Just as well that she had kept it on as she swam.
But the impact knocked her back, and she landed hard even as the arachar orcs leaped to their feet and charged. Morigna heaved herself back to her feet, trying to pull together power for another spell…
A wraith flowed into her vision, a phantasm of mist and gray light. The mist condensed into a slender figure clad in a cuirass of bronze-colored armor that hung to its knees, gauntlets of the same metal, and a masked helmet. The figure wore a tattered white cloak with the hood pulled up. A wraithcloak, Morigna realized, like the one Sir Calem had worn at the battle of Cathair Animus.
“Come on!” shouted the armored figure, seizing Morigna’s arms.
The wraithcloak flared to life, making the armored form immaterial, and Morigna became ghostly as well.
She sank into the earth as the arachar orcs closed around her.
###
A third longship beached itself, more arachar orcs spilling onto the shore. Ridmark watched the red orcs, trying to spot either Morigna or Moriah. There were at least a hundred arachar on the beach, and two more ships were coming. He had seen a woman in golden armor struggle ashore, and he assumed that had been Morigna. But she had disappeared even as one of the longships reached the shore. Ridmark could see neither Moriah nor Morigna.
He hesitated, preparing to give the command to advance to the beach proper, though he was loath to do it. His men had an excellent position. If the arachar attacked, they would have to climb up the shallow bluff to do it, and even that gentle slope would sap some of their breath.
Then a wraith of gray mist and light rose out of the ground next to him, and it hardened into the form of two women. One was Moriah, armored and hooded in her dwarven scout armor and tattered wraithcloak. The nearby soldiers reacted with surprise. It was not well-known that Moriah Rhosmor was the Wraith, the master thief who had tormented the nobles and merchants of Cintarra, and she had donned her scout armor and sank into the earth behind the broad backs of Sir Niall and Sir Rufinius.
The second woman was elven, with pointed ears, alien features, bright green eyes, and red hair now sodden with saltwater. She wore golden armor and leaned upon a black staff, and a gray cloak was plastered to her back. The woman looked exhausted, but she offered a weary smile to Ridmark and Calliande.
“Thank you,” said Morigna, “for coming for me.”
Ridmark nodded. It was always strange to talk to Morigna. In her first life, she had been his lover, and Imaria Licinius had murdered her. But Ardrhythain had given her spirit the role of Guardian of humanity against dark magic, and she had been reborn in the body of Lady Ansalia, a gray elven noblewoman whose spirit had been ripped away from her flesh through the cruelty of the dark elves.
“You look terrible,” said Calliande.
Morigna blinked and let out a quiet laugh. “I have spent the last two years spying upon the Heptarchy. That would weary anyone.”
“Speaking of the Heptarchy,” said Ridmark, “they haven’t given up.”
All five of the longships had landed now, and the arachar orcs milled around on the beach, preparing to form up.
“Yes,” said Morigna. “Agravhask knows that I am a spy. He will not let me escape.”
“Agravhask?” said Calliande.
“The Warlord of the Heptarchy,” said Morigna, “Herald of Ruin, and bearer of the dark soulblade Shieldruin.”
Calliande’s eyes went wide, and she glanced at the soulblade hanging at Ridmark’s belt. The similarities between the names of the two swords was an ominous coincidence. Though given that the Warden had forged the dark soulblades and knew that Ridmark was the Shield Knight, perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence at all.
“Well,” said Ridmark, “we can make sure these orcs won’t escape to warn their master. Calliande, can you work the lightning spell?”
She nodded, and Ridmark shouted orders. His men left the coast road and advanced to the edge of the bluff, looking down towards the arachar orcs and their beached ships. The crimson orcs saw the enemy approaching and began to hurry, trying to form up, but both Calliande and Morigna cast spells. Calliande called lightning out of the clear sky, and the bolt screamed down, killing a half-dozen arachar. Morigna hurled a roiling ball of mist that expanded to strike six more arachar, and the orcs screamed as the acid chewed into their flesh. The Keeper and the Guardian struck again, and the orcs’ discipline snapped.
