Frostborn: The Broken Mage (38 page)

The explosion rocked the Vault, and Ridmark staggered. The blast knocked the Mhorites off-balance, and Ridmark looked over his shoulder just as a rain of boulders fell from the ceiling, blocking Calliande from view. Had Shadowbearer just buried her alive?

“Aid me!” Shadowbearer’s double voice snarled through the Vault. “To me! We return to the Gate of the West! To me, warriors of Kothluusk! Your god commands it! Now! Now!” 

“Mhor has spoken!” Mournacht’s voice rolled over the battle and the ominous sounds of cracking stone overhead. “To Mhor!” 

Shadowbearer staggered from the cloud of dust surrounding the fallen boulders, the left side of his face a charred ruin. He looked on the edge of death. If Calliande hit him with another spell, perhaps she could finish him off entirely. Or maybe the Swordbearers could cut him down before he escaped. 

Before Ridmark could speak, dozens of Mhorite warriors rushed to surround Shadowbearer, and Mournacht himself sprinted to join his false god. Shadowbearer did not wait for them, but ran for the Citadel of Kings, still clutching the empty soulstone in his right hand. His mercury-like eyes fixed upon Ridmark, bright and mad against the charred skin covering the left side of his face, and his lip twisted with hatred. 

“Follow me if you can, Gray Knight!” screamed Shadowbearer, the melodious side of his double voice rasping and hissing with pain. “Follow me and strike me down! Or stay and rescue your precious Keeper! Choose!”

He stabbed his free hand towards the ceiling and again a brilliant cone of blue fire lashed from his fingers, ripping across the damaged stonework. Cracks spread across the ceiling in a widening web, and a disturbing rumble went through the floor.

Shadowbearer was about to bring the entire Vault of the Kings crashing into ruin. 

The Mhorites turned and fled for the throne room of the Citadel, and Ridmark dashed across the rubble-strewn floor, dodging chunks of stone that fell from the trembling ceiling, jumping over corpses and tables and the scattered wealth of the Kings of Khald Azalar. A huge pile of broken stone stood at the rear of the hall, and Ridmark feared that Calliande, Antenora, and Morigna had all been entombed beneath it.

Or, more accurately, that they had all been crushed to a pulp beneath the massive slabs of broken stone.

“Ridmark!” 

Morigna’s voice sent a wave of relief through him.

He found Morigna and Antenora standing together, Calliande lying on the ground between them. At first glance Ridmark thought that she was dead, but her chest rose and fell with her breath, and blood leaked from a cut on her left temple. One of the falling pieces of stone had clipped her. Antenora stared at the Keeper as if stricken, both hands clutching her staff. 

“We have to go, now,” said Ridmark, passing his staff to Morigna. He knelt, picked up Calliande, and slung her over his shoulders. His muscles trembled with fatigue, but he forced them to obey. “Antenora, take her staff. We came all this way to get the damned thing, I’m not leaving it behind. No, don’t argue, either of you. Go!” 

He ran towards the throne room, Calliande bouncing against his shoulders. He felt a wet trickle of blood from her scalp soak through his right sleeve and against his arm. Perhaps one of the Swordbearers could heal her before she bled out. The others waited halfway to the door to the throne room, weapons in hand.

“Gray Knight,” said Caius. “Is she…”

“Still alive,” said Ridmark. “Quick, heal her.” Gavin nodded, stepped forward, and put his hand on her injured temple, his hand flashing with white light as he drew upon Truthseeker’s power. The cut scabbed over, the flow of blood stopping. Swordbearers could not heal as well as Magistri, and Ridmark had met few Magistri with Calliande’s skill at healing. Yet Truthseeker’s power was enough to stop the bleeding.

“We must withdraw at once,” said Kharlacht, giving the ceiling a wary glance. 

“No,” said Ridmark.

“You intend to stay here and be buried alive, then?” said Morigna.

“Nonsense!” said Jager with manic cheer. “The stones would crush us long before that.”

“No, we’re going after Shadowbearer,” said Ridmark. “He’s wounded. He can’t have much power left in reserve. If we can get close enough, Gavin or Arandar can kill him with a soulblade.” 

“Through that many Mhorites?” said Arandar, his doubt plain.

“We must take the chance,” said Ridmark. “He has the empty soulstone, and we can’t let him get away with it. And if we defeat him here, if we kill him now…it’s over. The Frostborn will never return.” 

