Frostborn: The Broken Mage (13 page)

“The gorgon spirit,” said Arandar. “It must have patrolled the upper levels of Khald Azalar as well.” 

Ridmark shook his head. “It specifically said that the King of Khald Azalar had commanded it to defend the Vale. I don’t think it ever came near the Gate of the West. All the statues we saw were clustered on the western end of the Vale. Once we were within a few miles of the Gate, we didn’t see any more statues.”

“And we have seen no other statues within Khald Azalar,” said Kharlacht. “Until now.” 

“A second gorgon spirit?” said Gavin. “We barely got away from the first one.”

“Or a basilisk,” said Caius.

Gavin’s frowned deepened. “What is a basilisk? You've mentioned them, but I've never seen one.”

“A kind of lizard from the Deeps,” said Ridmark. “They can turn victims to stone with their gaze.”

“You’ve encountered one before?” said Arandar.

“No,” said Ridmark. “Well, in a way. The Warden used the eye of a basilisk as a trap the first time I visited Urd Morlemoch. Touching the eye would have turned me to stone.”

“I’m afraid a living basilisk is rather more potent,” said Caius. “Their power is quite similar to that of the gorgon spirit, and a basilisk can turn victims to stone with a single glance. They are quite rare, thankfully, but sometimes the dvargir will capture one and use it as a war beast, like they do with the mzrokar.” 

“And we’ve already seen dead dvargir,” said Arandar. 

“Can you ward against a basilisk’s gaze?” said Ridmark to Calliande.

“I can,” she said, her expression grave in the flickering light of Antenora’s staff. “But no more than three or four of us at a time, and it will take the bulk of my power.” 

“The soulblades can ward both Gavin and I,” said Arandar. 

“All right,” said Ridmark. “I’ll take the front. Gavin and Arandar, walk with me. If we see a basilisk, Calliande can ward me, and I’ll draw its attention while you attack. Antenora and Morigna can strike with their magic, and hopefully we will kill the thing before it kills us.” 

“Perhaps these deep orcs were turned to stone centuries ago and the basilisk has moved on,” said Caius.

“I doubt that,” said Morigna, pointing at one of the orcs. “Look. This one was wounded.” A gash marked the orc’s stone arm…and beneath it Ridmark saw spatters of dried blood upon the floor. “That blood is a few days old at most.” 

Ridmark grunted. “She’s right.”

“One usually is,” said Morigna.

Ridmark saw Calliande roll her eyes, but fortunately Morigna did not notice. 

“Then there is indeed either a basilisk or a second gorgon spirit loose in Khald Azalar,” said Kharlacht.

“How very splendid,” said Jager. “Our task was clearly too easy and required more complications.” 

“Maybe it is the deep orcs’ Devourer,” said Gavin.

“I think that unlikely,” said Caius. “Neither the basilisk nor the gorgon spirit consume living flesh. Basilisks derive some sort of sustenance from turning their victims to stone. Anyway, the deep orcs wouldn’t worship a basilisk. They would avoid it. And a gorgon spirit bound to defend Khald Azalar would hunt them down, not keep them as worshippers.” 

“We’ll keep to the plan for now,” said Ridmark. Arandar and Gavin moved to his side, Calliande behind them. “If there is a basilisk wandering through Khald Azalar, perhaps the Traveler and Mournacht will distract it.”

“The gorgon spirit was more interested in them than in us,” said Jager.

“Then let us hope that continues,” said Ridmark, and he led the way deeper into the darkness. 

Chapter 7: Wayward Pets

Calliande walked in silence behind Ridmark and the Swordbearers, holding her power ready. 

They had spotted several more statues as the tunnel went deeper into the bowels of the mountain. One group had been a dozen more deep orcs, frozen in the midst of an attack. The second had been a band of kobolds, the lizard-like creatures caught forever as they fled. The sight of them made Calliande’s skin crawl with dark memories. A few days after she had awakened below the Tower of Vigilance, a band of kobolds had taken her captive, bringing her to the decayed Eternalist who ruled them. Calliande had managed to escape, thanks to Ridmark and Kharlacht, but she still did not like kobolds. 

Then the tunnel broadened, opening into a wide stone arch, and beyond yawned a vast, nearly lightless space. In the distance Calliande saw a faint, sullen glow, likely another flow of lava. Her companions hesitated at the entrance, weapons in hand. A warm wind blew out of the darkness, tugging at Calliande’s hair and cloak. Ridmark took a few steps forward, his gray elven cloak stirring around him, and gazed into the darkness for a moment. 