They rushed up the slope in a charge to meet Ridmark’s shield wall, and he drew Oathshield and attacked, Sir Rufinius at his side. He and the younger Swordbearer battled before the line, breaking up the orcish attack, while Ridmark’s men killed any who came into range.
In the end, the arachar orcs fought to the last man. Ridmark lost fourteen men, with twenty more wounded. At once, Calliande and Decimus began to attend to the wounded, casting healing spells.
“Thank you again,” said Morigna, her green eyes haunted as she gazed at the slain. “It cost fourteen lives to rescue mine.”
Ridmark nodded. There was no point in lying. She knew it as well as he did.
“But the Heptarchy is coming,” said Morigna. “Agravhask is coming. And if we do not act now, he will conquer Andomhaim…and many more lives than these fourteen will be lost.”
***
Chapter 14: Ruins
The news that there was an ancient dark elven ruin buried west of Sinderost was met with consternation in Prince Everard’s council.
Tyrcamber stood with Rilmael, Third, and Selene in the council chamber off the throne room. Everard sat at the head of the round table, his expression solemn. The Dukes of the Empire had gathered around the table, including Duke Faramund Berengar, who held the southern city of Tamisa and had only recently been able to leave Mourdrech. Faramund had married Tyrcamber’s sister Adalhaid since Chilmar had thought to use her as a lever to control Faramund.
It had been one of Chilmar’s rare political miscalculations. Adalhaid detested their father, and she had turned Faramund against the Duke of Chalons. Now Faramund and Chilmar were almost always on opposite sides of matters of contention within the Empire. Yet the dire threat of the Valedictor’s invasion and the power of the Dragon Cult and the Fallen Order loomed larger than the two Dukes’ mutual dislike, and Chilmar and Faramund would both vote for Everard as the Emperor.
Though the two men sat on opposite sides of the table. Possibly to keep distance between them, or maybe to keep an eye on each other.
“You did not know these ruins were here, Guardian?” said Everard.
“I fear not, Prince,” said Rilmael. “I didn’t think there were dark elven ruins within a hundred miles of Sinderost.”
“How could you not?” said Duke Cormarl. He looked baffled. Corswain had been a good friend and a valiant knight, but with the benefit of time, Tyrcamber had realized that his friend had not been all that bright, and Corswain had inherited that from his father. “You are the Guardian. You have been here far longer than mankind.”
“To my regret, my lord Duke, I am not omniscient. Only God can claim that honor,” said Rilmael. A few of the Dukes chuckled.
“Could the Fallen Order have built these ruins themselves during the siege?” said Everard.
“No, lord Prince,” said Third. The Dukes gazed at her. Some of them seemed frightened of Third. Of course, they were frightened of Tyrcamber, too, but he was the youngest son of Duke Chilmar and a former knight of the Order of Embers. He was one of the nobles in a way that Third was not. “I had a brief look around the hall we uncovered. The reliefs referenced a dark elven lord the Guardian said fell thousands of years ago.”
Duke Hulderic of Valstrasia grunted. “You read dark elven, my lady?”
“Yes,” said Third.
“The reliefs said that the ruins had been built by a dark elven lord called the Embalmer,” said Rilmael. “He was one of the Dragon Imperator’s vassals, and he was a potent necromancer. The Embalmer discovered a method of creating powerful undead by dousing c
orpses in a bath of alchemical salts…”
“Hence the title, I assume,” said Everard.
“The dark elven lords did enjoy their cruel titles,” said Rilmael. “But the Embalmer fell in battle against the cloak elves seven thousand years ago, long before mankind arrived in Sinderost. I suspect the Embalmer secretly constructed the underground halls around Sinderost without the knowledge of the Dragon Imperator. When the Embalmer and his knights and slaves were destroyed in battle, the knowledge of the underground galleries was lost.”
“Until today,” said Cormarl.
“I suspect they were rediscovered earlier,” said Rilmael. “The Fallen Order, as you all know, wields blood spells and necromancy. Some of their knowledge they acquired from the xiatami Conciliators. But some of their lore was obtained from the ruins of the dark elves.”
