“You found her, Ulazur?” said the high elf.
Ulazur made a quick, jerky nod. “Yes, Master.”
“Good. Pay him whatever reward was promised, Qazarl,” said the high elf. He took several steps forward, and as he did, the orcs backed away. His shadow swept before him like a thrown cloak, and Calliande was desperately afraid that it would touch her bare skin.
But he stopped a few paces away, his strange shadow waving back and forth across the ground like an angry serpent.
“It has been a long time,” he said, “hasn’t it?”
“Stay away from me,” said Calliande.
“Oh, not that long, not really,” said the high elf, as if she had not spoken. “Not in the greater scheme of things. Your kindred has walked the face of the world for…what? A thousand years? The blink of an eye.” He titled his head to the side. “Though from your perspective, I suppose that is nearly an eternity.”
Despite all the strange things that had befallen Calliande, somehow this strange, gaunt creature frightened her more than all of them together.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
The high elf blinked. “You don’t remember me? At all?” He laughed. “Ah. But that is delightful. Better than I could have imagined. I have often tried to make mortals forget me. It makes my work so much easier. And you did it to yourself!”
“So you are afraid to tell me who you are?” said Calliande, trying to muster a show of defiance.
The high elf grinned, pale lips exposing yellow teeth. “If I told you my real name, it would make blood pour out of your ears, I am afraid. And we can’t have that. I have been called many things, but you used to know me as Shadowbearer.”
A shiver of icy recognition went down Calliande’s spine, though she could recall no details. Yet she remembered what the specter in the vault had told her. He had warned her to beware the bearer of the shadow.
Had he meant this strange creature?
“What do you want with me?” said Calliande.
“Your blood, your heart, and your power,” said Shadowbearer. “In that order, precisely.” He grinned again. “I see the frustration in your face. You see, I just told you exactly what I intend to do. In your prime, you would have understood at once. But now it’s as if I’m speaking gibberish. How pathetic you have become.” He leaned closer, his strange shadow inching closer to her, and Calliande tried not to flinch or look away. “And the most amusing part of all is that you did it to yourself.”
“If you know who I am,” said Calliande, “then tell me. Otherwise do not weary my ears with your riddling nonsense.”
She heard Vlazar’s breath hiss through his teeth. Apparently one did not speak in such a manner to Shadowbearer.
But the high elf laughed. “Bravely spoken. If you had your memory, my words would be clear as day. Alas, you maimed yourself in pride, and blinded yourself to wisdom.” He clapped his hands together. “But we had best get started, hmm? A year and a month. That is how long I have, starting from the great sign. Thirteen months, and I cannot waste a moment of them. But before our work begins, I have two questions for you. First.” He leaned closer, and Calliande shuddered. “Where is the staff?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Calliande. She had looked for a staff when she had first awoken, but could remember nothing of it.
Shadowbearer nodded. “I see. Then where is the sword?”
“Sword?” said Calliande. “What sword? I haven’t seen any swords.”
“I do believe,” said Shadowbearer, straightening up, “that you are telling the truth. But let us make certain.” He snapped his fingers. “Get her on her feet.”
Two of the orcs seized Calliande’s arms and jerked her upright. Shadowbearer moved closer, and she saw her distorted reflection in the quicksilver irises of the high elf’s bloodshot eyes. Her skin crawled with revulsion as he drew nearer, the red coat hanging around him like a bloody shroud.
“Now,” said Shadowbearer, “let us have the truth, shall we? Hold her still. She will likely scream.”
His shadow rotated to fall upon her, wrapping around her like icy fingers.
And Calliande screamed.
The shadow had neither weight nor presence. Yet she felt it touching her, felt it sinking into every nook and cranny of her being.
“Now,” said Shadowbearer, and she heard his strange voice thundering inside her head. “The staff. Where is the staff?”
“I don’t know!” said Calliande. “I don’t know anything about a staff.”
“Indeed,” said Shadowbearer, and made a twisting motion with his right hand.
