The steps followed the curve of the Tower’s foundations and entered a vast hall that stretched further into the mountains. Thick white pillars supported the vaulted ceiling, and in the apex of each vault glowed a red crystal. They provided a harsh crimson illumination that painted everything the color of blood.
Between the aisles of pillars lay white stone slabs the size and shape of sarcophagi, and atop each sarcophagus lay a motionless human or orc. Ridmark spotted Tormark lying atop one of the slabs, and the orcs had the grayish-silver skin of the Shaluuskan Forest. At the foot of each slab rested a pile of bones and corroded armor, the eye sockets of the tusked skulls dark and empty.
The orcish undead. The undead had carried their victims here and then collapsed.
“Are…are they dead?” said Sabrina, a quiver of terror in her voice.
“I don’t think so,” said Ridmark. He descended the stairs, Oathshield burning with white flame in his hand. He drew on the sword’s ability to sense the presence of magical forces. The huge pillared crypt was saturated with dark magic, and more power cloaked the men and women lying upon the slabs. “No, they’re just asleep. I think Oathshield can break the spell on them with a touch. But why? Why bring them here?” He looked over the rows of sleeping forms and turned back to Vholazae. “What happened when you arrived at the Tower?”
Vholazae shrugged. “We approached the gates, and as we did, the undead swarmed out to attack us. Most of my warriors were overpowered and dragged into the Tower, and we had no choice but to fall back, and…”
“But they only attacked after you entered the Tower, priestess,” said Khalzak. He looked confused. “We awaited you outside the Tower for a day, and…”
“Be silent!” hissed Vholazae. “You speak of matters that you do not understand.”
Khalzak looked only more baffled. Sabrina looked back and forth between them, her eyes wide.
“Ah,” said Ridmark. “So that’s it.”
Vholazae sneered at him. “You think you understand, Swordbearer?”
“I believe so,” said Ridmark. “Your spells revealed a source of dark power hidden within the Hanging Tower, a power that had been hidden and forgotten for millennia. You claimed a vision from Shalask and set out for the Tower, and when you arrived, you used your earth magic to open the crypt. Except you woke up the things in the crypt, and they swarmed out to attack you.”
Vholazae’s sneer intensified. “You still fail to understand, Swordbearer.”
“That you played around with powers you do not understand and nearly got yourself killed?” said Ridmark. “Yes, I understand that just fine. Or…ah.” He nodded. “The creature you released promised you power, didn’t it? Or maybe you had to bargain for your life.” A look of frantic terror went over Vholazae’s face as her calm began to crumble. “Either way, you had to bring the creature from the crypt lives upon which to feast. So, you sold your own warriors over to it, and you sent the undead to capture the hunting party.”
“I…I…” said Vholazae.
“Lies!” roared Khalzak. “These are lies! You will not disparage a priestess of the great goddess Shalask! You…”
He trailed off as he saw the horror on Vholazae’s face.
“No,” Khalzak said. “It is a lie. It must be a lie!”
“You don’t understand,” whispered Vholazae. “She promised me power. She showed me such wondrous things. She…”
Her voice trailed off, and total bafflement came over her face.
Ridmark followed her gaze and saw Sabrina Arban.
The girl lay motionless on one of the slabs. Ridmark frowned. Had she climbed onto the slab? Or had…
No.
The realization came to him.
He turned just as Sabrina, or at least the creature that had masqueraded as the real Sabrina and followed him from the river, stepped up behind Vholazae.
“Vholazae!” said Ridmark, lifting Oathshield. “Behind…”
It was too late. The false Sabrina stabbed a short sword of blue dark elven steel into Vholazae’s back. The priestess shrieked once, green blood flying from her mouth, and collapsed to the floor at Sabrina’s feet. Khalzak and the two other ghost orcs roared and charged, raising their swords, and Sabrina gestured. Shadows swirled around her and washed over the ghost orcs, covering them in a dark haze. The orcish warriors fell, paralyzed by the dark magic.
The dark magic washed over Ridmark, but Oathshield shuddered in his hand, blazing hotter, and it protected him from the power.