Chilmar scowled. “Then it’s possible the Fallen Order has been lurking in these ruins for centuries?”
“It is,” said Rilmael.
“God and the saints,” said Master Grimoald of the Order of Iron, striking his hand against the table. “There might have been a hidden lair of the Fallen Order outside the Imperial capital for centuries?”
“It is possible,” said Rilmael. “The Dragon Cult stayed in the shadows until the Valedictor invaded. The Fallen Order did the same after its first defeat. And to remain in the shadows, they must have had had a hidden refuge.”
“If these ruins were their hidden refuge,” said Everard, “why dig them up? Why expose them like this? Surely they must have realized that we would discover them.”
“Perhaps they hid an army in those ruins,” said Master Ruire of the Order of Embers, Tyrcamber’s former commander. “Maybe the muridachs are lurking there.”
“As far as we can tell,” said the Master of the Order of the Griffin, “the bulk of the muridach host is with the army of the Fallen Order, retreating back to Corbrast and Castle Aginwulf.”
“How extensive are these ruins?” said Everard.
“I don’t know,” said Rilmael. “We thought it wiser to inform you first. Exploring dark elven ruins, as you know, is a dangerous task even with proper preparations.” Some of the Dukes nodded. There were numerous well-known dark elven ruins scattered across the Empire, and sometimes bold knights entered them in search of renown and glory. Sometimes they succeeded, sometimes they did not, and sometimes they did not return at all.
“Very well,” said Everard. “What do you suggest?”
“The armies of the Empire are gathered around Sinderost,” said Rilmael. “They will need to remain on guard to protect the capital from the Fallen Order, but the serjeants of the Imperial Orders are the best footmen in the Empire. I suggest you send well-armed parties of men to explore the ruins and map them. Meanwhile, I will explore the other excavations the Fallen Order dug around the city. We may find the entrances to other ruins. And perhaps we can find what the Fallen Order was doing.”
“This counsel seems good to me,” said Everard. “Chilmar?”
The Duke nodded. “I will speak with the Masters of the Orders, and we shall select forces of knights and serjeants to explore the ruins.” His hard eyes turned to Tyrcamber. “And I assume you shall aid the Guardian, as will Lady Third?”
“I will,” said Tyrcamber. He looked at Third, and she nodded. “Unless you have some other task for us.”
“No,” said Everard.
“I think the plans for the election and the coronation should continue without interruption,” said Chilmar. “Our Empire has for too long been without an Emperor. The Guardian and two Dragontiarna Knights are the best equipped to explore these ruins and discern whatever threat they represent.”
“And Lady Selene, if she is willing,” said Rilmael.
“You have experience with dark elven ruins, my lady?” said Everard.
Selene grinned. “Oh, indeed I do, my lord Prince. I should tell you about Urd Maelwyn sometime.”
“Urd Maelwyn?” said Duke Cormarl. “Where is that?”
“A very long way from here,” said Third.
With that, the council turned back to discussing the election and coronation, which seemed to involve every Duke expounding his opinion at tedious length. Fortunately, Tyrcamber did not have to stay for that, and he followed Rilmael and Third and Selene back into the great hall.
“Where exactly is Urd Maelwyn?” said Tyrcamber.
“In Owyllain, a continent across the sea from Andomhaim,” said Third, her voice distant. “It was the seat of the Sovereign.”
“He ruled the entire continent from Urd Maelwyn during the height of his empire,” said Selene. “At least until Connmar Pendragon founded Owyllain, and his descendants defeated the Sovereign. But that was part of his plan. The Keeper and the Shield Knight figured it out just in time, with some help from the Guardian Morigna. Then we killed the Sovereign a second time and destroyed the Seven Swords, and that was that.”
Very little of that made any sense to Tyrcamber.
“Yes,” said Tyrcamber at last. “It sounds complicated.”
“I remember the Sovereign,” said Rilmael. “The Warden was a master of magic, but the Sovereign was a master of war and conquest.”
Selene let out a nasty laugh. “War and conquest, but not ruling. Everyone always rebelled against him sooner or later. That’s why the other dark elves called him the Sovereign.”