Pain exploded through her, and Calliande went rigid, screaming. If not for the orcs’ grasp, she would have collapsed to the ground. She felt the shadow drilling into her mind and sifting through her thoughts, felt cold, clammy fingers sorting through her memories.
She tried to think of a staff…but she remembered nothing but swirling mist.
“Ah,” murmured Shadowbearer. “Clever. Another question. Where is the sword?”
“I…I don’t know,” said Calliande, shuddering. “The only swords I’ve seen are with your orcs.”
Shadowbearer nodded. “I thought so. Now let us see if you are telling the truth.”
Again he made that twisting motion, and agony stabbed through Calliande. She screamed again, her eyes bulging with pain, and felt the talons of his shadow sink into her head. The questing fingers rummaged through her thoughts, seeking for any mention of a sword.
But again, they found only mist.
“So,” said Shadowbearer, his shadow sliding away from her. “I am impressed.” He turned to the rampart. “You didn’t simply erase your memory. That can be undone, after all, with the proper spells. No, you removed it entirely.” He laughed. “I cannot view what I cannot find.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Calliande.
“Of course you don’t,” said Shadowbearer. “That is the entire point. I admire your forethought, really. You knew this might happen. You knew I would not stop. So you prepared. All this,” he waved his hand at the ruined Tower of Vigilance, “and the game with the memories. Very, very clever.” He grinned, the expression making his face all the more skull-like. “Very clever…but I have been doing this for a long time, dear Calliande. Longer that you have. I burned the Tower…and I was waiting for you.”
“I don’t know what any of this is about,” said Calliande. “I’ve never seen you before and I don’t know where I am. Please, let me go. Please.”
His gaunt face curled in a sneer. “Begging? You are begging for your life?” He laughed, as did the orcs, though Kharlacht remained silent. “How thoroughly you have defeated yourself. Once armies marched at the sound of your voice. Now you are reduced to groveling like a slave girl. You understood the nature of your enemy…but you were too weak to do what was necessary to defeat me. And now even that knowledge has been taken from you.”
“I don’t understand,” said Calliande.
“No matter,” said Shadowbearer. “Your understanding is not required. Merely your death. Qazarl!”
“Master,” said the shaman with a bow, moving to the red-coated wizard’s side.
“We must act at once,” said Shadowbearer. “You are prepared?”
“Yes, Master,” said Qazarl. “Four thousand of my kin have assembled from Vhaluusk, and they wait outside the walls of this fortress. Food and fodder have been gathered, and we are ready to bring blood and death into the lands of the humans.”
“Good,” said Shadowbearer. “You are a strong disciple of the blood gods, and you shall succeed where Mhalek failed.”
Qazarl nodded, his eyes alight with eagerness, as did the other orcs. Could they not see the faint sneer of contempt of Shadowbearer’s face? This wizard, this creature, whatever he was, was not Qazarl’s ally.
Kharlacht looked troubled. Perhaps he saw it.
“I have one task for you first,” said
Shadowbearer. “A ritual, one that will guarantee victory for your forces.”
“What is it, Master?” said Qazarl.
“This,” said Shadowbearer, reaching into his coat.
He lifted his hand, and Calliande felt the power of the object in his fingers. Both Qazarl and Vlazar took a step back, and Kharlacht reached for the hilt of his greatsword. Shadowbearer held a lump of white crystal about the size of a grown man’s fist, a pale white glow gleaming in its milky depths. The mist in her mind shivered at the sight of the crystal, and suddenly she knew what it was.
“A soulstone,” she whispered.
The orcs looked at her, and Shadowbearer grinned.
“Ah,” he said. “Your memory returns, does it? Well, not entirely. Otherwise you would know just how much danger you are in.”
“Is it true, Master?” said Qazarl. “That is a soulstone?”
“It is,” said Shadowbearer, still grinning. “An empty one. Fresh-grown, in fact. Snatched from the caves of Cathair Solas to the north.”
“Then,” said Kharlacht, “will not the high elves come in wrath to reclaim it? Such a stone is dangerous.”
Shadowbearer looked at the hulking orc and said nothing.