He and the creature disguised as his niece stared at each other.
“Well, then,” said Sabrina. She grinned at him, a mad, hungry grin that Ridmark hoped would never appear on the real Sabrina’s face. “Time to begin, isn’t it?”
Chapter 7: Winged Shadow
“Who are you?” said Ridmark.
Oathshield shuddered in his hand. The crypt had become a haze of darkness and crimson light, the bloody glow fighting against the shadows flowing out from the false Sabrina. Her grin kept twitching as she stared at him, a mad, glittering light in her eyes.
It was disconcerting to see an expression like that on a face so young.
Of course, that wasn’t her real face.
“You don’t know, uncle?” said Sabrina. “The mighty Shield Knight of Andomhaim doesn’t know?”
“The Shield Knight of Andomhaim I might be,” said Ridmark, “but your uncle I am not.”
“No. No, I suppose not,” said Sabrina. “Pity, that. I never had an uncle. Well, I might have, but we would not have been on speaking terms. Of course, he is dead now, as is my father.” She giggled. “Dead, dead, dead. All dead for centuries. They were supposed to have been immortal, but now they are only dust and ashes and bones.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” said Ridmark.
“Oh. Doesn’t it? Oh, well.” Sabrina twirled. “I don’t have a name. I might have, once, but I can’t remember it. It was all such a very long time ago. I did have a title, though, something that my master called me.” She smiled. “I was the Sentinel. That is what you can call me, Shield Knight of Andomhaim. The Shield Knight and the Sentinel. Doesn’t that have a lovely ring to it?”
“Why did you attack us?” said Ridmark, though a suspicion was forming in his mind.
“Because I wanted to,” said the Sentinel, smiling. “I didn’t kill anyone yet. A few of them died, fell into the river and drowned or cracked their heads on the rocks. Too bad. I wanted to look through their thoughts. That’s one of the spells I know. I can look through all their thoughts as they sleep, and I wanted to see what had happened in the world while I slept. So many things have changed, haven’t they? So very many things.”
“I think I know what happened,” said Ridmark.
“Oh? Do tell, Shield Knight,” said the Sentinel. “You guessed the foolish little priestess’s lies. Can you discern what happened?”
“You’re a creature of dark magic,” said Ridmark. “An urshane, or perhaps an urdhracos. One of the creatures the dark elves made with their sorcery.” The Sentinel’s smile widened. “A long time ago, your master ruled the Hanging Tower. But he feared the advance of the urdmordar. So, he sealed you within the crypt to guard his Tower, and he fled, intending to return one day. But he never did, did he? And you have slept within the crypts of the Tower until Vholazae awoke you.”
“That was quite foolish of her, wasn’t it?” said the Sentinel. She sighed and stretched. “I was so very hungry when I woke up. I almost devoured poor little Vholazae on the spot. But I looked into her mind and saw that she could bring others. I need to learn more of the world. Nearly eight centuries have I slept. When last I flew under the sun, your city of Tarlion was little more than a collection of hovels huddled behind its walls, and your Castra Arban a tower rising from a mudbank. Now Tarlion is the heart of a mighty realm! And your Swordbearers – ah, you defeated the urdmordar. Even my master feared the urdmordar more than any other creatures. The world has changed. I thought
to flee to the Wilderland and prey upon mankind from the shadows, but then I saw an interesting thing in the minds of the humans.”
“What, then?” said Ridmark.
The Sentinel made Sabrina’s face smile that hideous mad grin. “You.”
“Me?” said Ridmark.
“I had to meet you,” said the Sentinel. “I had to know. I had to see the shadows of your future for myself. Do you know how the high elves and the dark elves perceive time?”
Ridmark felt a chill. He had heard this speech before. “The past is like stone, frozen and unchanging. The present is a fire, forever altering and too chaotic to follow. The future is the shadow cast by those flames.”
