Imaria staggered, and Calliande gathered power for another spell, one strong enough to punch through Imaria’s defenses and kill her.
Then Shadowbearer reappeared before the altar, raising his hand to summon more magic. Calliande had no choice but to abandon her first spell and cast another ward as Imaria vanished yet again. Shadowbearer lifted his hand, and a ring of shadow and blue fire appeared around Calliande and the other two sorceresses, and as Shadowbearer closed his fist, the ring contracted, the fire and shadow rushing to consume them. Calliande thrust her staff, and white fire exploded in all directions, consuming Shadowbearer’s shrinking ring and unraveling his dark magic. She focused her power, throwing the white fire towards Shadowbearer, but the wizard had already vanished.
“Calliande!” shouted Morigna.
Calliande’s gaze snapped up. Imaria had reappeared atop of one of the menhirs, her white robe billowing around her as she cast another spell. More shadowy haze rolled from her hands, and again Calliande had to work a ward to deflect it. Morigna conjured a column of acidic mist around Imaria, but the Magistria vanished again before the spell could touch her.
No sooner had Imaria disappeared than Shadowbearer reappeared again, this time outside of the standing circle. He unleashed a blast of shadow-wreathed blue fire, and a bolt of lightning screamed down from the sky overhead. Calliande again had no choice but to put all her power into a ward, unraveling the bolt of fire and deflecting the bolt of lightning to smash against one of the menhirs.
She started to attack, but Shadowbearer disappeared, even as Imaria reappeared behind the altar. Calliande could deflect every one of Shadowbearer’s attacks and tear through his wards…but she could not hit him. Worse, her strength and stamina were not infinite, and the last several days had been exhausting. Shadowbearer’s skill exceeded her own, and he would wear her down until she made a mistake.
Then he could kill them all.
Unless she had aid from the Swordbearers.
Calliande risked a look in their direction, and saw Constantine and Arandar and Gavin locked in battle with the Weaver and Mournacht, Ridmark and Gavin and Caius and Kharlacht assisting. Perhaps if Calliande stunned the Weaver or Mournacht, one of the Swordbearers could distract Shadowbearer long enough for Calliande to land a telling blow.
Then Shadowbearer flung more dark fire at her, and Calliande had to defend.
###
Truthseeker howled with rage in Gavin’s hand.
The dark power surrounding both the Weaver and Mournacht had unlocked the soulblade’s full potential. The soulstone in the base of the blade all but shone like the sun, and the metal of the sword had vanished in a swirling corona of white flame. Or perhaps it was the presence of Shadowbearer himself that had unleashed the soulblade’s wrath. If the history was true, if Caius had been right, then Shadowbearer was the ancient enemy of the high elves. Perhaps some of the high elves’ long enmity had been woven into the magic of the swords.
The sword’s fury filled him, and Gavin knew that Truthseeker yearned to bury itself in Shadowbearer’s corrupted heart.
But Gavin could not aid Calliande in her ferocious duel of magic with Shadowbearer.
The Weaver and Mournacht saw to that.
Mournacht moved faster and hit harder than Gavin remembered from their fight in Khald Azalar. There the orcish warlord had been a whirlwind of savagery, swinging his great axe as if it weighed no more than a light branch. In the fighting before Dragonfall’s gates, he had cut his way through the Anathgrimm like a farmer harvesting wheat, every blow leaving a dead enemy in his wake, and his magic had been so strong that he had been able to stand against the Traveler.
Now, somehow, he was even stronger
He fought against the three Swordbearers and held his own, his enormous axe moving back and forth in a blur of shadow and crimson fire. The shadows wrapping his axe flickered against the touch of the soulblades, but the white fire could not disperse them. It took all of Gavin’s speed and concentration to stay ahead of the Mhorite warlord’s attacks.
The Weaver did not help matters, either.