“You speak truly,” said Caius, and a thunderous growling noise came from overhead, a wide crack spreading over the Vault’s ceiling. 

“The time for talk is over!” said Ridmark. “Run!” 

He led the way, dashing through the wreckage of the Vault, Calliande limp against his shoulders. His arms and back burned with the effort of carrying her, and his legs screamed with the strain, but he kept going. The others ran around him, dodging as chunks of stone began to fall from the ceiling. Ridmark pushed himself harder, his chest hitching as he tried to draw in enough air. The doors to the throne room of the Citadel of Kings yawned before him, and he sprinted through them, the floor starting to vibrate beneath his boots. Ahead of him the Mhorites fled through the throne room, withdrawing to the great assembly chamber outside of the Citadel. 

“Run!” said Ridmark, and they raced across the vast empty space of the throne room. A few moments later a thunderous roar came from the Vault of the Kings as the ceiling collapsed, a billowing cloud of dust rolling out of the gates of adamant steel. Ridmark wondered if the Traveler had expected to be entombed within Khald Azalar. They burst from the throne room and into the assembly chamber. Already the Mhorites fled for one of the pillared galleries leading back to the higher levels of Khald Azalar. Ridmark spotted Shadowbearer at the edge of the chamber, just within the gallery proper. He had expected the corrupted archmage to have already regenerated his injuries, but the hideous burns on the left side of his face and neck remained as livid as before. Perhaps it took longer to heal such an egregious wound. Or perhaps Shadowbearer could not recover from the Keeper’s power. 

Ridmark’s eyes met Shadowbearer’s, and even across the vast space of the assembly chamber, he felt the terrible weight and power of the quicksilver gaze. 

“You might have restored the Keeper, Ridmark Arban!” boomed Shadowbearer. “But it doing so, you have guaranteed my victory. Catch me if you can!”

He thrust his free hand, and a blinding shaft of blue fire erupted from his fingers, slicing through the balconies overhead as if they were soft bread and drilling into the domed ceiling. A tearing, grinding sounded echoed through the chamber, and Shadowbearer fled into the gallery with the rest of the Mhorites. An instant later three rows of balconies collapsed, sealing off the entrance of the gallery behind tons of broken stone. Ridmark cursed in fury, coming to a staggering halt beneath Calliande’s weight. With the empty soulstone, Shadowbearer would flee Khald Azalar and make for the Black Mountain as fast as he could. 

Then he would open the gate and summon the Frostborn. 

Another grinding noise came from overhead, and in the dim glow from the lava canals Ridmark saw more cracks spreading over the ceiling. Shadowbearer’s spell had blasted away large chunks from the dome, and Ridmark doubted it would last much longer in its weakened state. 

“Which way?” shouted Caius. 

Shadowbearer had blocked the way to the Gate of the West. They could withdraw back down the stairs to the Gate of the Deeps and escape through the caverns to the surface. Unfortunately, Caius’s map of the mines extended only so far, and with Irunzad dead, they had no guide. They could wander for weeks in the Deeps, trying to find a route back to the surface, or fall dead to one of the countless dangers that wandered the Deeps. The Gate of the East was nearer, and it led right to the surface. 

Unfortunately, it would put them on the opposite side of the mountains from Shadowbearer. But Ridmark knew where Shadowbearer was going, and the Gate of the East would put them a few days closer to the Black Mountain and Dun Licinia. 

If they hastened.

If the dangers of the northern Wilderland did not kill them first.

And if the Gate of the East was even still open.

All this flashed through Ridmark’s mind in a moment. 

“The Gate of the East!” said Ridmark. “Run!”

They hastened through the chamber, dodging the vast chunks of stone falling from the ceiling. A boulder the size of a large horse landed a dozen yards away, the shock almost sending Ridmark sprawling, his exhausted legs starting to buckle. Morigna caught his elbow and steadied him, and he nodded his thanks to her as they crossed the chamber, ducked under a crumbling balcony, and raced up the broad stairs to the Gate of the East. The sound of crashing and collapsing stone grew louder, and Ridmark glanced over his shoulder to see the archway disappear in a rain of stone, dust billowing up behind them. 

They kept climbing, and a pale glow touched his eyes. It was sunlight, which meant the Gate of the East still stood open. Relief flooded through him, and Ridmark kept climbing. The stairs ended in a massive stone hall, the high roof supported by blocky pillars. It looked a great deal like the Hall of the West on the other side of Khald Azalar. 

