“Agreed,” said Gareth. “If necessary, my men will fight to hold the courtyard so you can escort the Keeper to the circle.” He turned his horse towards Calliande. “Would knights and men-at-arms be of any use to you in your fight against Shadowbearer, my lady?”
“I fear not, lord Dux,” said Calliande. “They possess no weapons that can harm him. The Swordbearers, yes. I would like as many Swordbearers at my side as can you can spare. Even Shadowbearer’s wards are not proof against the fury of a soulblade. But I fear if Shadowbearer is to be defeated, it is up to me.”
She put on a brave face before the Dux, but Ridmark knew Calliande of Tarlion well enough by now to see the fear there. The last time they had fought, Shadowbearer had almost killed her, and this time the stakes were far higher.
“Perhaps,” said Ridmark, “but you will not face him alone.”
“Thank you,” said Calliande, and they rode towards the Tower’s silent ruins.
###
Gavin kept his hand near Truthseeker’s hilt, ready to draw the soulblade. He mapped out his strategy in his head. If a Mhorite shaman attacked, he would use Truthseeker’s power to shield himself from the shaman’s dark magic, hoping to strike down the shaman before he brought more dangerous magic to bear. If he encountered one of Mournacht’s red-armored elite guards, he would use Truthseeker’s power to make himself faster, striking down the guard in the initial moment of the battle.
But no enemies showed themselves as they rode towards the Tower’s ruined southern gate.
Gareth, Ridmark, Arandar, and Constantine rode in the lead. The Dux often insisted on leading from the front, and Gavin found himself admiring the old man’s bravery. Antenora rode next to him, her staff propped in her stirrup like a lance. She had seen some of the knights carrying their lances in that fashion, and both she had Morigna had promptly copied the method. Gavin supposed it made sense, since it let the sorceresses bring their staffs to bear at once. Antenora stared at the ruined castra, and a strange tremor went through her, as if she was cold.
Or afraid.
“Are you all right?” said Gavin in a low voice.
“This may be the end, Gavin Swordbearer,” said Antenora.
“Every battle could be the end,” said Gavin.
“This is so,” said Antenora. “But this battle could be the end for me at last.”
“What do you mean?” said Gavin.
“My oath,” said Antenora. “For fifteen centuries I have been cursed to live on and on and on. My oath to the Keeper could end that. I swore I would help stop the return of the Frostborn. If I do this, if we are victorious…then it could end. I could die at last.”
A pang of emotion went through Gavin. He had not realized how fond he had become of Antenora. Her breadth of knowledge and her unyielding determination impressed him. Despite her yellow eyes and gaunt, gray face, she had a strange sort of beauty to her, like the beauty of the ruined castra rising before them.
“I will miss you,” said Gavin.
Her head snapped around, her yellow eyes widening.
“You will?” said Antenora.
Gavin nodded.
“Gavin Swordbearer,” said Antenora. “If this is my end or our end, I am glad to have met you. I have known only a few warriors like you, and after I am gone, I hope you have a long and prosperous life.”
“Thank you,” said Gavin.
She blinked, nodded, and looked away. “Be ready, Gavin Swordbearer. I am certain the enemy awaits us within.”
He nodded and turned his attention back to the task at hand.
They rode into the courtyard of the ruined castra. Grass jutted between the flagstones of the courtyard, and here and there small trees had grown up. The Tower of Vigilance might have once been a strong fortress, but nature was reclaiming it stone by stone.
“Where are they?” muttered Gareth, his sword in hand.
“They are here,” said Calliande. “Standing at the foot of the keep.” She frowned. “They’ve…made themselves invisible, as the dvargir can do. Wrapping themselves in shadow.”
Morigna cast a spell, a brief flicker of purple fire going over her hands. “I can sense them. Dozens of them.” She looked at Ridmark. “The Mhorites have never been able to cloak themselves like that.”
“Perhaps Shadowbearer has given them gifts of power,” said Ridmark, his voice grim.
Calliande raised her staff, its length shining with white fire, and brought it down with a shout. A ring of white fire burst from her and rolled across the courtyard, causing the horses to prance in fear. The flames washed over Gavin without touching him, and then splashed against the base of the Tower’s keep.
