He blocked once, twice, three times, and then took the creature down.
Silence fell over the clearing, broken only by Sabrina’s frantic panting.
Ridmark looked around, Oathshield ready in his grasp, but nothing else moved in the trees.
He turned to his niece. “Are you all right?”
“I…I…” croaked Sabrina, blinking. She was on the verge of breaking down into tears, of losing control entirely. They didn’t have time for that, and if she started sobbing, the noise might draw other undead.
“Listen to me,” said Ridmark. “We’re going to find your father, and get his men back. Do you understand?” Sabrina stared at him, and then managed a wide-eyed nod. “But if we’re going to do that, I need your help. I need you to tell me what happened. Can you do that?”
Sabrina hesitated, and then nodded again, seeming to pull herself together. “I…I think so, uncle.”
“Good,” said Ridmark. “How did you get here?”
“One of those undead things breathed on my horse,” said Sabrina. “He fell asleep, and I lost my saddle.” She got to her feet with a wince. “I hit the edge of the road, bounced off, and fell into the river. I thought I was going to drown, but Mother insisted we learn how to swim. When I got out of the river, I didn’t know where I was. Then those undead things came for me…”
Ridmark nodded.
“Uncle,” said Sabrina. “What…what are we going to do?”
That was a good question. Ridmark wondered if he ought to take Sabrina back to Castra Arban. Yet he feared that if he did not help Tormark and the others, they would all be slain. For that matter, it was three days to Castra Arban from here on foot, and Ridmark didn’t have any supplies with him. If there were roving bands of undead loose in the foothills, he and Sabrina would be vulnerable to attack.
No. Ridmark had to figure out what had happened to Tormark and the others, and he needed to find supplies. Only then could he make a decision about what to do next.
“We’re going back to the road,” said Ridmark, “and we'll see what happened. I think it’s about a mile back, and we’ll have to climb for part of it. Can you do that? If not, I’ll find a safe place for you and come back once I know more.”
“No!” said Sabrina. “Please, don’t leave me alone.” She took a deep breath. “I can keep up. I promise I can keep up.”
“All right,” said Ridmark. “Follow me.”
Ridmark led the way into the trees, Sabrina following him.
“Do you know who sent those undead after my father?” said Sabrina.
“Not yet,” said Ridmark. He did not bother to keep his footfalls quiet. He could move with stealth, but Sabrina could not. “There haven’t been undead like that in this part Taliand for centuries. It could be any number of things. A rogue necromancer. An orcish warlock from the Wilderland. Dvargir raiding out of the Deeps. They sometimes raise undead, though they don’t usually bother.”
“Could it be dark elves?” said Sabrina. “Like in the ancient stories? My tutor said there were dark elven ruins in the mountains.”
“Likely not,” said Ridmark. “Those dark elven ruins were all cleared out and deserted centuries ago. But something else might have taken residence within them.” He paused to look around again. “Let’s keep quiet now. I don’t know how well those undead can hear, but I don’t want to find out.”
Sabrina nodded, and they kept walking. Ridmark circled to the west and found a gentler slope, and they climbed back up to the road. He drew Oathshield as they approached the bridge and the waterfall, and while the sword still burned with white fire, it wasn’t as intense. The undead were still nearby, but they had moved off.
“No bodies,” said Ridmark, examining the tracks left on the road. A dozen pack horses still milled about, their agitation obvious, and Ridmark took the reins of one of the beasts and calmed it. “A lot of destroyed undead. The men put up a fight, but it looks like the undead overpowered them and carried them off.”
“But where did they go?” said Sabrina.
“Further west along this road into the mountains,” said Ridmark, frowning as he remembered the maps of Taliand he had seen. Why would the undead have taken their captives in that direction?
“Then they’re going to the valley where Father wanted to hunt lions?” said Sabrina, folding her arms tight around her chest.
“Aye,” said Ridmark. “This road doesn’t go anywhere else. But there’s…”
He fell silent as the answer came to him.
“But there are more things than lions in that valley,” said Ridmark. “The Hanging Tower.”
Sabrina’s frown sharpened. “The Hanging Tower?”