The Sentinel clapped her hands with glee. “You do understand! I am glad. I saw your past in their memories. Such mighty deeds you have done. The Shadowbearer slain and the shadow of Incariel driven back! Even my master feared the Shadowbearer. Urdmordar matriarchs slain by your own hand, and the Frostborn driven back to their own world. Such a puissant warrior. I had to see you with my own eyes. I had to see the shadows of your future.”
“If I am indeed a puissant warrior,” said Ridmark, “then you should not have drawn me here.”
“No, you don’t understand,” said the Sentinel. “I can save you.”
“Save me?” said Ridmark. “From what?”
“From your future,” said the Sentinel. Sabrina’s face lit up with a twisted sort of glee. “Your past is dark and full of blood, Shield Knight, but your the shadows of your future are darker and bloodier yet. Join me, and I shall save you from that. Join me, and I will teach you the delights of death and conquest. You know them already, but I shall teach you to understand them.”
“No,” said Ridmark.
“If you could only see the horror that lies in the shadows of your future,” said the Sentinel. “Your daughter shall lead you upon a path of ruin and destruction.”
“I don’t have a daughter,” said Ridmark. He had two sons, but there was no way he was going to tell that to this creature. If it escaped, it might try to hunt down his sons. Of course, if the Sentinel did, it would have to deal with Calliande.
The Sentinel laughed. “This is your last chance to avoid a grim fate, Shield Knight. Aid me, or perish here and now.”
“If you’ve looked into the memories of the sleeping men,” said Ridmark, “then you know that you’re in danger.” He raised Oathshield, pointing the blade at the thing that wore Sabrina’s guise. “You know a soulblade is a powerful weapon against dark magic.”
“I do,” said the Sentinel, flexing her fingers. The blue eyes turned black, pitch black, filling with the void “So be it, Shield Knight. Either you shall perish, and I shall feast upon your death and the deaths of the fools you brought here…or you shall slay me, and the misery of life ends at last. Either way, I am content.”
She took a step forward, and she changed, the guise of Sabrina Arban falling away.
In her place stood a creature of powerful dark magic, a creature of a sort Ridmark had fought several times before.
It was an urdhracos, one of the strongest creations of the dark elves.
The Sentinel looked like a human woman armored in close-fitting plates of black metal, her hands covered in clawed gauntlets. Her face was gaunt and pale, framed in ragged black hair, and her eyes were pits into a bottomless void. Black wings rose behind her like a cloak of shadow, dark and leathery.
And still the shadowy haze poured off her, holding Khalzak and the remaining warriors unconscious. Not that it mattered. Ridmark had the only weapon capable of wounding an urdhracos, the only sword that could shatter the dark magic empowering the creature.
“It has been so long since I have killed, Swordbearer,” said the Sentinel. Her voice was soft with a quiet rasp to it. “Let us return to that pleasure together.”
Ridmark charged, drawing Oathshield back to strike. But while the sword could protect him from the Sentinel’s malefic aura, it could not do that and grant him enhanced speed at the same time. The urdhracos leaped backward and took to the air, her great black wings flapping. She soared upward and seized the capital of one of the columns with her clawed right hand.
Her left hand pointed towards Ridmark, blue fire snarling around her armored fingers.
Ridmark raised Oathshield in guard just as the Sentinel cast her spell. A shaft of blue fire and writhing shadow burst from her hand, and Ridmark caught the spell on his blade. The spell shattered against Oathshield, but the impact rocked Ridmark back several steps.
The Sentinel leaped from the pillar and plummeted towards him. Ridmark jumped back, and the Sentinel landed where he had been standing an instant earlier, her talons rasping against the white stone of the floor. Before she could recover, Ridmark went on the attack. The Sentinel dodged his first strike, and on his second she raised her arms in a cross-guard, catching Oathshield’s blade beneath her armored hands.
She smirked at him, and then that smirk turned to a shriek of pain as Oathshield’s white fire dug into her arms. Ridmark kicked, his boot driving into the Sentinel’s left knee, and the creature stumbled back. He lunged, and Oathshield found her chest, crunching through the black armor to seek her heart.
The Sentinel screamed again and fell to her knees, white fire welling up in the void of her eyes.