The Weaver circled around the battle, attacking Ridmark and Caius and Kharlacht. Again and again Ridmark or Caius tried to attack Mournacht, or Kharlacht tried to bring his greatsword down for a blow, only for the Weaver to dart in and disrupt the attack. Worse, the Weaver kept changing forms, his body exploding into a spray of black threads and reweaving itself into a new shape. Sometimes he became the giant urhaalgar, moving with quickness and speed. Sometimes he became the hulking ursaar, his paws striking with the force of sledgehammer blows. Sometimes he became a kind of creature that Gavin had never seen before, a terrible mixture of serpent and wolf that moved with quicksilver swiftness.
Calliande and Antenora and Morigna could not help. Shadowbearer and Imaria disappeared and reappeared faster than Gavin could follow, and the Keeper and the two sorceresses had their full attention dealing with the ancient wizard and his furious magic. If Gavin could distract Shadowbearer or Imaria, perhaps Calliande or Antenora could hit them with a blast of fire, but Gavin could not turn his attention from Mournacht for even a single second.
The Weaver lunged at him, wearing against the form of the giant urhaalgar, his gleaming black claws stabbing for Gavin’s throat. Gavin got his shield up to block, the black talons rasping against the dwarven steel, and drove his soulblade at the creature. The Weaver danced back, and Gavin started to pursue, hoping Truthseeker’s speed would let him land a hit.
“Gavin!” shouted Ridmark.
Gavin turned as Mournacht shoved aside Kharlacht and lunged at him, the huge axe coming down. Gavin dodged, and the axe blurred perhaps an inch in front of his face, the blade burying itself in the ground between his feet. For a moment, Mournacht was off-balance, both hands gripping the handle of his weapon. Gavin slashed at Mournacht’s arm, hoping to take off one of the Mhorite warlord’s hands, but Mournacht’s right hand shot forward. His hand closed around Gavin’s wrist, and before he could break free Mournacht yanked him forward. At the last minute Gavin ducked his head, and the head butt that would have shattered his skull instead bounced off his forehead. It still sent a shocking wave of pain through Gavin’s neck and back, and he stumbled, reeling.
Mournacht ripped his axe free and raised it, preparing to split Gavin in two.
Ridmark’s staff bounced off Mournacht’s knee, staggering the Mhorite. Kharlacht and Caius attacked from the right and the left. Both the orcish warrior and the dwarven friar scored hits upon Mournacht, but their weapons did little damage, Mournacht’s magic healing the wounds almost at once. Mournacht roared in fury and whipped his axe around. Kharlacht managed to dodge the blow, but Caius was not so lucky.
The axe’s blade slammed into his chest. The blow should have split Caius in half, but the dark elven armor beneath his friar’s robes was proof against even the spell-enhanced steel of Mournacht’s axe. Nevertheless the strike flung Caius backwards into one of the menhirs, and the dwarf’s head bounced off the dark stone with an audible crack.
Caius fell in a heap to the ground and did not get up again.
Kharlacht seized the moment as Mournacht regained his balance, slashing his greatsword as Ridmark attacked from the left, Arandar and Constantine trying to circle behind Mournacht. Kharlacht slashed his greatsword as Mournacht dodged Ridmark’s staff, and the greatsword skidded down Mournacht’s ribs, the blade of dark elven steel opening a gash across the Mhorite’s chest. Mournacht snarled and released one hand from the haft of his axe, the wound on his chest shrinking, and pointed at Kharlacht.
Crimson fire snapped from his fingers. Kharlacht started to dodge, but the spell clipped him on the side. The raw power of Mournacht’s magic spun him into the air, and Kharlacht struck one of the menhirs and bounced off, falling in a limp heap to the ground.
At last Gavin recovered his balance, blood dripping into his eyes, and charged at Mournacht with the other two Swordbearers. Mournacht slammed the end of his ax
e against the ground, and a ring of crimson fire erupted from him. Gavin lifted Truthseeker and called upon the sword’s power, and a white shell of light shimmered into existence around him as the fire rolled past, the sword’s magic repelling Mournacht’s attack. The fire winked out, and Gavin started to attack.
But Mournacht was already on him.