“It’s a dark elven ruin at the northern end of that valley,” said Ridmark, recalling the stories he had heard in his youth. “A dark elven lord ruled there, but the urdmordar destroyed him, and the orcish soldiers of the urdmordar occupied the Tower. After the urdmordar were slain, the orcs were driven out…but others have come to the Tower since.” He looked at Sabrina. “One of our ancestors, Sir Nicodemus, fought an orcish warlock and a traitorous Magistrius in the Tower centuries ago.”
“Then some monster from the Tower attacked us?” said Sabrina.
“More likely,” said Ridmark, “some monster just settled in the Tower, and sent its undead to attack us.” He shook his head. “I have to go after them. As a Swordbearer, I have the best chance of helping the captives.” He hesitated. “If you take this horse and head back to Castra Arban…”
“No, uncle!” said Sabrina at once. “I would be safer with you. And I am of the blood of the Arbanii as much as you are. I cannot turn away when my father is in danger.” She swallowed, terror and determination warring on her face. “Please.”
Ridmark sighed. “Very well.” In truth, the thought of sending her alone through the countryside with undead on the loose had made him uneasy. “But you will do as I say. Is that understood?”
“Yes, uncle,” said Sabrina. She swallowed again, and then tried to smile. “Who am I to disobey the Shield Knight?”
“Then we’ll start now,” said Ridmark, handing her the pack horse’s reins. “Lead the horse and follow me. Keep your eyes open, and tell me at once if you see anything that looks strange.”
He led the way west as the road climbed towards the mountains, Sabrina following with the pack horse.
Chapter 3: Undead
A few hours later, Ridmark and Sabrina reached the high valley.
Ridmark gazed at his surroundings for a moment. The valley was perhaps five miles wide, and high mountains rose on either side, sheer and rocky and snow-crowned. A scraggly forest of pine trees filled the valley floor, thick and green. No one lived up here save for a few trappers and a few anchorites. The soil was too thin to support crops, and the pine trees did not make for good logging.
Yet there was a road here.
An ancient road, half-overgrown, but a road nonetheless. Here and there Ridmark saw ancient flagstones of smooth white rock. The dark elves had used that white stone in their construction, and it was nearly impervious to anything. Even millennia of wind and rain had done nothing to wear it down. That was why the High Kings of Andomhaim never pulled down dark elven ruins. The amount of effort to do so would have been tremendous.
The tracks of the undead were easy to find. Rotting, skeletal feet left footprints like nothing else in the world. The mass of undead had gone this way, and to judge from the depth of the tracks, they had been carrying numerous captives.
But why? Why take captives? Ridmark had never heard of undead doing that. Perhaps the master of the undead thought to obtain a ransom for Tormark and the captive knights.
“This is a bleak place,” said Sabrina, shivering. Their clothes had dried out during the climb, but it was still chilly this high in the mountains.
“Aye,” said Ridmark. “The Hanging Tower will be five or six miles to the north, I think. It overlooks a precipice, and there’s only one way up to the T
ower. If the undead want to hold the place against me, they’ll be able to do it.”
He stopped himself from speculating further. Sabrina would likely have no understanding of the problems of storming a hostile fortress, and speaking of them would only frighten her.
“What should we do next?” said Sabrina, gazing at the trees as if she expected them to disgorge an army of enemies.
“Keep moving,” said Ridmark. “And keep an eye out for anything strange.”
Sabrina nodded and followed him with the pack horse, which had returned to placid calm.
“Have you done this kind of thing before, uncle?” said Sabrina.
“Fought undead creatures?” said Ridmark, gazing at the trees. “Many times.” More than he wished to remember, in truth.
“I mean…chasing after captives,” said Sabrina. “Trying to free prisoners.”
“A few times,” said Ridmark. “There was a village called…Toricus, that was it, in the Northerland. The bone orcs of the Qazaluuskan Forest had carried them off as a sacrifice. That would have been a few years before you were born, I think. Then a village in the Wilderland called Aranaeus. An urdmordar had taken the villagers captive, planned to use them as a larder.”