“But the Sovereign is dead,” said Third. “Selene and I were there when he died for the final time.” She took a deep breath. “The Embalmer is dead as well, but it seems that his ruins have endured to trouble us.”
“Agreed,” said Rilmael.
“I think we should start north of the city,” said Tyrcamber. “The Fallen Order spent the longest time there and dug the most.”
They left the Imperial Palace, obtained horses, and headed north. The ride from the Imperial Palace took them through the Old City and then into the New City. The northern gate was open, and they rode across the fields towards the abandoned earthworks.
Tyrcamber looked at the battle-scarred ground. Sir Karling had ordered trenches dug before the wall to prevent the Fallen Order from wheeling siege towers or ladders to the city. The Knights of Blood had withdrawn, but they might return, and Sir Karling had kept the trenches in place.
Dark memories flooded through Tyrcamber’s mind as they rode north. He remembered when the Valedictor’s massive host assaulted the northern wall, bringing the Empire to the brink of destruction. In the Chamber of the Sight, again and again he had lived the nightmare of being enslaved by the Valedictor, of burning the Imperial capital. Then he had awakened from the nightmare and become a Dragontiarna Knight, and he had annihilated the Valedictor’s army, incinerating thousands of goblins and ogres.
Tyrcamber realized that if not for his duties, he never would have voluntarily returned to Sinderost.
He realized that Selene was watching him.
“Bad memories?” she said.
“Yes,” said Tyrcamber.
“I understand that,” said Selene.
“You always seem so cheerful,” said Tyrcamber.
“Well.” Selene rolled her shoulders. “That’s one way to deal with dark memories.”
A short time later they left the scarred fields and came to the ruined earthworks. Tyrcamber dismounted, and they tied their horses to the ragged husk of a dead tree. Tyrcamber supposed he might have burned it during the destruction of the Valedictor’s army.
“Any muridach fur?” said Tyrcamber.
“Oh, yes,” said Third. She had dropped to a crouch and scrutinized the ground. Tyrcamber was no scout, but he had no trouble picking out the many muridach tracks on the earth. “They must be taking care to move at night. Else the Knights of the Griffin would have spotted them.” She straightened up. “This way.”
Tyrcamber, Rilmael, and Selene followed Third as she led the way into the maze of half-dug holes and piled earth. He walked with Kyathar in his hand, holding his magic ready to
strike, and the others had their weapons out. The day had turned overcast as they rode north, the clouds filtering the light into a dull yellow-orange glow. Tyrcamber had the odd sensation that he walked through a giant graveyard, albeit one with unquiet dead.
“Most of the tracks go this way,” said Third, pointing with one of her swords. Storm, Tyrcamber thought. Or possibly Inferno – he had a hard time telling them apart when the swords were not wreathed in lightning or flame.
“Want to wager that we’re going to find another trapdoor there?” said Selene.
“I do not gamble,” said Third.
“Not with your money,” said Selene. “You just gamble with your life.”
Third snorted, once, and they followed the tracks to a large rectangular hole. Like the one they had found to the west of Sinderost, it looked like the half-dug cellar for a tower or perhaps a large church. And just like the other hole, there was a wooden trapdoor in the center.
“It would be hard for a Knight of the Griffin to see that from high up,” said Rilmael. He looked at Third. “I think you’re right. The muridachs must have been moving at night.”
“I’ll go first,” said Tyrcamber.
They clambered into the hole, dust puffing up around their boots. Tyrcamber was grateful it hadn’t rained recently or else the dirt would have been thick mud. He wondered how the underground ruins of the dark elves had kept from flooding, given how much water flowed through the River Nabia and the River Bellex. The dark elves had been mad and treacherous, but clearly, they had been capable engineers.
He reached the trapdoor, grasped the iron ring, and wrenched it open, expecting to see another pillared hall.
Instead, Tyrcamber found himself looking at a flight of white stone steps that descended into the earth. A dull red glow came from the darkness at the base of the stairs.
“The other trapdoor didn’t have stairs,” said Tyrcamber.
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