“I suppose there’s no way around it,” said Ridmark. “Antenora, some light, if you please. Be ready. If there’s anything waiting beyond, the light will undoubtedly draw it.” 

Antenora nodded, rapped her staff against the floor, and lifted it high as the sigils upon its length blazed to fiery light. The glow fell across the chamber beyond, illuminating a vast space large enough to hold the Dormari Market and the Goldsmiths’ Market and the Hall of the West with room to spare. Against both walls ran currents of lava ten yards wide, the source of the glow Calliande had seen earlier. Dozens of stone domes, each the size of a large house, stood in rows across the floor, their fronts marked with square entrances. Chimneys of dwarven steel rose from the apex of the domes, joining together to form an intricate maze along the ceiling. Various pieces of debris lay scattered across the floor – dwarven bones and armor, the occasional armor of a Frostborn and the dead hulk of a locusar, carts holding both coal and raw iron ore, stacks of ingots of dwarven steel. Calliande found herself awed at the size of the room, at the scale of the industry it represented. 

“The foundry level,” said Caius. “We are indeed in the Forge Quarter.” He waved a hand at the stone domes. “Those were blast furnaces. The smiths of Khald Azalar made dwarven steel here.”

“Power,” said Mara, blinking. “There are several sources of magical power within the room.”

“I see them as well,” said Antenora.

Calliande cast the spell to sense the presence of magical forces, and saw Morigna doing so as well. She sensed a considerable amount of magical power bound in the furnaces’ stone domes. Likely those were the warding and augmentation glyphs that Caius had mentioned, designed to keep the blast furnaces from exploding. She sensed other sources of power scattered around the floor. Magical weapons, perhaps, similar to the enspelled dwarven war axe Ridmark carried at his belt? 

“Is any of it dangerous?” said Ridmark. 

“I do not believe so,” said Calliande. “We should probably stay out of the blast furnaces, though.”

“Yes, I’ve no wish to live out the story of Nebuchadnezzar and the fiery furnace,” said Jager. 

“That’s not the only reason,” said Caius. “Come and I shall show you something.”

“Morigna,” said Ridmark. “Your spell to sense weight upon stone. Keep it active, please. There are a lot of places to hide in here, and I would prefer not to be surprised.” Morigna cast the spell, and Calliande sensed the flicker of earth magic that extended from her and into the floor beneath their boots. 

Caius led the way into the foundry chamber, picking his way over the bones and armor. He looked this way and that, nodded to himself, stooped, and picked something up.

“I believe this,” he said, holding out his hand, “is what you sensed.”

He held a square tile of stone about three inches across. A dwarven glyph glowed with sullen light in its center.

“What is it?” said Calliande.

“There is potent magic bound within it,” said Antenora. 

“We called them activation stones,” said Caius. He pointed at the square entrance to the nearest blast furnace. Unsurprisingly, the interior was sooty black, but Calliande saw dozens of similar glyphs emitting pale light within the furnace. “There is a corresponding glyph within the furnace. Place the activation stone upon the glyph, and the magic will summon a considerable amount of elemental fire, similar to what we saw in the High Gate.” 

“Ah,” said Jager. “That’s how you get the fire hot enough. You charge the blast furnace with the ore and the coal, and then use the activation stone to summon magical fire. The resultant inferno is hot enough to create dwarven steel.”

“There is more to the process, but that is how it begins,” said Caius. He smiled at Ridmark. “Though I suppose if I was the Gray Knight, I would have just flung the activation stone into the furnace, observed the explosion, and then explained what I was doing.”

Calliande laughed at that. “You do have a flair for the dramatic, Ridmark.” 

“I don’t understand,” said Arandar.

Ridmark took the activation stone, a thoughtful expression his face, and then tucked it into a belt pouch. “I set some marsh gas on fire once to prove a point. Apparently it’s not the sort of thing people forget.” 

“Well,” said Morigna. “You did blow up a half-dozen assassins of the Red Family in the process.” 

“What?” said Arandar. 

“I haven’t heard this story,” said Jager. 

“There were only four of them,” said Ridmark. “And one of the Enlightened of Incariel. Rotherius got away, which was why we had to fight him at Tarrabus’s domus in Coldinium.”

Mara’s green eyes widened. “You blew up Rotherius? I knew him when I was part of the Family. Jager said you had killed him, but…” 

Both Morigna and Antenora looked to the right, deeper into the gloom of the foundry chamber.

“What is it?” said Ridmark.

“Someone is coming,” said Antenora. “Someone cloaked in a form of dark magic.” The light of her staff flickered. “At least a dozen of them.”

