Tamara had never seen an undead creature before, but she knew the thing in the robe was an undead orc. It was hard to tell, but she thought the undead in the robe had once been an orcish woman.
The creature on the left wore an identical robe, save that it was the color of gray mist. Mist filled the robe’s cowl, obscuring the face, and more mist dripped and writhed around the sleeves, concealing the figure’s hands. That mist was the same color as the mist that had swept through Kalimnos, and Tamara was certain that this creature had unleashed the spell.
Both robed figures wore identical medallions of dark metal around their necks, their surfaces adorned with a symbol of a double ring pierced by seven spikes.
“Damn it,” muttered Ridmark. “Two of them.”
He stepped forward, his sword burning with white flame, and the undead orcish woman in the silver robe raised her left hand.
“Greetings, Shield Knight of Andomhaim!” she called in Latin. Her voice was a hard rasp, the voice of an old woman confident in herself and her power. “We have been expecting you.”
“Let me guess,” said Ridmark. “I have the honor of speaking with the Maledictus of Air and the Maledictus of…Shadows, is that it?”
“You see truly,” said the silver-robed woman. “I am Mhazhama, the Maledictus of Air. My companion is the Maledictus of Shadows. I would tell you his name, but alas, the nature of his magic means that he has quite forgotten it.”
The Maledictus of Shadows said nothing.
Mhazhama was disturbing enough. Yet something about that mist-choked cowl seemed more menacing to Tamara by far.
“I imagine he’s good at making people forget things,” said Ridmark. “Such as the threat posed by the Masked One of Xenorium. Or that they’re awake and not dreaming. Or that certain people have actually died.”
“Ah,” said Mhazhama. It was a satisfied sound. “You are indeed as formidable as your reputation claims.” Her horrible blue gaze shifted to Tamara, and she felt the presence of the ancient creature’s attention against her mind. “And behold! A pleasant coincidence. You have brought the seventh shard into our reach at last.”
“You know who I am?” said Tamara.
Mhazhama let out a rasping laugh. “I know who you were, girl. I know what you did to yourself. And my brothers and I have been forced to expend so much effort tracking down and killing your other selves. Six of them we slew, and at last, the final shard has come into our grasp.”
“If you know so much about me, then prove it,” said Tamara. Perhaps she could goad the Maledictus into revealing more.
But Mhazhama only laughed at her. “Do you think I am Khurazalin, girl, to lecture at my foes before I slay them? No. There is, after all, always the remote possibility that you might leave this place alive, and in the right hands, knowledge is a more potent weapon than any blade. No, I will not arm you any further than necessary.”
“And I assume that you are the ones who directed the mist against the town?” said Ridmark.
“Just so,” said Mhazhama. “Though the Maledictus of Shadows was responsible for that. I merely came along to take care of the other work. The mist of dreams is a formidable weapon, is it not?” That glowing blue gaze shifted to Kyralion. “Your ancestors were wizards of formidable skill, gray elf. You ought to take pride in their accomplishments. Though the muridachs shall soon hunt your kindred to extinction, and then these ruins shall be all that remains of your people.”
Kyralion said nothing, his eyes a cold golden glitter.
“Perhaps the mist of dreams is a less effective weapon than you thought,” said Ridmark, “given that all five of us resisted it.”
“I confess, that is more than we anticipated,” said Mhazhama. “We thought a Swordbearer would resist the magic, yes. But we had not expected you to have so many…anomalies gathered around you.” Her glowing gaze shifted over each of them. “A dark elven hybrid, a gray elf severed from the Unity, a Takai halfling who survived the Blood Quest, and the seventh shard. An…eclectic group you have assembled, Shield Knight.”
“Since you haven’t attacked,” said Ridmark, “I assume you want to talk.”
“Yes,” said Mhazhama. “The time has come to make you an offer.”
Ridmark snorted. “Has it, now.”
“Join us,” said Mhazhama. “Help us as we work to bring about the rise of the New God. You are a formidable warrior, your wife a powerful sorceress, and the two of you have managed to collect three of the Seven Swords between you.”