Dozens of pillars of black shadow swirled at the base of the keep, and the Mhorites appeared out of nothingness. Some of them were the warriors of Mournacht’s elite guard, armored in red steel adorned with reliefs of skulls, blood symbols burning upon their armor. Others were Mhorite shamans, gaunt and wasted, blood glyphs shining on their chests and arms, the air around them crackling with dark magic. Gavin drew Truthseeker, and the soulblade shuddered in his hand as its power rose in answer to the dark magic of the Mhorites. He had fought both the elite guards and the shamans before in the Vale of Stone Death and the depths of Khald Azalar.
Yet something had changed in the Mhorites. Gavin could not put his finger upon it, yet…
Their shadows were moving.
The sun was sinking away over the hills to the west, half-hidden behind the pillar of blue fire stabbing skyward, but the Mhorites’ shadows were wrong. Some of their shadows pointed to the east, others to the south, and some towards the ruined keep. Orcs usually had deep black eyes, yet the eyes of the Mhorites were darker and deeper and blacker than they should have been, like pits into a bottomless void.
They looked a lot like the eyes of the dvargir, the eyes of the Traveler and the Warden.
“Oh,” Gavin heard himself say. “They’re…Enlightened, aren’t they? Enlightened of Incariel.”
“Shadowbearer must have infused them with the power of Incariel’s shadow,” said Calliande, her staff pointed at them.
“Fools!” roared one of the shamans, stepping forward as blood-colored fire and shadow writhed around his fingers. “Mhor will soon walk the face of this world! Already his power fills us! The summoning has begun,” the shaman gestured at the pillar of blue fire, “and soon Mhor shall arise to conquer this world.”
“Do you not see?” shouted Calliande. “There is no Mhor! You are being used. Shadowbearer is using you to open his gate, and once he succeeds, he will cast you aside!”
“Kill them!” screeched the shaman. “Kill them all in the name of Mhor!”
The elite guards charged, lifting their weapons as shadows began to dance around their blades. Calliande, Antenora, and Morigna all began casting spells, and Gavin jumped from the saddle and charged as the others attacked. Here, in the confined space of the courtyard, he did not want to fight from horseback. Better to fight on his own two feet.
A shaman cast a spell at Gavin, writhing shadows infusing a blast of blood-colored fire. Gavin raised Truthseeker, calling upon the sword’s power to shield him from dark magic. The shaman’s spell hammered into Gavin, screaming against the white light of Truthseeker’s power, but the soulblade proved the stronger. Gavin sprinted forward, and before the shaman could cast another spell, Gavin struck. Truthseeker descended in a blazing arc, tearing through the shaman’s wards and opening his torso from throat to belly, and the Mhorite fell dying to the ground.
A flash of fire shot past Gavin, and one of Antenora’s fireballs exploded at the base of the keep. He expected the blast to kill a dozen of the red-armored guards, yet mantles of shadow rose up to surround them, drinking the fire like a sponge. Paul Tallmane had showed a similar ability during the final battle at the Iron Tower. One of the guards came at Gavin, a towering warrior in red steel, screaming in rage as he wielded his shadow-wreathed sword. Gavin caught the first strike upon his s
hield, sparks flying from the dwarven steel. He riposted, and Truthseeker’s point clanged off the warrior’s cuirass, and the shadows around him flickered as they struggled against the soulblade’s fury. Gavin struck again, landing a hit on the Mhorite’s shoulder, and the warrior stumbled. One more swing, all of Truthseeker’s power filling Gavin, and he took off the guard’s head, blood spurting from the stump of his neck.
More guards rushed at Gavin, and he fought for his life.
###
Ridmark caught a descending sword upon the blade of his axe and sidestepped, letting the Mhorite guard stumble past him. He raised his axe and brought it down, the heavy dwarven blade crunching into the Mhorite’s hip. The Mhorite’s leg buckled as Ridmark ripped the axe free, and the warrior screamed in pain, lashing his sword at Ridmark. He tried to get out of the way, but the Mhorite’s blow struck him in the stomach. His dark elven armor deflected the edge of the sword, but the power of the strike knocked him back, and he fell.
