imaria and Tarrabus, and Ridmark would refuse to put her at risk.
But if he did not, either Incariel would destroy the world, or Ardrhythain would destroy Tarlion.
Unfortunately, there was no way she could tell him that. She could not spare the effort to shout. A half dozen of the shadow warriors rushed towards her, and Calliande worked a spell with her full strength, a pulse of white fire augmented by the mantle of the Keeper. The ring of white flame shot from her and slammed into the warriors, and the front of their dark armor turned molten with heat. The warriors staggered, and Calliande drew in her power to strike once more.
Before she could, Imaria appeared atop a nearby menhir, darkness swirling around her hands as she cast a spell. Her wounds from the icy shards had disappeared, and the shadow poured from her skin and knit together in a killing spell between her fingers. Calliande had no choice but to cast a defensive ward, and Imaria’s lance of shadows unraveled and flared into nothingness.
But in the time it took Calliande to defend herself, the armored warriors recovered, their immaterial armor repairing itself. She hadn’t been able to destroy any of the creatures during the previous battle, and now nearly a dozen of them rushed towards her.
The warriors closed around her for the kill.
Chapter 28: We Shall Be As Gods
Ridmark battled for his life as Tarrabus and a dozen of the armored shadow-knights pursued him.
They were almost out of time.
The twisted world gate had grown huge, twice as tall as the menhirs, and a steady vibration went through the ground beneath Ridmark’s boots. He realized that the gate itself was slicing into the stone of the hill as easily as Caledhmaer could cut through an enemy’s sword. Like a massive drill, the gate was cutting into the Black Mountain, and once it was large enough, it would rupture the prison that held Incariel and send its shadow spilling into the world.
Or Ardrhythain would use the Final Defense and kill them all first.
The armored warriors could not stand against the fury of Caledhmaer. Ridmark ripped the burning sword through them, the howling flames unraveling the creatures into wisps of darkness. But more of the warriors emerged from the gate, and soon Ridmark could spare no thought for anything but his own defense. Even as the warriors charged at him, Tarrabus continued his attack, his sword of darkness moving in a blur.
Ridmark and Calliande were about to be overwhelmed and killed.
&nb
sp; In growing desperation, he considering using the sword’s power to stop time. If Calliande had been free to speak, he knew that was what she would have urged him to do, to allow her to sacrifice herself to save him and save the world. He refused. He had lost Aelia and Morigna, and he could not lose her. Better that they die together.
Besides, he knew it would make no difference. If he froze time, he knew that Imaria and Tarrabus would be unaffected, and together they would overwhelm him before he could destroy the soulstone.
Then his eyes fell across the glittering gash that Calliande’s fire magic had carved into the domed ceiling, and a desperate idea came to him.
Caledhmaer could stop time…but the sword possessed other powers.
###
Tarrabus hammered at Ridmark, driving the so-called Dragon Knight back step by step.
It felt good, so damned good, to wield a sword again, even if his hand was a construction of shadow.
It would feel even better to kill Ridmark. The Dragon Knight was running out of room to retreat. Yard by yard Tarrabus forced him towards the cord of white fire that flowed from Imaria’s portal and into the soulstone. When Tarrabus drove Ridmark into that river of power, it would kill him. Not even the burning blade of the Dragon Knight would be able to protect him.
It pleased him to no end that the Keeper would see her precious husband die at Tarrabus’s hand. For all the losses they had caused him, both the Keeper and the Dragon Knight deserved to suffer.
That would silence their lying mouths and stop the accusing words they flung in his face.
Ridmark twisted left and right, cutting down two of the armored warriors. He was a superb swordsman, Tarrabus had to admit, and it irritated him that Ridmark’s skills with a blade had not decayed during the years he had carried a staff in the Wilderland.
But even Ridmark’s swordsmanship could not save him now. Tarrabus had driven him to within a yard of the cord of white flame, and Ridmark was simply out of space to dodge.
Tarrabus smiled, preparing himself for the kill.
Ridmark grimaced, drew himself up, and thrust his sword upward, the blade extended over his head.
For an instant, Tarrabus was baffled. What an utterly useless movement! Ridmark wouldn’t be able to block or dodge before Tarrabus’s blade went into his chest. Well, if he wanted to die making a futile and useless gesture, let him!
Tarrabus drew back his own sword to land the killing blow, and Ridmark’s blade exploded with flames. The fireball streaked from the end of his sword and slammed into the domed ceiling, exploding with colossal force.
A maze of cracks spread over the dome, a huge grinding sound filling Tarrabus’s ears.
The dome of ice shattered like a pane of glass, and thousands of tons of ice came crashing down at once.
###
Ridmark blinked open his eyes.
He could not make sense of the sight before him, of the way the blue light from the black menhirs flashed and danced off the piles of jagged ice. His head ached damnably, and behind the ice, he saw a howling disk of shadow that grew larger and larger.
The memory jerked back to him in a burning wave. The world gate. Tarrabus and Imaria. Calliande.
Calliande!
Fear drove Ridmark back to his feet, Caledhmaer burning in his grasp, and he looked for Calliande.
He saw his wife on the other side of the cord of blue fire, battling for her life. The falling ice had missed her, likely from a warding spell, and it had also thinned the ranks of the shadowy warriors. But they were still coming for her, and more of the warriors were emerging as the gate grew larger. White fire flared and snapped from her staff, holding the warriors at bay as they maneuvered around the broken ice, but the creatures were coming for her.