“We had help,” said Ridmark. “And why the devil should I help your New God? I’ve seen the blood and treachery worked by its servants.”
“Because the rise of the New God is inevitable,” said Mhazhama. “It is foreordained. Nothing that you or I or anyone else can do will stop it. Perhaps you might delay it by a few years, but that is all. The New God will rise, and it will rule this world until the end of the cosmos. But if you join our cause now, of your own free will, the rewards shall be great. You will be given a kingdom of your own to rule and govern as you see fit, and your children shall be given principalities. You may even live forever if that is your wish.”
“I see,” said Ridmark. Tamara heard the scorn in his hard voice. “If I but bow down and worship you, all the kingdoms of the world shall be mine, is that it? Why don’t you ask me to turn these stones into bread while you’re at it? That’s just as likely to happen.”
Despite herself, Tamara laughed.
“The Gospel of Matthew,” said Mhazhama, “when the Adversary tempted your Dominus Christus. You should not make light of our offer, Shield Knight. The New God shall have complete authority and power over this world. Whatever you desire, it can give you.”
Magatai let out a long, scornful laugh. “Magatai could tell you many tales, Shield Knight, about the dangers of making pacts with demons. Though the Maledictus of Air is a withered old crone in a fancy robe instead of a demon, but Magatai imagines the lesson is much the same.”
“The crude parables of savages,” said Mhazhama with condescension. “Will you listen to them, or to the wisdom of the Maledicti? The victory of the New God is assured. You may either serve it and be rewarded, or resist and be crushed.”
“I’ve heard this speech before,” said Ridmark, Oathshield burning at his side, “and from more impressive emissaries than you. I rejected it then, and I reject it now. So hear my offer, Maledicti. Release your spell upon Kalimnos and the Takai, and I will allow you to depart.”
“And if we do not?” said Mhazhama, her harsh voice taking a mild tone.
“Then I will fight you both,” said Ridmark, “and you will see why the Swordbearers are feared in Andomhaim.”
Looking at him, at that sword burning in his grasp, Tamara believed him.
The Maledictus of Shadows shifted, the mists writhing in its cowl and around its hands. Mhazhama shifted, and Tamara had the sudden impression that the Maledictus of Air was pleased.
“Ah,” said Mhazhama, the sound a long sigh of pleasure. “I have been undead for a long time, Shield Knight. I have forgotten many of the hungers of the flesh. But I have not forgotten the thrill of battle, nor the joy of utterly crushing an enemy. How I look forward to experiencing that joy with you.”
Ridmark raised his sword, and Mhazhama flung out her arms, the silvery robe billowing around her undead form.
“Find us if you can, Ridmark Arban!” she thundered, blue light playing around her skeletal fingers. “We shall await you in the Heart of the Nightmare! Survive if you can, and we shall see if you can face us!”
Shadow and blue fire rippled around them, and both Maledicti vanished, carried away by the power of their magic.
In the same instant, the ground shuddered beneath Tamara’s boots, and dozens of small explosions of dirt and stone fountained around the courtyard.
###
Oathshield shuddered in Ridmark’s hand, reacting to the presence of the dark magic.
Undead, dozens of undead, crawl
ed from concealed graves scattered around the courtyard. To judge from their appearance, they must have once been gray elves. They wore corroded bronze armor and carried bronze swords. Their flesh was leathery and crumbling, but Ridmark saw the pointed ears rising from the sides of their heads. Blue fire burned in their empty eyes, and the creatures rushed towards Ridmark and the others.
“Minor undead,” said Antenora inside Ridmark’s head. “Individually they should not pose much threat to you, and a single hit from Oathshield will destroy them.”
But there were dozens of the creatures, and if they encircled Ridmark and the others, the battle would be over swiftly.
“Third, with me!” said Ridmark. “Kyralion, Magatai, keep them away from Tamara. Tamara, knock them over!”
He strode forward, Oathshield raised in both hands, Third walking next to him. Kyralion drew his bronze sword, the minor soulstone worked into the weapon sheathing the blade with magical lightning. Magatai let out an ululating battle cry and planted himself before Tamara, sword in his right hand.