“Do not question the Master!” snarled Qazarl, and Vlazar glared at Kharlacht, flexing his fingers as if to cast a spell. “I put up with your peculiar infatuation with the human god because you are blood kin and a skilled warrior. But do not ever presume to question the Master, Kharlacht, for…”
“Actually,” said Shadowbearer, “he is entirely correct. The archmage of the high elves is most wroth, and he is coming in fury to destroy me.” He smiled. “Not that he could, of course. He has tried ever since the urdmordar ground the high elven kingdoms into bloody dust. Yet I am still here. Nevertheless, he is coming for me.”
“Then what shall we do?” said Ulazur. “We cannot fight high elven sorcery.”
“No need,” said Shadowbearer. “I will deal with the archmage. You, Qazarl, will seize Dun Licinia and kill every man of fighting age within the walls. Keep the women and children as slaves, or kill them as it pleases you.” He held out the soulstone, and Calliande felt its power wash over her. “And you, Vlazar, will take this.”
“Me?” said the younger shaman, black eyes widening.
“Are you deaf?” said Shadowbearer. “Yes, you.”
Vlazar swallowed and took the soulstone from Shadowbearer’s hands. “And…and what am I to do with it, Master?”
“Select a suitable escort of warriors,” said Shadowbearer. “Twenty or thirty ought to suffice. Take the soulstone and our prisoner,” he gestured at Calliande, “and proceed to the circle of standing stones further up the foothills. Do you know it?”
“Yes, Master,” said Vlazar. “The dark elves of old once built such places, when they still ruled the orcish kindred as slaves…and they worked mighty sorcery there.”
“Splendid. How good to meet a man who knows his own history,” said Shadowbearer. “Take the prisoner to the standing stones, unharmed and untouched. When you arrive bind her upon the altar, place the soulstone upon her chest, and kill her. The soulstone will…transform, rather suddenly, after that. Once it does, return here and give me the soulstone.”
“I would prefer,” said Vlazar, “to join Qazarl and assail Dun Licinia, and spill the blood of the humans!”
“Oh, you will,” said Shadowbearer. “Once you return to me with the activated soulstone, you will spill human blood. I promise you that we shall spill more blood than this world has ever seen.”
His words echoed in Calliande’s head, and another bit of memory floated out of the mist in her head.
“You’re…you’re going to trap my soul in that crystal,” said Calliande. “Why?”
“For power, of course,” said Shadowbearer. “Power enough to crack worlds…or, more accurately, to join them.” He looked at the sky, his shadow rotating around him, and nodded. “Yes. Begin at once.”
“In the name of the blood gods,” said Qazarl, “we shall turn Dun Licinia to ashes.”
“I shall do as you command, Master,” said Vlazar.
“Good,” said Shadowbearer. “Oh, and Vlazar? Make certain the girl reaches the altar untouched. She is a pretty young thing, or at least looks like one, and perhaps you wish for some fun before you kill her, hmm?”
Vlazar grinned, and Calliande shuddered at his expression.
“Resist that impulse,” said Shadowbearer. “For the magic to work, she needs to reach the standing stones untouched. A little bastard half-orc in her belly would upset the spell. So.” His strange shadow rotated to point at Vlazar, and the shaman took an alarmed step back. “Do exactly as I say. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Master,” said Vlazar. “All things will be as you command.”
“Good,” said Shadowbearer. “I shall return. Begin now.”
The high elf turned, his shadow rippling and distorting around him, and vanished into nothingness.
For a moment the orcs said nothing.
“This is madness, Qazarl,” said Kharlacht. “We might take Dun Licinia, aye, but the Dux of the Northerland will come for us, along with the Swordbearers and the Magistri. We…”
“Silence,” said Qazarl, glaring at the young warrior. “You shall see the power of the blood gods revealed, fool. Perhaps that will at last shame you into forsaking the superstitions of the humans.” He made a dismissive gesture. “You will command Vlazar’s escort. Select thirty warriors of appropriate strength.”
“I do not wish that fool in my company,” said Vlazar, glaring at Kharlacht.