He rolled back his feet, axe in both hands as the fighting raged around him. The dying Mhorite had hit him harder than should have been possible. Whatever Shadowbearer had done to the Mhorites had made them stronger and faster. It reminded him of Jonas Vorinus and Paul Tallmane. Both men had been able to use the shadow of Incariel to make themselves stronger. Though the Enlightened had known what master they truly served. The Mhorites likely thought that the power of Mhor had infused them.
The dying Mhorite tried to rise, growled once more, and then fell dead upon his face.
Nearby Arandar dueled a pair of red-armored guards, Heartwarden flashing in his fist. Ridmark’s broken bond with the soulblade sent a constant pulse of pain through his head, but he ignored it. He dropped his axe back to its belt loop and snatched up his staff from where he had dropped it. The symbols in the staff’s length began to glimmer, reacting to the shadow of Incariel manifested in the Mhorite warriors.
Ridmark came up behind the two Mhorites fighting Arandar and attacked. He struck low, hammering the length of his staff against the back of the knees of the Mhorite on the left. The warrior stumbled with a bellow, and Arandar seized the chance to strike, Heartwarden sinking into the Mhorite’s neck. The surviving guard stabbed, but Arandar got his shield up, blocking the attack. The Mhorite tried to attack again, but Ridmark swung his staff at the warrior’s head. The guard had to duck, giving Arandar the instant he needed to pull Heartwarden free from the dead Mhorite. The surviving warrior lunged at Ridmark, and he dodged the thrust of the warrior’s sword and deflected a swing with a jerk of his staff.
Arandar smashed his shield across the back of the Mhorite’s head, and then struck with Heartwarden, finishing the fight.
Yet more of the guards charged into the fray, and Ridmark battled on.
###
Calliande cast spell after spell, wards shining around her as the Mhorite shamans unleashed their wrath. The shamans had focused their full power upon her, perhaps fearing what she might do to the red-armored guards if she could bring her magic to bear. Their attacks forced her to defend herself, lest their spells hammer down her guard and kill her.
But she had enough power left to strike back.
“Antenora!” she shouted. “The base of the keep!”
Calliande did not wait for an acknowledgement but unleashed the power of the Well, enhancing it with the magic of the Keeper. The blast of white fire struck a Mhorite shaman. The white flame did not touch his flesh, did not harm him.
It did, however, shatter his wards and drive back the shadow of Incariel.
Antenora cast her own spell, a sphere of fire arcing across the battle. The Mhorite shaman’s void-filled eyes just had time to widen, and then the sphere landed at his feet. The resultant explosion flung him back against the walls of the keep with enough force to break every bone in his body, even if the fire had not killed him already. The shaman’s burning corpse slumped to the ground, and the remaining Mhorite shamans resumed their attacks. Calliande recast her wards, wrapping herself and Antenora in the power of the Keeper.
Her wards held, and she had a moment to look around the battlefield.
They were losing.
More of Gareth’s horsemen had arrived, but the augmented Mhorite guards more than held their own against the knights and men-at-arms. Each one of Mournacht’s elite guards fought with the power and strength of a Swordbearer. Gavin and Arandar and Constantine fought well, but they could not fight against all the elite guards, and the rest of the Swordbearers had not yet arrived. If the Mhorites drove them from the courtyard, they might well hold the southern gate of the Tower against the horsemen, blocking them from the circle of standing stones. Once the Anathgrimm arrived, they might be able to break through, but Calliande did not know how long that would take.
She also did not know how much longer they had left. She thought it would take Shadowbearer a few more days to open the gate, but she had been wrong before. Her Sight revealed a tremendous amount of dark magical force flowing towards the circle of standing stones, power enough to lay Dun Licinia waste.
Power enough to rip through the threshold between the worlds and open the way for the Frostborn.
Prudence counseled that they withdraw from the Tower and wait for reinforcements from the rest of the horsemen and the Anathgrimm. Yet in this case prudence might cost them everything. For an agonizing instant Calliande hesitated, and then she made up her mind.