Tamara shouted, her staff glowing with purple light, and slammed the end against the ground. The courtyard rippled beneath her, and the distortion shot forward, gaining speed as it did. The distortion flowed past Ridmark and Third without touching them, but it rushed into the undead.
It knocked the undead warriors from their feet like a child’s toys, and Ridmark seized that moment to strike. He surged forward, calling on Oathshield’s magic for speed, the soulblade rising and falling. Ridmark managed to destroy five of the undead before the rest regained their feet. Blue fire flickered behind them, and Third appeared out of nothingness, her swords a blur. One of the undead stumbled beneath her attack, and Ridmark seized the opening, hammering Oathshield down. The sword’s white fire quenched the blue glow in its eye sockets, and Ridmark wrenched his soulblade free as the creature fell apart.
He and Third used their usual pattern of fighting. She flickered in and out of the undead creatures, tripping and hobbling them, and traveling away before they could close around her. Ridmark seized the openings created by her chaos, and he struck down undead after undead. Minor undead creatures like these were dangerous foes to the unprepared, but a soulblade had been forged to destroy creatures of dark magic.
Yet there were so many of them, and a large group of the undead rushed towards Tamara, Kyralion, and Magatai.
Fortunately, they were equal to the task. Tamara’s magic knocked the creatures from their feet, or roots erupted from the ground to entangle them. Kyralion fought in silence as he always did, his lightning-wreathed sword flashing back and forth. The lightning was not as effective against the undead as it would be against living creatures, but it stunned the undead long enough for Kyralion to take off their heads with two-handed blows.
Magatai, by contrast, did not fight in silence and alternated between maniacal laughter and shouting what Ridmark assumed were insults in the Takai tongue. He was a little too short to take off the undead warriors’ heads, which did not slow him in the slightest. Instead, he hewed at their legs, forcing them to their knees, and then beheaded them, or moved onto a new target as Kyralion attacked the prone undead.
But despite their best efforts, some of the undead got past them and rushed at Tamara.
Ridmark started to shout for Third to aid her, but Tamara moved first.
She cast a spell, and her staff glowed with a harsh purple light. One of the undead rushed her, and Tamara swung her staff. She didn’t have time to prepare a decent blow, and Ridmark doubted the strike would do more than stagger the undead.
Instead, the staff struck the undead warrior’s cuirass, and there was an enormous crashing sound, like a boulder falling down the side of a mountain. The undead warrior blasted apart, bones and bronze plates tumbling in all directions. A second warrior lunged at her, and Tamara caught its sword in a parry. The bronze blade splintered against her staff, and Tamara whirled the weapon and drove its end into the undead warrior’s chest. The warrior also exploded as if she had hit it with far greater force, bones and armor tumbling away across the courtyard.
That was all the attention Ridmark could spare for her. He turned his focus back to the undead before him, slashing and hacking with Oathshield as Third distracted them. Again and again, he struck down the undead warriors, the white fire of Oathshield burning through him.
Then Ridmark raised his sword and looked for another opponent, and couldn’t find one.
He turned in a circle, Oathshield raised in guard. The undead warriors had been destroyed, and none of his companions had been wounded. Belatedly he realized that he was breathing hard and fast, his shoulders and knees aching, and he strode towards the others.
“Anyone hurt?” he said as Third fell in next to him.
“No,” said Magatai. He grinned and kicked aside the skull of a destroyed undead warrior. “A great victory, and a good fight!”
“I’m glad you like fighting because we have more of it ahead of us,” said Ridmark. He looked at Tamara. “How did you do that with your staff?”
“Oh,” said Tamara. “A spell…I infused it with the magical essence of earth. Granite, specifically. So, when I hit someone with the staff…”
“It is as if Tamara Earthcaller strikes them with a boulder!” said Magatai. “Magatai has seen her do it many times. When employed against a living foe, their expressions of surprise are most gratifying.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Ridmark.
“What are we going to do next, Lord Ridmark?” said Tamara. “Those two Maledicti fled.”