“For such a young man, you have seen many battles, uncle,” said Sabrina.
Ridmark looked back at her, startled. He was thirty-seven. He didn’t feel young.
Sabrina flushed. “I mean…you’re young next to my father.”
“Don’t tell him that,” said Ridmark.
“But you have seen many battles,” said Sabrina.
“I have,” said Ridmark. “Why do you want to talk about them now?”
“It…comforts me, I fear,” said Sabrina. “To know that you have prevailed against so many foes. Perhaps you can prevail against these and save my father.”
“Perhaps,” said Ridmark. He did not want to give the girl false hope until he knew more about the situation. It was possible the undead had slaughtered their prisoners at once. On the other hand, Tormark and the others might yet live. Dark magic and necromancy often required the blood of living victims, and the master of the undead might be holding the prisoners for just that purpose.
Even as the thought crossed his mind, the odor of blood came to Ridmark’s nostrils.
“Do you smell that?” said Sabrina. “Is that…”
“Blood, yes,” said Ridmark, looking at the road. A large set of tracks broke off from the road and headed into the trees, and at the foot of a pine tree, he saw a motionless shape. “Follow me. Shout if you see anything.”
He drew closer to the huddled shape, Oathshield flickering with white fire, and came to a stop.
A dead orcish man lay sprawled below the tree, his skull split by a sword blow. Ridmark’s first thought was regret that Sabrina had to see a slain warrior, but then other details came to his mind. Most nations and tribes of orcs were green-skinned, but this orc’s skin was a peculiar silvery gray that looked as if it should have reflected the light but did not. The warrior wore chain mail and carried a steel sword, and to judge from the wounds on his arms, he had gone down fighting.
“Uncle,” murmured Sabrina, “that gray skin. Is that…”
“A ghost orc,” said Ridmark, voice grim as he looked around.
For all he knew, a dozen ghost orcs watched him right now, invisible to his eyes.
“I don’t know anything about them,” said Sabrina. “Are they from the Shaluuskan Forest?”
“They are,” said Ridmark, still looking around. He wasn’t surprised that Sabrina’s education hadn’t touched upon the ghost orcs. “A long time ago, a dark elven lord called the Sculptor gave the Shaluuskan orcs the ability to turn invisible for short periods of time. They rebelled against him and fled to the Shaluuskan Forest, and have ruled it ever since. The ghost orcs worship a goddess they call Shalask, a goddess of mysteries and secrets, and they mostly keep to themselves. Except that anyone who enters the Shaluuskan Forest is never seen again. And sometimes they launch raids from the Forest and make trouble for the High King’s realm.”
“Like now,” said Sabrina. “They must have sent the undead against my father!”
“Maybe,” said Ridmark. “Or maybe not.”
He pointed at the ground. A sword green with orc blood lay upon the fallen pine needles. The sword was ancient and corroded, identical to the weapons that the undead orcs had used earlier.
“The undead killed the ghost orc?” said Sabrina.
“Looks that way,” said Ridmark. For the ghost orcs to travel this far from their strongholds in the Shaluuskan Forest was rare. To find them in the middle of a battle between the men of Taliand and undead orcs was an unlikely coincidence.
“Do you think the undead came for the ghost orcs?” said Sabrina. “That we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“Maybe,” said Ridmark. He looked at the ground some more, his eyes following the tracks. The small group of undead had left the road and headed west. “Either way, we need to head to the Tower. The tracks…”
He blinked. Ahead he heard the faint clang of steel against steel.
Someone was fighting in the trees to the west.
“Uncle?” said Sabrina, her eyes going wide again.
Ridmark glanced at her, trying to decide what to do. Should he tell her to stay here and wait for him? That seemed risky. If there was fighting ahead and any of the combatants fled this way, they could capture or kill Sabrina. No, better to keep her close.
“Follow me,” said Ridmark, lifting Oathshield. “Stay close to me, and don’t run off. I need you to keep the horse calm. Can you do that?” Sabrina bobbed her head, the motion a little jerky. “Then let’s go.”