“To the western gate!” she shouted, using a spell to amplify her voice over the courtyard. Antenora gave her a sharp, surprised look. “To the western gate, quickly! Ride! Ride!”
“They shall swarm over us if we withdraw!” Ridmark’s voice came to her ears. He stood near Sir Constantine and Sir Arandar, helping them to fight against the red-armored guards.
“To the western gate!” said Calliande. She turned her horse and rode to where Morigna hung behind the melee, casting spells. The shadowy protections around the warriors and shamans warded them from her mists, but Morigna made the ground fold and ripple around them, throwing the warriors from their feet.
“You mean to run for Shadowbearer?” said Morigna, her eyes hard upon the battle. “If we do, the Mhorites will fall upon us from the back.”
“They won’t,” said Calliande. “I can promise that.” She reached out and took the other woman’s shoulder, and Morigna blinked in surprise. “Cast your spell of earth folding at them, as strongly as you can manage. I will channel the power of the Keeper through you to enhance it. While the Mhorites are stunned, we shall make our escape.”
Morigna gestured and began casting, and Calliande sensed the force of her magic, the power of the earth rising at her command. Calliande called upon her own power, feeding the strength of the Keeper to Morigna as the spell of earth magic reached its height. Morigna’s eyes widened as the power flooded through her, and she shouted and flung out her hand to finish the spell.
The ground shuddered a bit beneath Calliande’s horse, and the entire section of the courtyard before them undulated like a wave crashing against the shore. All the Mhorites, shamans and warriors alike, were flung from their feet, some with enough force to break bones. The wave of earth struck one of the empty towers, and its wall collapsed with a roar, stones raining down upon the stunned Mhorites.
Calliande did not think the spell had killed more than a few Mhorites, but for a moment, the warriors and shamans were stunned.
“That,” said Morigna, “was rather more than I expected.”
“Go!” shouted Calliande.
The others heeded her call, turning their horses or jumping into their saddles, and galloped for the western gate. The Mhorites recovered quicker than Calliande would have hoped, and rushed to attack Dux Gareth and his knights. The Dux fell back, the Mhorites driving his men towards the southern gate. That was not what Calliande had hoped would happen, but it would be good enough.
She began another spell, a powerful spell, reaching for her Sight. Through the Sight she saw the echoes of Morig
na’s spell and Antenora’s elemental fury, saw the dark power gathered around the Mhorites.
She also saw the magic waiting within the ruined Tower itself.
For the Tower of Vigilance had not been just a fortress of stone. Men and laborers had built the walls and towers of stone, but those had not been the castra’s only defenses. Calliande’s Sight detected the lingering magic in the vault where she had rested for centuries, and the magic she had woven into the stones and towers. The Tower had been built to withstand all attack, whether from armies or wielders of dark magic.
And, if need be, it could seal itself from intruders.
Calliande finished her spell, and the power surged through her. Flashes of white light flickered up and down the ruined towers, the ground trembling beneath her horse’s hooves. The poor beast let out a frightened whinny, but Calliande gripped the reins with her free hand and urged her steed onward. Ripples of white light rolled over the ground and climbed over the outer curtain wall, and a strange keening vibration filled the air, growing louder with every moment.
“What did you do?” called Ridmark.
“Keep riding!” said Calliande.
They galloped through the ruined western gate, onto the path leading to the circle of standing stones and the pillar of blue fire. The Mhalekites had carried Calliande through that gate months ago, intending to kill her and empower the empty soulstone to open the way for the Frostborn. Idly she wondered what had happened to the nest of fire drakes that had terrorized the Mhalekites. Likely the dark magic surging from the circle had frightened them off.
She brought her horse to a stop and turned. Ridmark, Kharlacht, Caius, Morigna, Gavin, Antenora, and Arandar had made it through the gate. Constantine Licinius was with them as well. He had been closer to Ridmark when Calliande had triggered the castra’s magical defenses, and he had ridden with them.
“Should we not be retreating?” said Morigna, peering through the gate. “The Mhorites will be after us at any moment.”
Frostborn: The World Gate Page 27