On the far end of the Hall stood the Gate of the East, its massive doors of dwarven steel standing open. Sunlight leaked through the doors, and beyond Ridmark saw rough foothills and a green forest stretching away in the distance. 

“We ought to be safe from pursuit,” said Kharlacht, looking down the broad stairs. “I doubt even Shadowbearer could get through that much fallen rock.”

“Perhaps he could,” said Ridmark, going to one knee and setting down Calliande as gently as he could manage. Antenora helped him, and Calliande slumped against the polished stone floor, her eyes closed. “But he will not bother. Instead he will make his way to the Gate of the West and then head for the Black Mountain to summon the Frostborn.”

“Then,” said Gavin, looking back and forth between the rubble-choked stairs and the Gate of the East, “then what will we do next?” 

“We’ll rest here until dawn,” said Ridmark, squinting at the light in the Gate of the East. It looked like it was almost sundown. “Then tomorrow morning we’ll leave and head for Dun Licinia ourselves.” He shook his head as Arandar knelt next to Calliande, summoning Heartwarden’s healing power. A wave of pain went through Ridmark from his broken bond to the soulblade, and Morigna handed him his staff. He took it with relief, fearing that he might have to lean upon it for support. “Now it’s a race.”

Chapter 22: Pursuit

Bit by bit, Calliande came back to consciousness. 

For a moment she could not remember where she was, which filled her with fear. Her father’s house, yes, that was it. It was before dawn, and her father had gone to his boat.

But why was she lying on a cold stone floor? Her father’s house had wooden floors. The only stone was the hearth in the main room, and she wasn’t stupid enough to fall asleep so close to the fire…

Then she remembered the Tower of Vigilance. Had the time come at last? The Order of the Vigilant would be waiting for her, and she would have to return to Khald Azalar and Dragonfall as quickly as possible, to retrieve her staff and stop Shadowbearer from summoning the Frostborn anew.

Shadowbearer…

The memories exploded through her head, and she sat up with a strangled cry of alarm, reaching for her staff. It lay next to her right hand, and she snatched it up, preparing to call power. The falling rubble must have stunned her, and Shadowbearer would not hesitate to strike her down…

But there was no sign of Shadowbearer, and she was no longer in the Vault of the Kings. 

Calliande almost thought that she was back in the Hall of the West. It looked identical, but there were no bones upon the floor, no signs of battle. The massive doors of dwarven steel were still intact, and they stood open, revealing foothills and a forest beyond them. 

That wasn’t the Gate of the West. 

“Good,” said a man’s voice. “You’re awake.” 

She turned her head. A tall man of about thirty stood a short distance away, a black staff in his right hand. He had hard features and a coward’s brand of a broken sword upon his left cheek, his blue eyes cold and sharp, his black hair close-cropped. He wore a gray high elven cloak and a cuirass of overlapping plates of blue dark elven steel, a dwarven war axe hanging at his belt. 

Her mind snapped back into focus, her disjointed memories sliding back into their proper order. 

“Ridmark,” she said. 

“Keeper,” rasped a woman’s voice, old and worn and tired. Antenora stepped to Ridmark’s side, her yellow eyes glittering in her gaunt gray face. “You are alive, God be praised.”

“How do you feel?” said Ridmark. She felt, Calliande thought, about as battered and tired as Ridmark looked. Blood stained his clothing and armor, some of it his own, and she saw the scabbed cuts upon his jaw and arms. That he was alive at all was something of a miracle in its own right. With no magic, he had fought the Mhorites and the Anathgrimm, challenged one of the most powerful wizards ever to walk the face of Andomhaim, and had survived. 

“I have a monstrous headache,” said Calliande, “and I feel as I spent the day carrying blocks of stone up and down a flight of stairs, but I cannot complain. One does not have the right to complain, given that one is still alive.”

Ridmark blinked.

“What?” said Calliande.

“You…sounded a great deal like Morigna,” said Ridmark.

Calliande frowned. “I…suppose I did, did I not? Morigna learned most of her Latin from Coriolus, and Coriolus would have been a young Adept when I went into the long sleep. Oh!” She rubbed at her aching head. “I just remembered him. Aye, but he was arrogant and rude, and he had the most appalling bad breath. Little wonder he turned into an Eternalist. I…”

Ridmark was laughing.