He started into the trees, Sabrina leading the pack horse behind him. The smell of blood grew sharper, and Ridmark heard the clang of more weapons, followed by a shout of fury. There was indeed a battle raging ahead. Had Tormark or some of his men escaped from the undead?
Ridmark came to another clearing and saw a dozen undead orcs, blue fire in their eyes.
They fought four ghost orcs. Three of the ghost orcs were men, armored in chain mail and swords in their hands. The fourth was a woman. She was as tall as the orcish men, with the same tusked jaw, grayish skin, and blunt features, though less bulky. The woman wore a peculiar tattered cloak of gray cloth, the hood pulled over her head. She carried a carved staff in her right hand. Beneath the cloak, she wore a long vest and a skirt over heavy boots, and several amulets of bone and stone. Right now, the staff glimmered with purple fire, and she gestured, casting a magical spell. The ground shuddered, and entangling roots leaped from the earth to wrap around one of the undead.
But the rest of the creatures pressed the ghost orcs hard, and Ridmark saw that they would be overwhelmed.
He made his decision and charged.
The undead were focused upon the ghost orcs, so they did not see Ridmark coming.
He cut down two of them, sending yellowed bones and corroded armor tumbling to the ground. The undead reacted to the new threat, and Ridmark attacked again, beating down another undead warrior and parrying the chop of an axe. Oathshield’s power surged through him, giving him enhanced strength and speed, and he used that to stay ahead of his foes.
The ghost orcs recovered their balance and attacked, swords rising and falling. The woman, who was likely a priestess of Shalask, cast another spell. More roots ripped from the ground and coiled around an undead warrior, holding it in place, and the ghost orcs smashed it to pieces.
In short order, they had overcome the last of the undead orcs.
The Shaluuskan orcs stared at Ridmark. The men lifted their swords, watching him, and the priestess stepped forward, more purple fire playing around her staff.
Chapter 4: Alliances
“Hold,” said the priestess, raising a hand. “Hold for a moment.” She spoke in the orcish tongue. There were many dialects and accents of the orcish tongue, and the speech of the Shaluusk
an orcs sounded slightly slurred to Ridmark’s ear.
One of the orcish men growled. “He is a Swordbearer of Andomhaim, priestess. He will slay us!”
“Peace, Khalzak,” said the priestess. “If the Swordbearer wished us dead, he need only have stood by and let the undead take us.”
Khalzak growled again. “He will fight us. The Swordbearers are without mercy.”
“Given that the undead seem to be hunting us both,” said Ridmark in orcish, “perhaps we can work together.” He shrugged. “Or we can fight each other, and then the undead will take us all.”
They stared at each other for a moment, and then the priestess inclined her head.
“What are you doing here?” said Ridmark.
Khalzak bristled. It was hard to guess the age of the ghost orcs because of their gray skin, but Ridmark thought Khalzak was young, certainly no more than twenty-five. “Do not presume to question a priestess of the great goddess Shalask, human.”
“We’re in Taliand,” said Ridmark, meeting Khalzak’s gaze. The orcish man’s black eyes glimmered with the red glaze of orcish battle fury. “If you came across me in the Shaluuskan Forest, I assume you would question my reasons for visiting.”
Khalzak grunted but said nothing more.
“You speak wisdom, Swordbearer,” said the priestess. “Very well. I am Vholazae, a priestess of Shalask and an initiate in her mysteries.”
That hadn’t answered Ridmark’s question, but it was a start. “I am Ridmark Arban, a Knight of the Order of the Soulblade. This is my niece Sabrina Arban, daughter of Dux Tormark of Taliand.” Sabrina gripped her skirts and did a hasty bow. Ridmark had wondered if she could understand orcish.
“Ridmark Arban,” said Vholazae. “You are the one who slew the Shadowbearer?”
“Yes,” said Ridmark without elaboration. The orcish warriors shifted. Evidently, his reputation had reached even to the secretive orcs of the Shaluuskan Forest.
“I see,” said Vholazae. “And will you slay me as well, Ridmark Arban? I am not a follower of your Dominus Christus and your church.”
Shield Knight Ghost Orcs Page 2