And then she smiled that mad smile at Ridmark.
“You should have listened to me, Shield Knight,” said the Sentinel. “For I see the pain and blood that await in your future…”
Ridmark ripped Oathshield free, and the Sentinel fell dead with a clatter of black armor.
The shadowy haze washing out from her faded away, and Khalzak and the other two ghost orc warriors got to their feet. Throughout the hall, the prisoners upon the slabs started to stir. With the Sentinel’s death, her spells had been broken.
“You defeated an urdhracos,” said Khalzak, shocked. “Alone, and without aid.”
“Aye,” said Ridmark.
He stepped to Sabrina’s slab as the girl blinked and sat up.
“Uncle,” she said. “What…what happened? Where am I?”
“You asked me for a tale,” said Ridmark, “but I think you’ll have your own to tell now.”
Chapter 8: Omen
It took the better part of the day to get the mess at the Hanging Tower sorted out.
Tormark agreed to let the ghost orc warriors depart without further challenge, so long as they returned to the Shaluuskan Forest at once. They, too, had fallen victim to Vholazae’s deception. Once that was settled, both the ghost orcs and the humans worked to seal the entrance to the crypt, piling stones upon the stairs until the entrance was blocked once more.
Creatures other than the Sentinel might still sleep in the darkness below. Best to let them remain undisturbed.
After that, it took Ridmark another six days to return home.
He lived with his wife and children in a domus on the western side of the River Moradel, on the site where Calliande’s village had been long ago. The towers and walls of Tarlion rose on the eastern bank of the river, and Ridmark walked from the dock to the doors of the domus.
Calliande was waiting for him.
She always knew when he was coming, thanks to the Sight of the Keeper. His wife had blue eyes and long blond hair, and she smiled as she saw him coming.
Ridmark took her hands and kissed her.
“I heard you had something of a…side trip with Tormark,” said Calliande.
She seemed so happy. She was glad to see him, but there was something else.
“Aye,” said Ridmark. “This is what happens when you tell me to spend more time with my brothers.”
Calliande laughed. “Well, it saved his life and the lives of a hundred other men, so I suppose my advice was right.” She hugged him. “I’m glad you’re home. I missed you. The boys missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” said Ridmark.
“And I have good news,” said Calliande. “Do you remember how w
e said farewell when you left for the Northerland?”
Ridmark smiled. “I do.” It had been a hard night to forget. He was about to suggest that they go to the bedroom to reunite in the same way, but then his brain started noticing details. She was wearing a dress looser than what she usually preferred, but not loose enough to conceal the growing curve of her stomach.
“I am with child,” said Calliande. “I think it’s going to be a daughter.”
THE END
Thank you for reading SHIELD KNIGHT: GHOST ORCS.
The adventures of Ridmark and Calliande continue in SEVENFOLD SWORD: CHAMPION.
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Other books by the author
The Demonsouled Saga
MAZAEL CRAVENLOCK is a wandering knight, fearless in battle and masterful with a sword.
Yet he has a dark secret. He is Demonsouled, the son of the ancient and cruel Old Demon, and his tainted blood grants him superhuman strength and speed. Yet with the power comes terrible, inhuman rage, and Mazael must struggle to keep the fury from devouring him.
But he dare not turn aside from the strength of his blood, for he will need it to face terrible foes.
The priests of the San-keth plot and scheme in the shadows, pulling lords and kingdoms upon their strings. The serpent priests desire to overthrow the realms of men and enslave humanity. Unless Mazael stops them, they shall force all nations to bow before the serpent god.
The Malrag hordes are coming, vast armies of terrible, inhuman beasts, filled with a lust for cruelty and torment. The Malrags care nothing for conquest or treasure, only slaughter. And the human realms are ripe for the harvest. Only a warrior of Mazael’s power can hope to defeat them.
The Dominiar Order and the Justiciar Order were once noble and respected, dedicated to fighting the powers of dark magic. Now they are corrupt and cynical, and scheme only for power and glory. They will kill anyone who stands in their way.
Shield Knight Ghost Orcs Page 4