The Mhorite seized Gavin’s throat and lifted him high, his iron fingers sinking like spikes into Gavin’s neck. Gavin tried to strike with Truthseeker, but Mournacht flung him as if he weighed nothing. Gavin soared through the air and landed against the ground.
He felt bone snap, something exploded inside his head, and everything went black.
###
The temptation to use the stolen dark magic was nearly overwhelming.
Morigna kept that temptation in check. Almost certainly if she used the dark magic again, Shadowbearer and Imaria would find a way to exploit it. Not that Shadowbearer needed any additional advantages.
He was winning.
He was too fast, disappearing and reappearing all over the circle in the blink of an eye, and Calliande could never strike him with her spells. Morigna had cast spell after spell, and Antenora’s blasts of flame had burned away all the grass within the circle, small fires crackling here and there, but neither fire magic nor earth magic had touched Shadowbearer. Nor had it reached Imaria. The traitorous Magistria did not have Shadowbearer’s powerful wards, but she too could travel through the shadow of Incariel, and she would not stay still long enough for any of Morigna’s spells to reach her.
Calliande was visibly exhausted, her arms trembling, her blue eyes bloodshot as she cast spell after spell. By contrast, Shadowbearer seemed to have no limit to his stamina. The hideous burns across his face should have left him too crippled by pain to function, yet he didn’t seem to feel the pain.
Or he felt the pain, and simply did not care.
Imaria reappeared next to the altar, throwing out her hands and sending a cone of hazy shadow towards them. Again Calliande had to stop and cast a warding spell, the white fire driving back the haze of the shadow. That stole her strength for a vital instant, slowing her long enough to keep her from attacking Shadowbearer.
Morigna risked a glance at Mournacht, cursing her uselessness. Caius, Kharlacht, and Gavin were all down, and she could not tell if they were stunned and dead. Ridmark, Constantine Licinius, and Arandar continued fighting Mournacht and the Weaver. Arandar had been wounded on the temple and shoulder, blood trickling down his armor, though he had not slowed. The Weaver flowed around them like a shadow, shifting form again and again and keeping the Swordbearers from focusing their attention upon Mournacht.
They were losing, and Morigna could do nothing to stop it. Her magic was simply not powerful enough. All her life she had sought power, and at the moment of final crisis, she was not strong enough.
Which was darkly amusing, because Morigna knew she possessed greater physical strength than Imaria. She was taller than Imaria, and had spent years living alone in the Wilderland, hunting and fishing for her food. Once she had gotten her hands on Imaria in Dun Licinia’s keep, it had been easy to overpower the traitorous Magistria.
But there was no good way to exploit that strength. Imaria’s magic let her travel too fast, and nothing Morigna could do would slow her down. The shadows protected her from the mists Morigna could conjure, and she traveled away before Morigna could fold the earth beneath her feet. She carried nothing of wood that Morigna could control, and when Morigna commanded the roots to entangle her, the shadows broke that spell after the briefest moment.
A moment…
Morigna blinked as an idea came to her.
Perhaps the briefest moment would be enough to defeat both Imaria and the Weaver.
Imaria was transporting herself in a loose circle about Calliande, Morigna, and Antenora. She was clever enough to never reappear in the exact same place twice, but there was a definite pattern to her movements. If she was close enough to the Weaver when she reappeared…
“Antenora,” said Morigna in a low voice as power snarled back and forth between Calliande and Shadowbearer. “When I cast my next spell, attack the Weaver with as much power as you can muster.”
Antenora shook her head, her staff burning like a torch in her right hand. “He moves too quickly. I cannot hit him.”
“I think this will slow him down,” said Morigna, gripping her staff as Imaria vanished once again. “Be ready.”
She waited for a few heartbeats, her muscles tight. Ridmark and Constantine and Arandar wheeled around Mournacht, the Weaver circling them. Constantine attacked Mournacht, but the Mhorite shaman parried the swing and shoved. The Swordbearer staggered back and the Weaver struck, his talons reaching for Constantine’s throat. Constantine managed to dodge, but the Weaver’s talons ripped down his right leg, opening it to the bone. Constantine fell, his wounded leg giving out beneath him, and landed hard upon his back. The Weaver jumped after him, rising up to land the killing blow.