“I think they are dvargir,” said Morigna, her words hard and clipped.  

“Calliande,” said Ridmark. 

She nodded and started summoning power, directing and forcing the magic into a spell. The dvargir, like the dark elves and the Enlightened of Incariel, could use some of the power of the shadow of Incariel to their own ends. Her magic, the magic of the Well in Tarlion’s heart, was directly opposed to the power of Incariel. While she could neither hurt nor harm a living mortal with her magic, she nonetheless could wield her powers against things of dark magic.

Calliande clapped her hands and gestured. White light flashed around her, seeming to expand and spread into a dome for a hundred yards in all directions. A dozen columns of darkness swirled next to one of the blast furnaces, and resolved into a group of black-armored dvargir warriors, their strange armor seeming to drink the light from Antenora’s staff.

The dvargir froze, then glanced at each other and started forward. 

Both Antenora and Morigna started casting spells, and Calliande followed suit as the others prepared their weapons, but Ridmark stepped forward, striking the butt of his staff against the floor with a resonant crack. 

“Hold, warriors of Khaldurmar!” said Ridmark in the orcish tongue. 

Calliande hesitated. Perhaps Ridmark could talk his way past the dvargir, the way he had talked his way past the deep orcs above.

###

“I will speak with your Dzark,” said Ridmark, using the title the dvargir bestowed upon their minor nobles, similar to the landed knights of Andomhaim. “Come! Do you not have a Dzark among you? Or are you Houseless rogues, wandering the ruins of your ancient enemies in search of a few gold coins?”

The dvargir stared at him. Unlike the dwarves, the dvargir shaved their heads hairless, making it seem as if their features had been carved from blocks of gray granite. The bottomless black pits of their void-filled eyes only reinforced that illusion. Idly Ridmark wondered why the dvargir shaved their heads. Perhaps it was a sign that they had rejected the gods of stone and silence, or a symbol of their devotion to the great shadow of Incariel. 

If he lived through this, he would have to ask Caius.

One of the dvargir stepped forward. Unlike the others, his armor bore blood-colored bands of rank at the edges, bands that somehow did not detract from the armor’s ability to blend with the shadows. The dvargir carried a sword in his right hand and bore a dark shield upon his left arm. 

“And who are you, human?” said the dvargir noble in a growling, deep voice. “Who are you to demand such a thing?”

“I am Ridmark, son of Leogrance of the Arbanii, Dux of Taliand and vassal of the High King of Andomhaim,” said Ridmark. The dvargir were as cruel and brutal as the Mhorite orcs of Kothluusk, but they were far more orderly, and considered themselves bound by their laws. Rank and birth impressed the dvargir, and perhaps Ridmark could bluff his way past the Dzark and his men.

The dvargir inclined his head in a tiny bow. “And I am Rzorgar, a Dzark in service to Great House Mlurzar of Khaldurmar.” He gestured with the sword. “Now, then. Since the introductions are out of the way, shall we kill you, or shall you surrender peacefully? Khaldurmar is ever in need of slaves.” 

“Or you could let us pass,” said Ridmark.

Rzorgar’s white teeth flashed in his gray face in an expression halfway between a snarl and a smile. “Now why should I do that?”

“Because you’ve already seen battle,” said Ridmark. “Repeatedly. I see the marks on your armor. Those two dvargir have been wounded.” He gestured at some of the dvargir standing behind them. “And I have allies.”

“There are more of us than there are of you,” said Rzorgar, that half-snarl, half-smile reappearing. 

“Maybe,” said Ridmark. “But I have a Magistria. I also have two sorceresses capable of wielding elemental magic. I have also have two Swordbearers, Knights of the Order of the Soulblade. Perhaps you have heard rumor of their order?”

A low, uneasy murmur came from the dvargir. Rzorgar raised an armored hand, and the murmuring stopped at once. The Dzark stared hard at Ridmark, his eyes narrowed. 

“So,” he said at last. “What do you want?” 

“To pass without having to kill you all,” said Ridmark.

“No,” said Rzorgar. “Why are you here? Your company is a strange one. Humans, a dwarf, a halfling, a Magistria, and two Swordbearers travelling together. You are here upon an errand of urgency. Perhaps a quest important to the High King himself, if he sent two Swordbearers and a Magistria with you. So important that he would give command of the task to a branded exile,” Ridmark felt the weight of the Dzark’s gaze upon the scar on his left cheek, “and send you with two sorceresses of elemental magic, the practice of which is outlawed in Andomhaim.”