She did not have long before they overwhelmed her.
Four of the shadow warriors rushed at Ridmark.
He hurried to meet them, Caledhmaer in both hands. He didn’t know if the icefall had killed Tarrabus and Imaria. More likely it had only stunned them as it had stunned him, and he was lucky his head had only been clipped instead of crushed to a pulp. He had to get through those armored warriors, and he had to get to the soulstone. That was the only way to save Calliande and the rest of the world.
The warriors charged and Ridmark fought back, fear and rage driving his limbs. He sliced Caledhmaer through a black greatsword, wheeled, and opened the warrior from head to stomach. Nothing but wispy shadows came out, and the armored shape dissolved into nothingness. The second attacked, and Ridmark parried, shattering the black sword, and struck back. Caledhmaer took the head from the warrior, and the sword’s fire exploded through the dark shape, unraveling it into nothingness.
The other warriors spread out around him, and behind them, he saw six more.
Ridmark supposed this was how he was going to die.
He had come so close. So close. Perhaps if he charged he could reach the soulstone before they cut him down.
Ridmark braced himself for the suicidal charge, and then he saw Morigna.
She stood a few yards away, shimmering and translucent, though she looked as she had in life and in his dreams, still clad in leather and wool and her tattered cloak of brown and green strips. Her staff was in her right hand, the length of wood carved with magical sigils. Before, the sigils always had pulsed and flickered with purple light when she used her earth magic.
Now the sigils on the staff glowed with a steady white light.
Was Ridmark dead? He had only seen Morigna’s spirit before during his dreams and in the Tomb of the Dragon Knight. Or perhaps she would appear to him with Aelia and the others he had failed in the final instant before he died…
Morigna raised a black eyebrow. “You were always so dramatic, my love.”
Ridmark parried another blow, shattering the black sword, and struck back. Caledhmaer ripped open the dark warrior, and shards of shadow scattered in all directions. He ducked under another blow, destroyed a second warrior, twisted around a thrust, and killed a third. God and the saints, but an army of the dark things had poured from the gate. The gate itself had grown huge, so large it seemed to cover the entire icy wall of the chamber, its top reaching to stain the sky black. The ground trembled beneath his boots as the gate sliced deeper into the hillside. How much time did they have before the mountain ruptured? Not long. How much time did they have before Ardrhythain dropped Cathair Solas? Probably even less.
“You can see me because the gate is almost open,” said Morigna. “It is tearing apart the boundary to the threshold. Time itself is almost out. The threshold is spilling into the mortal world, and the dead can return.” Her black eyes drilled into him, seemed to hold him transfixed even as the warriors closed around him. “The dead can return if they are bound by duty, if they are still called to fight in a war they fought all their lives.”
The war they had fought all their lives…
One hundred thousand years of war.
That was what the Warden and Ardrhythain and Tymandain Shadowbearer had called the long war against the shadow of Incariel and its bearer. The Frostborn and the Enlightened and Imaria were just the final chapter of that war. Others had fought it long before Ridmark had been born, long before humans had even come to this world.
He destroyed another shadow warrior and saw Tarrabus striding towards him, blood dripping down his face, the blade of darkness in his hand. Shadows swirled on the other side of the altar and Imaria reappeared, her attention on Calliande.
Another memory flashed through Ridmark’s mind. He recalled that long corridor in the Tomb of the Dragon Knight leading to the hall where Kalomarus sat waiting for his successor. There had been so many statues of past Dragon Knights lining that long corridor, countless Dragon Knights who had fought and died during the one hundred thousand years of war against the shadow of Incariel.
Dragon Knights who might, even like Morigna, be waiting for the summons to war once more.
“Yes,” whispered Morigna, and he
heard her even over the tumult of the battle and the howl of the gate. “You understand.”
Ridmark reached through his bond to Caledhmaer, calling to all those who had carried the sword and died with it in their hands over the long millennia of war.
Morigna smiled at him.
And Caledhmaer roared with fire, and the flames exploded from the sword, rushing out from Ridmark in a ring. They shot through the wreckage of the domed chamber. Tarrabus flinched and raised his sword in guard, and Imaria’s wings of shadow coiled around her in a defensive shell, but the fire passed through armored warriors and menhirs and living flesh without harm.
The armored warriors hesitated, and Tarrabus snarled in fury. The former false king stalked forward, pointing his sword at Ridmark, and the shadow warriors followed suit. Nearly twenty of them closed around Ridmark, more pouring from the huge gate, and he braced himself for the end.
More fire flashed before his eyes, and translucent knights in red armor charged into the battle.
A flicker of shock went over Tarrabus’s face, shock that Ridmark shared.
The armor of the knights resembled the golden armor of the high elven bladeweavers, their heads covered with winged helmets, but this armor had been fashioned as the same red-gold metal as Caledhmaer. Beneath their helms, Ridmark saw the alien faces of high elves, serene and calm, their eyes like disks of gold or jade or sapphire. In their hands, the knights bore burning swords that looked like echoes of Caledhmaer, the pommels sculpted in the shape of the same dragon’s head.
The sword of the Dragon Knight had called its previous bearers to the final battle of their ancient war.
The Dragon Knights of old charged into the shards of Incariel, driving the shadow warriors back.
Ridmark sprinted after his predecessors, heading for the altar and the soulstone. Tarrabus snarled and rushed to intercept him, and Ridmark dueled his old enemy as the Dragon Knights battled around them.
Frostborn: The Shadow Prison (Frostborn #15) Page 39