“They would not have gone far,” said Antenora inside of Ridmark’s head. “They used travel spells, but they did not put much power into them. I suspect they transported themselves somewhere within the underground portion of the ruins, no doubt near whatever is empowering the dream spell. This Heart of the Nightmare, most likely.”
“We’re going after them,” said Ridmark.
“Almost certainly they are leading us into a trap,” said Magatai. “That is what Magatai would do, should the situations be reversed.”
“Agreed,” said Ridmark, “but the danger of a trap is that you can catch more than you’re prepared to handle. Let us hope the Maledicti have made that mistake.”
He strode towards the massive central tower, and the others followed him.
Chapter 16: Ruins of the Gray Elves
Ridmark led the way down the spiral stairs, Oathshield held in guard before him.
They didn’t have any torches, but that wasn’t a problem. Tamara could conjure a sphere of pale blue light that floated over her palm. For that matter, the Tower of Nightmares was so saturated with twisted magic that Oathshield kept glowing with white fire. A soulblade was a powerful weapon, but it could also make a useful torch.
They walked in silence. Ridmark knew from long experience that Third could move in utter silence, as could Kyralion, but Magatai and Tamara also moved like ghosts. Not a whisper of sound echoed down the spiraling stairwell. That allowed Ridmark to listen for trouble, but he heard nothing. Either there were no enemies nearby, or they moved with perfect stealth.
At last, the stairs ended, and Ridmark stepped through an archway and into a large pillared hall of white stone, its vaulted ceiling rising far overhead. Lumps of crystal had been affixed to the capitals of the columns, throwing a pale glow over everything. They also threw tangled shadows behind the pillars, and Ridmark’s eyes swept over the shadows, seeking for foes.
But he found none. The hall was deserted.
“Antenora?” said Ridmark.
“There are no magical traps in this hall,” said Antenora. “The room is saturated by the dream spell, however.”
“It should be safe to enter,” said Ridmark, taking a few steps forward. “Keep your eyes open, though.”
“My God,” said Tamara. “I had no idea this was all under the hill. I can scarce believe it.”
“Believe it,” said Ridmark. There was another archway at the far
end of the long hall, opening into a corridor that led further into the ruins. “Aenesium was built over the gray elven city of Cathair Valwyn. There are miles of corridors and halls like this beneath the streets.”
“That writing,” said Tamara. “I wonder what it says.”
Ridmark peered through the shadows at the walls, and saw that reliefs and rows of symbols marked the white stone. They looked a great deal like the reliefs and the inscriptions he had seen in Cathair Valwyn, though these reliefs showed the gray elves fighting armies of orcs and some other creatures that Ridmark did not recognize.
“I don’t know,” said Ridmark, “but I know someone who does. Kyralion?”
The gray elf stepped forward, his golden eyes flicking over the writing. “It says that this is the fortress of…Cathair Selenias, founded and held by the Lord Amruthyr,” said Kyralion. “The inscription says that Lord Amruthyr intends to hold this fortress forevermore against the hordes of the Sovereign, to safeguard the city of Cathair Avamyr to the south.”
“It seems that he was unsuccessful,” said Third, glancing around the silent hall.
“To die in battle surrounded by slain foes is a valiant death,” said Magatai.
“Let’s keep moving,” said Ridmark. There would be time to muse on the history of the gray elves later. He took a step forward, and then a thought occurred to him. “Kyralion?”
“Aye?” said Kyralion, looking away from the inscriptions of his distant ancestors.
“In places like this, would your kindred have employed mechanical traps?” said Ridmark.
Tamara blinked. “Mechanical traps?”
“Cunning devices and engines,” said Ridmark. “Rooms that close around intruders. Or hidden doors in the floor that open into pits of poisoned spikes. Ceilings that drop to crush enemies, or walls that close together like the covers of a book to crush anyone between them. That sort of thing.”
Tamara gave the floor and the walls a dubious look.
“Almost certainly,” said Kyralion. “Especially in a fortress built so late in the history of my people as this one, when we were desperate to repel the Sovereign’s hosts.”
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