Right about them, Imaria reappeared, starting to cast another spell.
She was standing only three or four yards from the Weaver.
“Now!” shouted Morigna, calling her own magic.
She threw all the power she could gather into the spell, channeling it through her staff and reaching into the ground. Instead of calling forth a few large roots, she summoned as many as she could, and dozens of thin roots burst from the ground, reaching up to entangle Imaria and the Weaver. The Weaver staggered for a half step, pulling free of the entangling roots, and Imaria scowled, and for an instant her attention turned to the roots.
That instant gave Morigna time to cast another spell.
She folded the earth, but this time she rippled the ground beneath her own boots. The motion drove her forward, and she managed to keep her balance atop the heaving ground, like a boat riding a wave towards shore. Imaria looked up, her green eyes widening, and began another spell.
Before she finished, Morigna drew back her staff and swung it the way that she had Ridmark do countless times before.
Ridmark was better at it, but Morigna’s aim was true. The tip of her staff caught Imaria across the chin, and the Magistria’s head snapped backwards. She spun around, tripped over the hem of her robe, and stumbled.
Morigna slammed into Imaria. Her momentum drove Imaria backwards, and they both fell to the ground, the impact bouncing the staff from Morigna’s hands. Imaria snarled and started to cast a spell, shadows gathering around the hands that clutched at Morigna’s arm.
So Morigna punched her in the face.
To judge from the shocked expression, no one had ever punched Imaria before.
Imaria squawked and began her spell again, and Morigna heaved herself up, her knees pinning Imaria’s arms in place, seized Imaria’s neck, and began to choke her while slamming the back of her head against the ground. Imaria’s face darkened as she struggled for breath, her hands clawing at Morigna. Yet Morigna was the stronger, and she held Imaria in place as the Magistria struggled and clawed, her face growing darker and her eyes wider.
Brilliant fire flashed past them, and Antenora’s blast of flame slammed into the Weaver as he pulled free from the roots. Morigna glimpsed the Weaver staggering, the fire chewing into him, and his form erupted into thousands of black threads.
Constantine staggered to his feet and half-stabbed, half-fell at the Weaver’s altering form. The soulblade ripped into the mass of black threads, and the burning blade severed thousands of them at once. The whole mass jerked backwards, reforming itself into the form of the white-robed old man. This time that Weaver looked gaunt and ragged, his blue eyes wild, his face almost gray with shock and pain. Constantine staggered after him, Brightherald waving in his hand, and the Weaver retreated.
For the first time, there was a hint of fear upon his face.
The Weaver dissolved into strands of shadow again, reforming into a nightmarish winged creature. He leaped into the air, wings beating, an
d vanished away to the south. Constantine staggered one more step and collapsed, lying upon his face.
Imaria gagged, and Morigna forced her thumbs into the woman’s throat. Just a little more, just a little more, and Imaria would not get up again. Then Morigna could aid Ridmark, and…
Imaria’s back arched, her whole body heaving, and shadows erupted from her in all directions. The shadows sank into Morigna, a horrible chill spreading through her. Then her hands slapped against the ground as the shadows swirled around her.
Imaria had traveled away, but the shadows still chewed at Morigna.
She tried to rise, but unconsciousness took her.
###
Thunder boomed and flames howled as Calliande and Shadowbearer continued their furious duel.
Ridmark could not spare a thought for that.
Constantine, Gavin, Kharlacht, and Caius had all fallen, dead or stunned or wounded. Fury drove Ridmark on despite the grating exhaustion in his limbs, his staff flying in his hands, the sigils glowing as they reacted the shadows gathered within Mournacht. Arandar still fought on, bleeding from a dozen minor hits, Heartwarden a brand of white fire in his hand. Morigna lay motionless upon the burned grass, her staff a few inches from her outstretched hand. Ridmark could not tell if she was alive or dead.
Frostborn: The World Gate Page 29