“I care nothing for your wishes,” said Qazarl. “Kharlacht might pray to the god of sheep, but he is still our strongest warrior, and the Black Mountain is dangerous. The Master will be displeased if the kobolds of the Deeps carry off the woman for their dinner. Stop talking and go.”
Vlazar growled, looking back and forth between Kharlacht and Qazarl, and for a moment Calliande thought the rage in his orcish blood would drive him to attack. But at last he shivered, and made a harsh nod. “As you say. Kharlacht, select your warriors. We will leave at once.”
“Make haste to fulfill the Master’s bidding,” said Qazarl. “I will await you at Dun Licinia.”
“You two,” said Kharlacht, pointing at the orcs holding Calliande. “Bind her. Gently.”
Calliande tried to run, but she was still too weak, and Shadowbearer’s magical intrusion had left her further weakened. The orcs tied her wrists and ankles together, and then produced a long wooden pole and bound her to it. Two of the orcs hefted the pole and carried it on their shoulders, and she swung from it like a deer trussed up from the hunt.
Or like a goat tied up for the slaughter.
Kharlacht and Vlazar strode from the curtain wall, their warriors carrying Calliande between them.
And from outside the wall, Calliande heard the sound of drums and shouts, the noise of an orcish host preparing itself for battle.
Chapter 6 - Pursuit
“I think,” said Caius in a quiet voice, “that we are in over our heads.”
Ridmark could not disagree.
He crouched behind a mossy boulder, the dwarf friar at his side, and looked at the stone bulk of the Tower of Vigilance.
The ruined castle crowned one of the largest of the foothills. Once its massive curtain wall had encircled the hill’s entire crest, the towers of its inner keep rising high against the dark shadow of the Black Mountain. Now the castle was a crumbling ruin, its towers stone shells, its gates broken.
A ruin that provided shelter for thousands of orcs camped outside the wall.
“Three thousand of them, at least,” muttered Ridmark, counting the lines of tents. He saw orcish warriors walking everywhere, sharpening weapons and repairing armor. “Maybe even four.”
“Aye,” said Caius, examining the ruined castle. “They’re getting ready to move.”
Ridmark nodded, thinking. “They must be preparing to attack
Dun Licinia. This isn’t merely a warband or a raid. This is an army, as large of one as Mhalek’s old followers can muster.”
“I head Mhalek raised a great horde,” said Caius.
“He did,” said Ridmark. “Fifty thousand strong, and they marched out of Vhaluusk and the Wilderland like a storm. They…stop talking.”
He ducked behind the boulder, and Caius followed suit. A moment later four orcish scouts marched up the road, each carrying a short bow, their forehead marked with the teardrop sigil of the Mhalekites. Ridmark remained motionless, wrapped in his elven cloak, his hands tightening around his staff.
But the orcs did not see them, and continued climbing the road to the Tower’s southern gate.
“Fifty thousand strong,” said Ridmark, straightening up, “and they would have burned a trail of cinders and blood from Dun Licinia to Tarlion itself, if Mhalek had worked his will.”
“If you hadn’t stopped him,” said Caius.
Ridmark grimaced. “I was hardly alone.” He stared at the castle. “One of Mhalek’s remaining disciples must have delusions of grandeur. Or found some old dark elven relic of power. They won’t penetrate far into the realm, not with only four thousand warriors. But they will burn Dun Licinia to the ground, and kill God knows how many people.”
“Then our course is clear,” said Caius. “We must return to Dun Licinia and warn Sir Joram.” He shrugged. “Or at the very least one of us must go, if you are so determined to find the truth behind this omen of the Frostborn.”
“Even you must think it an odd coincidence,” said Ridmark, glancing at Caius. “The blue fire fills the sky…and then an orcish host gathers at the Tower of Vigilance.”
“What is this place, anyway?” said Caius.
“The Tower of Vigilance,” repeated Ridmark.
Caius snorted. “I know the name, but not its history.”
Frostborn: The Gray Knight (Frostborn #1) Page 6